Flykiller

by J. Robert Janes

  Wear Shalimar, Céline had said in her last letter. That way, if anything happens to me, M. Olivier will know it’s really you.

  St-Cyr had been quick to notice the perfume but would he see that she’d worn it expressly for that purpose?

  These days so much had to be hidden. And, yes, Céline had said she would be wearing it too.

  ‘Stay here,’ said Herr Kohler.

  ‘No!’ implored Blanche.

  ‘Please don’t leave us,’ Inès whispered.

  ‘I’ll only be a minute. Either Albert took the left fork or the right.’

  ‘Or went straight ahead,’ she managed but, suddenly, Herr Kohler was gone from them and Blanche and she were left alone to listen in the dark. No images, no anything. Just a deep, dark, black emptiness before her eyes … Her eyes.

  He made no sound, gave no further indication of his whereabouts, must even have switched off the torch. Had he really done so? Had he?

  Uncannily the water bubbled forth, its sound echoing in the distance.

  ‘Albert’s unpredictable,’ swore Blanche, not liking their being left alone. ‘Edith Pascal can get him to do anything simply by bullying and because he’s terrified of being berated by her.’

  Somehow Inès found her voice. ‘Did he put the rats in Lucie’s bed?’

  ‘He’d have taken the livers if he had, but Edith could well have done it herself. Edith hates Pétain and all he stands for. She blames him not just for my father’s rejection of her but for all the pain he’s suffered.’

  ‘So she killed the four of them, is this what you’re saying?’

  To not even ask about Edith first implied knowing her. ‘Just what the hell are you really doing in Vichy?’ grated Blanche. ‘Albert’s certain there’s something wrong with your being here. He wouldn’t have taken that knife otherwise.’

  ‘And my bag? Why would he have taken that?’

  ‘To find out everything he can about you.’

  ‘But he can’t read more than a few words. Even if he looks at my carte d’identité and travel permits, he won’t be able to understand them.’

  And you’re still so very afraid of him, aren’t you? silently demanded Blanche. ‘He smells and gets the feel of them. He’ll try to surprise us first and then … then will hole up somewhere to examine every little thing you’ve got in that bag of yours. Be grateful you parked that valise of yours with his father or he’d have taken it too. Admit that you met with Lucie in Paris.’

  ‘Céline’s letters were simply posted to me!’

  ‘You’re lying! Lucie told me you’d met each time she went to Paris.’

  ‘Now you’re the one who’s lying!’ cried Inès as Blanche grabbed her by the arm only to suddenly release her hold.

  ‘Look, let’s stop this!’ swore Blanche. ‘Let’s help each other. My father was the best friend of yours. Céline had him write to you about the firing squad.’

  They’d been whispering urgently but had yet to realize this, thought Kohler, having moved back along the corridor to stand nearby.

  ‘Céline did no such thing,’ countered the sculptress. ‘Oh for sure she knew Monsieur Olivier was my father’s compagnon d’armes. Since the age of seven or eight she had to listen to the details of my searchings for what really happened to Papa. One evening she took it upon herself to speak to Monsieur Olivier in the English Garden by the river. Tears leaped into his eyes at her mention of my father and, asking her to follow in a few moments, he led the way to his house. They did not go inside because Edith Pascal was there. They simply sat and talked in the dark.’

  And he told you a little about Edith, did he? ‘Admit it, letters were exchanged. Not only did you write to Céline, but to my father!’

  But why, please, does this upset you so? wondered Inès. And if a little is yielded, will not the same be done in return? ‘All right, we exchanged letters. Lucie and I did meet. The Louvre, the Sorbonne, the Bibliothèque Nationale, the Musée Grévin … She first found me there, but after that would always telephone ahead or leave a message.’

  ‘Didn’t you think that dangerous?’

  All calls were monitored, all such messages were read by others, but was Mademoiselle Blanche fishing for something else, a Resistance connection? wondered Inès. ‘Of course I thought it dangerous – the penalty alone for carrying or receiving such letters is extremely harsh and totally unreasonable, but … but Lucie was my only link with Céline and it was the only way I’d know she was back in the city.’

  ‘And your only link with my father!’ spat Blanche. ‘Did he tell you he knew Paul and I were in Vichy and had been in that house?’

  Olivier hadn’t even mentioned them in his one and only letter to her, but when they’d met yesterday he had revealed as a warning that he was certain they’d been in the house, certain that they had somehow forced Edith Pascal to let them in when he was absent. ‘You took that knife and the earrings from your mother’s room, didn’t you? Your brother’s footprints were found in the snow outside the Hall des Sources.’

  There’d been both sadness and defeat in the sculptress’s voice, thought Kohler.

  ‘Those footprints were from earlier on Tuesday,’ said Blanche tightly. ‘Paul had to go to the Hotel du Parc late that afternoon. Ménétrel had asked to see him again.’

  Had she weighed up that answer before giving it? wondered Kohler.

  ‘See him about what?’ demanded Inès.

  ‘The STO, what else?’

  And wouldn’t you know it, a little blackmail of the doctor’s, thought Kohler. The Service de Travail Obligatoire, the forcedlabour draft. All young men born between 1 January 1912 and 31 December 1921 had to register …

  ‘Paul’s not well,’ offered Blanche, her voice conciliatory. ‘If selected, he’d not come back. We both knew this.’

  The sculptress’s sigh was heavy. ‘So you agreed to do what Ménétrel asked in exchange for a letter exempting your brother?’

  ‘After the photos were taken at that party in October, Ménétrel demanded that we tell him what had been going on at the château – that Céline and the others had been Herr Abetz’s key informants and that there’d been a huge breach of security. In a rage, he threatened not only Paul and me, but must have made certain that Honoré de Fleury knew exactly what had been going on and that Céline would go to Pétain’s room or else!’

  Then Bousquet, Deschambeault and Richard must also have been told by Ménétrel that their girlfriends were informants, thought Inès. Time had then been necessary in order to decide the most appropriate course of action to rid them of the problem.

  ‘We had to take the earrings and a sample of her perfume from Mother’s room on Monday and give them to Ménétrel. We had no other choice!’ cried Blanche.

  ‘But why the earrings and the Shalimar?’ demanded Inès.

  Why not the dress and the rest also? wondered Kohler, or did Blanche not know of them?

  ‘To remind the Maréchal of Maman,’ said Blanche.

  ‘But she wore only the earrings and the perfume, didn’t she?’ said Kohler, causing them both to suck in a breath at the unexpected nearness of him and Blanche to blurt, ‘Only …? What is this, please? Was something else taken? The knife … who took the knife?’

  He would not answer her, thought Kohler. Blinded by the torch beam, they blinked and tried to shield their eyes, the sculptress having gagged in panic and moved herself a good two metres from the translator.

  The raptors, the birds of prey, were some distance from the others, separated by a screen of chestnut, oak and fir and long stacks of cordwood. Much larger enclosures allowed for exercise but not for soaring high on thermals or hunting over field and farm or marsh. Small openings, in the adjacent barn, allowed for shelter; each hawk or eagle kept itself to itself, with the owls more distant from them.

  Still, in all, they were a sad, cold lot, thought St-Cyr, looking along the cages. Perches here and there – dead branches being used, their curled-up leaves caked with
snow. Prisoners, even if royally fed on fresh guinea pig, mouse, rat or rabbit. Forbidden to migrate just as Pétain had been forbidden to travel south to his beloved Ermitage, his farm near Villeneuve-Loubet, for fear the view over the Bay of Angels would tempt him to join the Allies in North Africa. And just like him from his lofty perch, they sulked over lost freedom, even while watching their master closely for the prey, the little crumbs, he might or might not release.

  Blood on the snow, torn flesh, sudden little shrieks and jerking, twitching legs, the corpses carried up to be pinned to each perch by razor-sharp talons. Kites, peregrines, kestrels, hen harriers, buzzards and Montagus … A merlin.

  A guinea pig was dangled by the tail and thrown – taken, killed, ripped to pieces and gulped down, each bloodied, furry lump still wet and warm. Intestines were pulled out until they snapped, the livers, heart and lungs devoured.

  ‘Ménétrel, monsieur. I hate to interrupt your little hobby but time is of the essence. You stated earlier that the doctor had informed you he was going to have Céline Dupuis visit the Maréchal?’

  Just who the hell had put that dress and those beads in her room? ‘I learned of it from Honoré de Fleury,’ spat Hébert, choosing a mouse from a little cage of several, his hand poised then pouncing to grasp the creature, take it out and fling it high. ‘Honoré, Inspector,’ he said, not lowering his gaze this time. ‘Henri Philippe was much taken with the girl – everyone knew this. Did you find the love letters he must have written to her? Bernard was certain he had sent some.’

  But you hadn’t thought of them until now – was that it, eh? wondered St-Cyr. ‘Bernard?’ he asked pleasantly.

  ‘Dr Ménétrel.’

  ‘An old friend?’

  ‘From before, yes.’

  From 1925, when Ménétrel’s father had been the Maréchal’s personal physician, friend and confidant, and nearly always accompanied Pétain, the doctor’s family often joining them.

  ‘An acquaintance, Inspector, but, like Henri Philippe, the doctor keeps his distance.’

  ‘You don’t meet in Vichy when you go there as you must?’

  And often? ‘We pass in streets that are crowded and nod deferentially to each other, that is all and as it should be.’

  A wary answer. ‘And yet … and yet the lives, not only of four high-ranking Government ministers and employees but of the Maréchal are threatened? Surely the doctor must have questioned you, at least about the party of 24 October last?’

  ‘I told him what little I knew, if that is what you’re after. Others were far better versed. Indeed, as I no longer live in the chateau but am housed in the former gamekeeper’s lodge, I slept through it all and could offer only second-hand comments.’

  ‘The organizer of these little escapades sleeps through them? Come, come, monsieur, we haven’t time for this. You saw, you watched – you probably even participated or at least encouraged couples to have their little moments and were as caught by surprise as the others. If Céline Dupuis was the chosen one, and she was chosen for his patient, surely he’d have had a look at her?’

  A rabbit was released, the poor creature zigzagging around the enclosure until its piercing shrieks signalled it had been taken.

  ‘Your former bedroom, monsieur. My partner and I can, and will, rip that stuffed menagerie apart for its hidden eyes, its chambre de divertissements détachés!’ Its hidden little room.

  ‘Ménétrel secretly watched her, yes, but some weeks later and at another party. He said he had to see what Henri Philippe was getting. Later, in town, he even confronted her and … and insisted on giving her a thorough check-up. Honoré left him to it.’

  ‘And wouldn’t listen to her outrage?’

  ‘That is correct.’

  ‘Then you all weren’t just pimping, were you, but had, in effect, made sex slaves of those girls.’

  ‘She agreed to visit the Maréchal.’

  ‘She was forced to agree. Let us not forget that!’

  Trapped in the passage – pinned to the wall by the beam of Herr Kohler’s torch and realizing he’d overheard everything they’d said – Mademoiselle Blanche’s dark blue eyes were moist and filled with apprehension. ‘Paul didn’t take Céline to the Hall! I wasn’t waiting there to kill her! Please, you must believe me! All we did was take Mother’s earrings and a little of her perfume from her room for Ménétrel. Ménétrel!’

  ‘Then why the Hall des Sources?’ asked Kohler.

  ‘Yes, why?’ asked Inès.

  ‘Pétain … The Maréchal met Maman in the Hall the day she took her life. He’d … he’d posted a last letter earlier from Paris but she had begged to see him again and he agreed. It … it was there that he told her in no uncertain terms to take whatever cure she wished but that, as far as he and his lawyers were concerned, their affair was over. Tout fini. Absolument!’

  ‘Does Hébert know of this?’ asked Herr Kohler.

  ‘As he knows everything,’ cried Blanche. ‘He … he hates my father and still blames him for the loss of fortune and the loss of this place which, if you question him closely, I’m sure you will find he desperately wants returned. Why else the parties and the constant attempts to ingratiate himself with the doctor? Why else his involvement with the vans and the money it brings?’

  ‘And Albert and that knife?’ asked Kohler.

  Blanche sucked in a breath. ‘Albert listens to what his grand-uncle tells him and does exactly as he’s told!’

  ‘Albert knows who killed Céline, Inspector. I’m certain of it,’ said Inès. ‘You see, when we were at the Jockey Club, I overheard Monsieur Deschambeault tell his son that Henri-Claude Ferbrave had better find out everything he could from Albert before taking care of him. “We can’t have the rat-catcher coughing up our blood to those two from Paris.”’

  ‘Yet when stopped in that corridor after we’d pulled Albert and Henri-Claude from the roof, you told my partner you had overheard nothing.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, I did, and for this I apologize. I … I wanted to think about it first.’

  ‘And Henri-Claude?’ asked Herr Kohler harshly. ‘What else did those attentive ears of yours pick up?’

  She must face him and not waver, thought Inès. She must try to recover lost ground. ‘That the use of the bank’s vans had to stop. That Monsieur Deschambeault would not submit to blackmail from Henri-Claude or anyone else and that if Henri-Claude didn’t listen, he’d go straight to Herr Gessler to tell him things the Garde Mobile would rather not have the Gestapo hear!’

  Like who really killed those four girls and had probably been paid to do so! ‘What else?’ demanded Kohler.

  ‘That … that Ménétrel is on good terms with Dr Normand who treats Madame Deschambeault at his clinic, and that he is kept informed of everything she says.’

  ‘You’re a fund of information, aren’t you?’

  ‘I want to help. Is that not what you wish me to do?’

  ‘Albert watches those portable toilets in the Parc, Inspector,’ interjected Blanche to save herself perhaps, thought Inès. ‘He’ll have figured out who took that knife into one of them and then threw up and dropped it.’

  ‘But didn’t leave the cigar,’ said Inès quickly, too quickly. ‘A Choix Supreme, was it not? A brand the Maréchal favours.’

  ‘As Pétain did in the Hall des Sources when he gave Maman the final brush-off!’ spat Blanche, only to apparently regret having reacted so vehemently. ‘That … that I really don’t know,’ she confessed. ‘Edith Pascal told my brother and me this, of how the Maréchal had then left his cigar on one of the counters and how deserted the Hall had been at that time of year, the season all but ended. She … she was always telling us things about Maman when Paul and I went to the house. How the Maréchal and Charles-Frederic were to blame for everything and had conspired to allow Pétain to seduce Maman. How they had joked about how easy it would be, that Mother … She had wanted to be set free and had had many lovers.’

  ‘Edith would kill for Augu
ste-Alphonse, Inspector,’ hazarded Hébert, as he warmed his hands at one of the kitchen stoves. ‘That one has never looked at another man.’

  They’d come in from the feeding to find Hermann and the others not back, and Sandrine Richard still sitting alone, nervously smoking the last of her cigarettes, the packet tightly crushed in a fist.

  ‘Kill?’ said St-Cyr. ‘Isn’t that a little harsh?’ One had to keep the custodian talking now that he’d recovered a little from the news that the dress, the sapphires and the billets doux had been left in Céline Dupuis’s room for Hermann and his partner to find.

  ‘Not at all. Many times, when I was chairman and manager of the bank, I would see her at her desk secretly fingering a photograph of him in uniform. A cut-out from a larger photo of the directors. She knew all about Noëlle’s infidelities and was incensed not just that a wife should betray a valiant husband but that she did so openly. Always the caution, though, when Noëlle visited the bank to make a withdrawal that I personally attended to. Always the little birthday gifts for Blanche and Paul who were in awe of her but laughed at her behind her back, a thing that, when she found out about it, enraged her. A woman, Inspector, who, if what Blanche has told me is correct, has kept the dead woman’s bedroom as some sort of shrine and exactly as Noëlle left it. Why, please, would she do such a thing unless deranged?’

  Hébert had to be grasping at straws to take the heat off himself! ‘A motive, monsieur. Even if the assailant is mad, one is demanded.’

  ‘Protection. Ah! I’m only suggesting this, but what if Edith felt those girls had discovered something Auguste-Alphonse couldn’t have them repeating?’

  ‘Such as?’

  How swift the Inspector was to be cautious and suspicious. ‘That those solitary walks of his are not so solitary as many have come to believe. That he has ways of finding things out and knows ahead of time what others are planning?’

  L’Humanité and its list and a certain detective’s name, was that it, eh? The leader of the FTP? Did Hébert really know of Olivier’s position in it or did he simply suspect it?