The Saint-Florentin Murders

by Jean-FranCois Parot

  ‘We need to arrest them, then,’ said Bourdeau.

  ‘You will summon them to follow you to the Châtelet without further ado for an interview with Commissioner Le Floch.’

  Nicolas tore a sheet of paper from his black notebook, scribbled a few lines on it, and handed it to Bourdeau, who nodded and left without a word. Sanson remained in his lair, lighting his fires like Vulcan in his forge. Nicolas went back up to the duty office and again went through his notes, his lead pencil in his hand.

  An hour later, Bourdeau reappeared, his face quite flushed.

  ‘You seem upset,’ said Nicolas.

  ‘I’ve had to confront a female dragon, whom the social graces demand I call the Duchesse de La Vrillière. She fought tooth and nail to stop me from proceeding with the arrests. Like all women, the last card she played was a fit of the vapours. I took advantage of that to leave her in helping hands.’

  ‘Good,’ said Nicolas. ‘She’ll get over it. We’re going to play several acts one after the other. Have these people taken into the corridor. We’ll leave the door open, and talk about it so that they think they’re in for a little interview designed to soften them up.’

  Everything went as planned. Bourdeau returned and asked, ‘What are your intentions, Commissioner?’

  ‘Keep the witnesses ready to appear – I say witnesses, I ought to say suspects – in the torture chamber. I believe the torturer and his assistants are ready to get down to the job?’

  ‘Indeed they are.’

  ‘Then let’s proceed with the preliminary session.’

  ‘An extraordinary one?’

  ‘Oh, no. Ordinary. I think that’ll suffice.’

  ‘Yes, of course. Five or six tin cauldrons. Tying the suspect to a plank and drowning him usually loosens his tongue.’

  They both laughed.

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘The boot, of course. We need to make sure the legs are held tight in the frames. Separate the kneecaps and ankles with two thick planks and put wedges between them. Wood for the women and iron for the man. And don’t forget to hit hard with the mallet. I think we should take the number of wedges all the way up to the authorised figure of twelve. That’s all. Take them down, I’ll join you in a moment.’

  Nicolas soon followed Bourdeau and joined the group of witnesses, who were sitting, surrounded by members of the watch, on a stone bench in the dark gallery leading to the torture chamber. Strange noises were coming from the chamber, a particularly frightening din for anyone who had just heard Nicolas’s words. He decided to begin with Madame de La Vrillière’s head chambermaid, Eugénie Gouet, hoping to confound her with this atmosphere of menace. But she entered with her head held high and no apparent emotion. She was no longer as fresh and white as she had been before; her complexion now was grey, with red blotches. She gave him a look of defiance. In the gothic chamber, the assistants bustled about to the orders of a man in a green coat. Bourdeau was standing behind a lectern, pen in hand, ready to take down a verbatim record of the interrogation.

  ‘You are here,’ said Nicolas in a monotonous voice, ‘as a witness and suspect of the murder committed at the Saint-Florentin mansion on 2 October 1774. The apparatus of justice you see around you should encourage you to answer my questions with complete honesty, the only response that will satisfy me as a magistrate and save you from the worst consequences.’

  This speech did not seem to have any effect on the woman, but she was convulsively clenching her left fist, something Nicolas had already observed during her first interrogation and noted in his little black notebook.

  ‘Master Sanson, ask your assistants to be silent.’

  The assistants froze. Only the crackle of the coals in the brazier continued to awaken echoes in the depths of the chamber.

  ‘Let’s begin,’ said Nicolas. ‘Were you the mistress of Jean Missery, at least until he developed a passion for the victim?’

  She did not reply, her eyes fixed on the floor.

  ‘Am I to take your silence as assent?’

  She raised her head. ‘I prefer to tell you the truth. Yes, Jean had been my lover. He’d even promised to marry me.’

  ‘That, in fact, is what the Duchesse de La Vrillière told a friend of hers, who passed the information on to me,’ said Nicolas, lying with an impassiveness that astonished Bourdeau.

  The chambermaid’s reaction was one of despair, and she looked from right to left like an animal caught in a trap.

  ‘You agree, then. We know also that this domestic Don Juan had some difficulty in satisfying his new young friend, and wasn’t always in a state to—’

  ‘He wasn’t like that with me!’ she said angrily.

  ‘I believe you unreservedly. He wasn’t like that with you. But let’s imagine that someone gives the poor man some relaxing potion, something that would – not to mince words – make him impotent? Couldn’t the sleeping draught used and abused by Madame de La Vrillière have the ability, much appreciated by a neglected and jealous lover, to calm and even extinguish the ardour this man feels for another?’

  She said nothing.

  ‘And if we imagine that the poor man, to overcome this new infirmity, starts using other more efficient additives, wouldn’t it then be advisable to double the dose of the potion in order to stop him joining his young mistress in ecstasy? I order you to speak, or I shall immediately hand you over to the torturer, who will extract the truth as he sees fit, I promise you that. I accuse you of having known that Marguerite Pindron would be in the kitchen that evening. Who was she meeting?’

  Again she moved her head from side to side. Suddenly there came the sound of hurried footsteps. The door of the torture chamber was flung open and Monsieur Lenoir appeared, red-faced and out of breath, his double chin held tightly in his cravat.

  ‘Monsieur, I order you to cease this unjustified interrogation. It is contrary to all the rules established under my authority, which cannot be contravened. Free this unfortunate woman immediately, as well as the other witnesses currently awaiting your pleasure.’

  Nicolas made a sign to Bourdeau, who conducted the Gouet woman, Sanson and the assistants out of the room.

  ‘So, Commissioner,’ said the Lieutenant General of Police sternly, ‘I find you engaged in an unauthorised interrogation, without having requested permission of the Criminal Lieutenant, without even – I hardly dare utter these words – without even informing me! Of course, Monsieur Testard du Lys has already had to suffer on account of your illicit procedures! How am I to describe such an attitude which violates all principles and is an insult to the majesty of the law? Well? Aren’t you going to say anything?’

  Nicolas felt annoyance rise within him like a desire for violence, but he restrained himself. Monsieur Lenoir’s prompt arrival proved that not everyone here was his friend and that envy was still rife. Or else – although he found this hard to believe – that the Duchesse de La Vrillière had been quick to act. Or the duc … Not that it really mattered.

  ‘Monseigneur,’ he said, ‘I am here on the orders of the minister, who expressly gave me the responsibility for this affair. When your untimely arrival interrupted the interrogation, I’m sure I was on the point of obtaining vital information that would have helped me to understand a case whose ramifications you are unaware of and in which the greatest haste is called for.’

  ‘I can’t believe your insolence! It’s beyond me. What on earth are you saying? If I’m badly informed, whose fault is that?’

  ‘It’s the fault of those who attack the Crown and its servants. How much time have I had, would you say, to devote to an investigation which at present involves four corpses, including three young women, one almost a child, affairs of State, secret societies, the moral failings of men in high places and the interests of a powerful enemy? It is quite unwise to give instructions from a distance to a subordinate and then leave him alone to confront the difficulties. Since he has been entrusted with a mission, one should rely on him and not ham
per him with other assignments which the constantly changing circumstances make it impossible to carry out.’

  ‘Monsieur!’

  But Nicolas was launched. ‘An investigation in which I myself was the object of an attack which I narrowly escaped,’ he went on. ‘How else would you like me to describe such a sequence of events, and how, knowing nothing of the way things have developed, can you accuse me of violating laws which I have been serving for fourteen years under the authority of the late King and your predecessor, Monsieur de Sartine?’

  ‘I beg you to lower your voice and forget the absent and the dead,’ replied Lenoir curtly. ‘You’re letting your mind wander! How could you possibly think that, under an easy-going King and my authority, you would be justified in flouting the law and using means which are well known for providing confessions but no proof?’

  ‘Why don’t you ask me, instead of demanding but not listening? The only reason I set this solemn and terrifying apparatus in motion was precisely in order not to have to use it. I was hoping that merely displaying it would dissuade these false witnesses from lying. My intention was to dig deep into these frightened souls, to draw out the past and the future, the involuntary word, the barely concealed admission, the detail long held back. That said, Monsieur, allow me to tell you that your words hardly surprise me, coming from a man who, from the beginning, has shown me nothing but rejection and disdain, and made light of a devotion developed over long years.’

  He knew, in saying this, that he was exaggerating, but that it was necessary to lance the wound. Otherwise, it would be impossible ever to establish trust between them, and he himself would lose his self-esteem.

  ‘You are forgetting yourself, Monsieur,’ said Lenoir, his broad face turning red.

  ‘I describe things as I see them. If you wish to remove me from this case, do so. If you wish me to leave the police force, demand it. If you are determined to conceal the truth and leave this case unsolved, then continue to hamper the work of your investigators. To someone whose loyalty has been called into question, it really doesn’t matter any more. I shall see His Majesty, who hoped that I would see this through to the end, and when he questions me on the progress of the case, I shall admit to him immediately that, on the orders of the Lieutenant General of Police, he can no longer count on his commissioner for special investigations. Exit Monsieur Le Floch. The Marquis de Ranreuil is off to hunt stags at Fontainebleau. I bid you farewell. Your humble servant!’

  Nicolas was striding towards the door when Monsieur Lenoir ran to cut him off before he reached the gallery. ‘Monsieur, why didn’t you tell me all this earlier?’

  Tense and inscrutable, Nicolas did not reply.

  ‘I’m sorry if I gave you the impression that I did not trust you,’ continued Lenoir. ‘The cases in which you have been involved over the years were of such a nature as to give rise to an unreasonable feeling of suspicion in me. I fear I was mistaken, and that I have offended you so seriously that I feel angry at myself. But put yourself in my shoes. I was bewildered by the very small amount of information coming back to me, and angry when I learnt that you were using torture. I was deceived by false information. I am sorry about that. You are an honest man, for who else would dare to talk to me as you have done? With such arrogance … Did you ever attempt that with my predecessor?’

  ‘As a matter of fact, I did,’ said Nicolas, whose anger had immediately abated. ‘I once presented my resignation to Monsieur de Sartine. It was at the beginning of my career, and he had seen fit to use me as a plaything in an intrigue of his. I told him a few home truths.’

  ‘And how did he take it?’

  ‘Lieutenants General of Police come and go, and are all pretty much the same. Like you, he made honourable amends, to which I responded as I respond to you: I am touched by your words and I am all yours. However, Monseigneur, we don’t have much time. Sit by this brazier. One can catch one’s death of cold in these underground chambers. Let me enlighten you.’

  Nicolas spoke for a long time, in the dancing blue light of the coals. From time to time, Monsieur Lenoir would look up in surprise. He asked a few questions, reflected for a while, then stood up.

  ‘Monsieur, I fear I may have spoilt your skilful performance. You can’t catch birds twice in the same trap. This case may have repercussions we can barely begin to imagine. Did you know that Monsieur de Chambonas, to whom my attention has already been drawn, has some very highly placed friends? The Duc de Villars, the Duc de Bouillon, the Comte de Noailles and others of his kind are working on his behalf … Take care, the man has cutthroats at his disposal, who would be only too happy to silence anyone who talks too much. If your suppositions prove correct and you remain the target of the English enemy …’ He paused for a moment. ‘I am pleased that the misunderstanding between us has been dispelled. It was quite unjustified, except perhaps by my constant concern for the King’s service. We must be grateful for this outburst, which has allowed us to put aside the false impressions under which we were both labouring. Rest assured that, from this point on, the Lieutenant General of Police grants you his full and total confidence and that he asks you to consider him as you considered Monsieur de Sartine.’

  Nicolas smiled and bowed. ‘I would be very ungrateful not to defer to your wishes, for that, Monseigneur, is how I always understood my place with you. My position is an unusual one, forged year after year by my presence beside the late King, by my birth, and by the very unusual cases in which I have been involved. The only thing to which I aspire is truly to become once again the instrument in your hands of the King’s service, the only concern that drives me and gives me satisfaction.’

  ‘What are you planning to do?’

  ‘Continue with the surveillance, see what it brings us, and finally confound the guilty parties.’

  ‘Do you think that the Duc de La Vrillière is implicated in this series of crimes?’

  ‘I don’t think so, Monseigneur. But I understand your legitimate anxiety regarding the minister. Nothing will be done by me to implicate a person so close to the throne; you would be duly informed and the decision would no doubt revert to the King. In such a case, it would be sensible to avoid any kind of public reckoning. That would be contrary to the dignity of the State, and other measures would have to be envisaged.’

  ‘Commissioner, I am completely satisfied. You mentioned His Majesty …’

  ‘The King has been kept informed of this affair and is hoping for the imminent success of the investigation. So is the Secretary of State for the Navy; the presence of an English spy and the attack upon myself which seemed at one point to have been targeting the minister, all these things—’

  ‘Yes, yes, I understand, there’s no need to go back over all that. Until we meet again, my dear Commissioner.’

  Lenoir withdrew, his old affable self. Nicolas took a deep breath. It was as if a weight had been lifted from his chest. The great confrontation had taken place; it had been necessary, and it had been complete. Its intensity had thrown light into the dark corners of a hierarchical relationship which could only be exercised happily when trust was given and accepted. The rest had been nothing but empty promises. He could now hope that on that front at least, he would be protected and have freedom of movement. Nevertheless, the Lieutenant General’s sudden appearance in the torture chamber remained fraught with consequences. Now, the slyest of witnesses – and the Gouet woman clearly belonged to that category – would clam up like oysters. He called Bourdeau. His deputy’s eyes expressed both amusement and anxiety.

  ‘Monsieur Lenoir just passed me, looking red in the face but surprisingly serene. What fly bit you and transformed you into that ranting and raving monster?’

  ‘Please don’t exaggerate,’ replied Nicolas. ‘We exchanged a few words. I only raised my voice a little.’

  ‘Yes … like the trumpet on the Day of Judgement.’

  ‘Nothing that went beyond the rules a subordinate of a certain rank sets himself with regard
to a magistrate of a higher rank.’

  ‘So what happened?’

  ‘What I said was very well received, and I have reason to believe that it will facilitate our work. It’s just a question of knowing when to appear sincere … You know how things are, Pierre. There is always a risk in confronting someone when you are of unequal weight: it’s the earthenware pot against the iron pot. Nobody can escape it in the course of a life in which the mark of subordination is uncertainty. The fact remains that if, at that decisive moment, your moral strength abandons you, you will never regain it, nor will you ever again be in a position to convince others. We had reached that crossroads. From now on, the clouds are dispelled, except that it spoilt our little piece of play-acting.’

  ‘The Gouet woman hastened to decamp, along with the caretaker,’ said Bourdeau. ‘I made no objection, not wishing to irritate Monsieur Lenoir more than was necessary. Only little Jeannette, who was shaking and sobbing, didn’t dare move an inch.’

  ‘Send her in. Who knows? Perhaps she can help us.’

  A red crumpled face soon appeared. The girl was trembling and looking wildly about her. Nicolas took her gently by the arm and sat her down on a stool.

  ‘So, Jeannette, you’re not like the others, are you? You’re a good girl, and we have no wish to harm you, you can rest assured of that. I just need you to clarify certain details, do you understand?’

  She was breathing in convulsive little spasms. The sweat had plastered her curly hair to her forehead, and in a flash Nicolas saw the Fausses Reposes woods, and Aimée d’Arranet’s face in the pouring rain. He shook himself, took out his handkerchief and blew her nose as if she were a child. This simple gesture appeared to relax her, and she gave a little half-smile.