The Man Upon the Stair

by Gary Inbinder

  “Bonnet lied to the police. He told a story concocted by the baron and his accomplices to cover up the real reason for the meeting in Aix-les-Bains. Furthermore, Inspector Legros discovered five thousand francs in banknotes traceable to M. de Livet, hidden under the floorboards in Bonnet’s room. Mlle Hubert, a servant in the de Livet household, tipped us off. According to Hubert, her friend Manuela Otero said the baron gave Bonnet the banknotes for some special service, and we can assume that lying to the police was either all or part of the service he rendered.

  “Mlle Hubert believes Bonnet poisoned Mlle Otero, and I’ve concluded that’s the best explanation for the young woman’s death. Bonnet had the strongest motive; Mlle Otero knew too much about his dealings with the baron, and he silenced her. Masson’s forensic testing following the autopsy confirmed that Otero died as the result of aconite poisoning, and our timeline of events and examination of the household staff indicates that only Bonnet and Mme de Livet could have administered the fatal overdose.

  “Bonnet was the baron’s bodyguard and confidant. The baron paid him well, and Bonnet could have expected more from his master in future. He’s a former boxer with a reputation for foul play both in and out of the ring, the sort who could commit a heinous crime for money. On the other hand, Mme de Livet seems more like a hapless victim of circumstance. I doubt she’s a cold-blooded killer.”

  The magistrate leaned forward and looked directly at Achille. “I imagine Mme de Livet is a far more sympathetic individual than Bonnet. However, I hope you aren’t letting sentiment affect your judgment?”

  “No, Monsieur le juge. Our law presumes that a woman is under her father’s control until the time of her marriage, when she becomes subject to her husband’s authority. In that regard, the baroness married for advantage according to her father’s wishes and acquiesced in her husband’s unworthy schemes. Of course, she isn’t blameless. A wife’s duty to obey her spouse ends when her husband resorts to crime. And I suspect the baron ignored her adultery; he may have encouraged it, since he directed his carnal desires elsewhere.

  “Mme de Livet’s submissiveness extended to her lover, Bonnet—at least, up to a point. I don’t think she was involved in the murder, but I do believe she aided Bonnet after the fact. For example, the jewelry we found in Bonnet’s possession may have been stolen, but I would not rule out the possibility that Mme de Livet gave the diamonds to her lover to enable his escape.”

  M. Leblanc frowned. “It’s a sordid affair, M. Lefebvre; scandalous and disgusting.”

  “Yes, Monsieur; but I’d help the poor woman, if I could. She cannot bear witness against her husband, but she may be compelled to testify against her lover. At any rate, I’m going to speak to her before we question Bonnet. It will be interesting to hear what she has to say about the diamonds. And with your permission, I would like to take the lead in Bonnet’s interrogation.”

  “I grant my permission with pleasure. When will you question him?”

  “Tomorrow morning, if that is convenient for you. By the way, I have what the Americans call an ace in the hole, and I may need to play it.”

  The magistrate’s eyes widened with eager anticipation. So, I’m to witness another of M. Lefebvre’s clever tricks, he thought. “Will you please tell me what you have in mind?”

  “Of course, Monsieur le juge. I’ve discovered fingerprints on the two medicine bottles found in Otero’s room. If Bonnet’s prints match, we’ll have him by the short hairs.”

  The magistrate sighed. “I know you had some success with fingerprints in the Ménard case, but the method is new and unproven. The court is not likely to accept the prints as evidence.”

  Achille smiled. “We know that, Monsieur le juge, but our suspect does not.”

  “Very well, M. Lefebvre. Is there anything else?”

  “Yes, M. Leblanc. If you please, I’m requesting arrest warrants for M. de Livet, Mme Behrs, Major Sims, and Lieutenant Denisov. The charge is theft of Russian embassy property; Colonel Mukhin, the military attaché, is the complaining witness.”

  “I’ll issue the warrants this morning. What about the espionage business?”

  “I’ve already notified Captain Duret of the Deuxième Bureau. I’m reporting the matter to the prefect this morning, and I suppose he’ll take it up with the minister. If we catch the Russians, Mme Behrs, and Denisov, they can be quietly deported. Unfortunately, de Livet is a naturalized French citizen and Sims is presumably British. I still hope to get more information about Sims from Scotland Yard, but things could get ugly if they discover the baron’s plot.”

  “It’s a mess, M. Lefebvre. Perhaps we can keep the cloak-and-dagger business concealed by pursuing the matter as a straightforward case of theft?”

  “I agree that would be best, Monsieur le juge.”

  The older man frowned and shook his head sadly. “All our world needs is a stupid incident to provoke yet another senseless war.”

  “Of course, Monsieur. We must do what we can to prevent it.”

  Achille and Legros studied a map spread out on a table in the chief’s office. They focused their attention on the network of railway lines and roads around Paris.

  “All right, Étienne; where do you think the baron and his confederates went after they left Mme Behrs’s apartment the evening of the twenty-fifth?”

  “My best guess is Le Havre, Chief.”

  “Why Le Havre?” The port was Achille’s best guess, too; but he wanted his assistant’s opinion.

  “I believe they’d want to get out of the country by the quickest route possible. As for their destination, I have no clue, but I assume they’d go somewhere they think is beyond our reach. Just crossing the channel to England would not be far enough. Le Havre is the closest major port with the most ships sailing to faraway places, so that would be my choice.”

  “Would they have gone by train or taken the coach?”

  “I think they would have avoided the railways; too much risk of their being spotted by our detectives, the gendarmes, or the railway personnel. Of course, traveling by road they sacrifice speed. The journey from Paris to Le Havre is about three and a half hours by train and more than thirteen hours by coach.”

  “Very well; we’ll concentrate on the roads and the railway to Le Havre and its vicinity. We have good descriptions of everyone except Sims. The coach should have attracted some attention, whether or not they got rid of the insignia. They might have changed to another carriage, which means they could have abandoned the embassy coach somewhere.

  “Check with the local police concerning the hotels, inns, and restaurants along the route; places where they might have stopped to rest or exchange vehicles. And we’ll need information about all the ships sailing from Le Havre since the morning of the twenty-sixth. Of course, we must consider and investigate other possibilities, but I agree Le Havre fits the most likely scenario.

  “You’re in charge of getting out the bulletins to our contacts here and abroad. Monitor the incoming reports and detail a couple of men to assist you. When the press gets hold of this, you can expect a flood of false leads, so be prepared.”

  “All right, Chief. Has Scotland Yard responded to your inquiry about Sims?”

  “No; please follow up with our contact. Our relations might be strained at present, but the Special Branch must deal with Orlovsky, too. In that regard, we’re in a similar predicament, having to cooperate with the untrustworthy agent of a not-always-friendly foreign power.”

  “If you don’t mind my asking, Chief, how will we deal with the stolen secrets?”

  “I don’t know; the decision will be made at a high level. It will probably be covered up, but between you and me, it’s likely that the maps and documents are bogus.”

  “So you think the whole thing was a fraud?”

  “Better for us if it was. I’d rather deal with common swindlers than spies.”

  “Yes, Chief.” Legros paused a moment before asking, “Do you want me to question Mme de Liv
et about the jewelry and her relations with Bonnet?”

  “No, Étienne. That’s my job.” He glanced up at the wall clock and added, “I’ll be leaving the office presently. We’ll interrogate Bonnet tomorrow morning in M. Leblanc’s office. I want you there, unless you turn up something in the search for the baron and company that requires your immediate attention.”

  “Very well, Chief.” Legros wanted to say something about the baroness. He felt sorry for her and believed the chief shared his feelings. However, he prudently decided not to raise the subject unless Achille said something first. Instead, he said, “Pardon me. Could you please tell me if Mlle Hubert is all right?”

  Achille smiled. “Don’t worry, your young lady has settled in just fine. She’s becoming like one of our family.”

  Legros flushed and stammered, “My young lady? Excuse me, Monsieur; she’s a witness. I mean to say, she’s not . . . I’m not—”

  “Forgive me, Étienne,” the chief broke in. “I made a little joke at your expense. She is doing quite well, and she’s asked about you, on occasion. When this is over, I’m going to do my best to get her a new position in a good household. What’s more, my wife would like you to dine with us again—once this case is over, that is.”

  Legros was relieved. In fact, he was concerned about Mignonette and wanted very much to see her again, in an unofficial capacity. “That’s very kind of you, Chief. Thank you.”

  Achille nodded his acknowledgment, shuffled some papers on his desk, and then looked up again at the clock. “All right, Inspector. We’ve a busy day ahead of us. Let’s get on with it.”

  Achille telephoned the de Livet mansion; he was surprised when Madame answered. They made an appointment to meet at her residence that morning. He could have had her brought in for questioning, but he preferred a gentler approach. When he arrived at the front door and rang the bell, Madame greeted him.

  “Good morning, Chief Inspector,” she said with feigned cheerfulness. “As you see, I’m reduced to answering the door. Sic transit gloria mundi. Please come in.”

  Her sarcasm reminded Achille of the Mephistophelean doorman’s stock greeting at the Cabaret de L’Enfer: “Enter and be damned.” However, there was a difference between playacting and personal tragedy. He noticed telltale signs of her decline: a slight slurring of Madame’s speech; dark circles under bloodshot eyes; untidiness of dress, as though she had slept in her clothes; the odor of tobacco and liquor on her breath.

  She walked unsteadily. At one point, she almost tripped on the runner. She mumbled, “Pardon me, Monsieur,” and continued down the corridor. He followed her to the music room.

  “I’ve taken up residence here,” she said as she opened the sliding door. She entered the darkened room and went directly to the piano bench, where she sat and stared at the chief inspector. “Please pull up a chair, M. Lefebvre. I’m afraid there’s no one left to attend to your needs. The servants are abandoning ship, one by one.”

  Achille set down his briefcase, grabbed an elegant Louis XV gilt-wood chair, and sat opposite her. He remained stiffly upright on the edge of the seat, as if he feared a clumsy movement might mar the exquisite museum piece.

  Madame smiled at his apparent discomfort. “You seem nervous, Monsieur. Would you care for a drink?”

  “No, thank you, Madame.”

  “Well, I’m sure you won’t mind if I do.” She poured a glass of brandy from an almost-empty decanter. Achille noticed an ashtray overflowing with cigarette butts, balanced precariously on the rim of the closed piano lid.

  After she took a sip of her drink, she said, “I’ve only two servants left: Mme Renard, the cook, and old Honoré, the gardener. I don’t know if they stay with me out of loyalty or because they have nowhere else to go. It’s sad, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, Madame; very sad. I’m sorry.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Are you indeed sorry, M. Lefebvre?”

  Achille did not answer. He opened his briefcase and removed a brown paper package. “Madame, we have recovered property that I believe belongs to you.” He got up and handed her the package. “Will you please examine the contents?” Instead of returning to his chair, Achille hovered about, waiting for a response.

  She fumbled with the wrapper until it opened suddenly, spilling the diamonds onto her lap. She gazed at the jewelry for a while before saying, “These are mine, M. Lefebvre.” Then she looked up at him and added, “Are you returning them to me?”

  “I regret not, Madame. We found the jewelry when we arrested Bonnet and his smuggler companion earlier this morning. We must keep the diamonds as evidence pending the outcome of the case. I will issue you a receipt.” He held out his hands. “If you please, Madame.”

  She gathered up the gems and returned them to Achille. After a moment, she asked, “What do you want from me, M. Lefebvre?”

  “The truth, Madame. As of yet, you are not charged with a crime. Lying to the police is a serious offense, but we can overlook your past misrepresentations if you are now willing to cooperate. Aiding and abetting criminal activity is even more serious, but depending on your frankness in response to my questions and the facts and circumstances of the case, you might avoid prosecution. However, in the matter of Manuela Otero’s murder—”

  “Murder, did you say?” Madame broke in. “Are you accusing me of killing Manuela?”

  Achille noticed the look of horror in her eyes. “Please calm yourself, Madame. So far, I’ve accused you of nothing except misleading the police, and you might have acted under compulsion.” Achille smiled. “I’m not unsympathetic to your situation. Would you care for another drink?”

  “Yes, Monsieur, I would.”

  Achille refilled her glass with the remainder of the cognac. She gulped it down and coughed.

  He kept smiling and spoke in a gentle, reassuring tone. “There, that’s better, isn’t it?”

  Madame nodded. “Yes, Monsieur Lefebvre; thank you.”

  “I was about to say that I did not suspect you of murder or conspiracy to commit murder. However, I do believe you have information that will assist in the investigation and prosecution of the crime. Now, Madame, are you ready to answer my questions fully and truthfully?”

  Madame de Livet sighed. “Yes, Monsieur Lefebvre; I’ll answer your questions to the best of my ability.”

  “Thank you, Madame.” Achille returned to his chair and assumed a less intimidating posture. “Let’s go back to the week before your trip to Aix-les-Bains. The baron withdrew a large sum from his bank, and we know that the money was not to be used for gambling. Moreover, based on information we received from a witness, my detectives searched Bonnet’s room and discovered five thousand francs in banknotes traceable to the baron’s account. Did you know about that payment prior to leaving for Aix-les-Bains?” Achille stared hard at the baroness while waiting for her answer. If she lied, he was prepared to increase the pressure.

  “Yes, Monsieur, I knew about it.”

  “How did you come by this information?”

  “Bonnet told me.”

  “I see. You and Bonnet are intimate. Have you shared many secrets?”

  Madame looked down at her hands and sighed. “Yes, we’ve shared secrets.”

  “Did you question your husband about the five thousand francs?”

  She looked up with a puzzled frown. “What do you mean by ‘question’?”

  “It’s simple enough, Madame. Did you not have an argument with your husband over his payment to Bonnet?”

  The bewildered look gave way to one of indignation. “Did Mignonette tell you that?”

  “Please, Madame; I will ask the questions and you will provide the answers.”

  Madame took a deep breath before answering. “When Eugene . . . Bonnet told me about the five thousand francs, he seemed very smug. His attitude annoyed me. When I asked him why my husband paid him such a large sum, he said, ‘Go ask Monsieur.’ Later that evening, when we were getting ready for bed, I confronted my husb
and. I demanded to know why he gave such a large amount of money to his servant. He told me to mind my own business. I persisted, and the argument became heated until he slapped my face and told me to shut up.”

  Achille had suspected abuse; he hoped the juge would consider it in mitigation of her complicity in the baron’s and Bonnet’s crimes. “Madame, did your husband often mistreat you in that manner?”

  She smiled sadly. “Often enough, M. Lefebvre.”

  “I see. Do you think he might have acted that way because he feared the servants were listening?”

  “I don’t know; I suppose so.”

  “In fact, a servant did overhear the argument; your personal maid, Manuela Otero.”

  Madame’s eyes widened in surprise, but she agreed without comment. “Yes, Monsieur.”

  “But she wasn’t killed because she knew about the payment. After all, the baron could have given Bonnet five thousand francs for any number of reasons, legitimate or otherwise. However, Manuela learned why the baron paid Bonnet, and the truth was so damaging that she demanded money to keep quiet about it. And she wasn’t the only one in the household who discovered the secret prior to leaving for Aix-les-Bains. You knew about it, too, Madame.”

  Madame’s face flushed; her hands trembled. “I . . . I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Achille frowned and leaned forward; his voice hardened, and his eyes grew cold and unforgiving. “Do you know a young woman named Apolline Michelet?”

  Madame met his challenging gaze with a contemptuous stare. “When you were a child, did you enjoy tearing the wings from butterflies?”

  “I collected butterflies, Madame,” he replied coolly. “I did not torture them.”

  “I understand, M. Lefebvre. I’m sure you put them to death humanely before placing them in your collection.”

  He remained silent for a moment. Then he said, “Madame, I told you I was not unsympathetic. I want to help you, if I can. But you must tell me the truth.