Napoleon's Police

by Michele McGrath

  “Can I do anything for you?” I asked Gilbert.

  I did not expect him to answer me, but he struggled for a moment and then coughed up great gout of blood which spilled down over my hand. It seemed to clear his throat, for he said distinctly, “Françoise, my wife...” His voice trailed away.

  I leaned closer. “Yes?” His lips were still moving, but I could no longer make any sense of the sounds. Then he coughed again and his eyes rolled back, until only the whites were showing. I laid him down gently and stood up, knowing he was gone. Then I bent down again to close his eyelids.

  I walked out of that room, away from the metallic smell of blood and sat on the stairs with my head in my hands. I wondered what on earth was happening to me. I shook and tears streamed down my face, yet I hardly knew Gilbert. I had not felt like this since my best friend was killed beside me, when we charged at Montebello, in another lifetime. I respected Gilbert and I would have liked to know him better, but he was not Pierre or any of my other friends who died. I suppose that in a battle you are hot, frenzied and desperate to survive or, at least, to sell your life as dearly as possible. Assassination, in this dark and tawdry lodging house in the middle of a great city, seemed somehow different and it made my stomach churn. I think I would even have vomited, if my thoughts had not been almost immediately distracted. Someone came charging up to me from below.

  “Where is he?” a voice called out.

  I controlled myself with an effort and leaned over the banister rail. “Are you the doctor?”

  “Yes.” The man was panting, portly and obviously not used to climbing stairs in a hurry.

  “There’re two of them in here, but you’re too late for one. He’s dead. The other one’s over in the corner.” I pointed out the man with the leg wound, who had started to moan. I stood aside to let the doctor through and went down the stairs. I needed to go outside, where the icy air might take my sickness away. Petit could search the room I’d left and remove the two men. As I got to the bottom of the stairs, someone pushed through the crowd that had gathered around the doorway.

  “What happened to Gilbert, Duval?” Fournier asked urgently as he flashed his lantern over me. “Petit said he was wounded and you’re covered in blood! Are you hurt?”

  “No. The blood’s not mine. Where have you been?” I asked. Then he turned his head and I realised he had been injured too, a savage cut across his forehead. He was trying ineffectually to staunch his blood with a rag. I took the cloth from him and bound up the injury so the blood did not drip down into his eyes.

  “That cut will need stitching,” I said.

  “I’ll live. Gilbert?”

  “I’m sorry. He was knifed in the chest. The doctor’s with him now, but there’s nothing he can do. Gilbert died before he got here.”

  Fournier slumped against the wall and ran a hand across his eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” I repeated and he nodded.

  Then he said, “You don’t make many friends on this job, but he was one of mine. We worked together for a long time. He was a good man.”

  We were silent for a moment or two and then, when he raised his head again, he asked, “How many were there?”

  “Three in the room when we broke in. One’s still up there wounded. Petit brought another down here before the doctor came and the third fled down the stairs. A fourth man, the one who has the scar, went into the house before you arrived. So there should have been four...”

  “And we’ve only got three. The man on the staircase is scarred, so he’s in the bag. Did you recognise any of the others?”

  “No, but the light was bad.”

  “I wonder where the fourth man went.” Fournier swore volubly. “He’ll never come back here, that’s for certain. The whole neighbourhood’s in an uproar. He’ll keep well away. If he’s any sense, he’ll leave the city now he knows we’re onto them.”

  “He must have left before we surrounded the place. I didn’t see anyone, but he might have sneaked past the doorkeeper.”

  “Where is the doorkeeper?”

  Antoine came forward as soon as I beckoned to him.

  “No, indeed, no one passed me or I would have come to tell you about it,” he said when I questioned him. “But, of course, someone might have left when I turned my back. I had to make my meal. I wasn’t facing the door all the time, so it’s possible, I suppose. I’m sorry, Citizen, I did do the best I could.”

  I nodded. There was no point in saying any more. I hadn’t wanted to tell him to watch every minute, so the fault was mine more than his. The fourth man had vanished. Nothing we could do about it. Fournier agreed. We both went back to the foot of the stairs.

  Fournier put his foot on the bottom step and glanced upwards. Then he said, “I’ll see Gilbert's body removed and make sure the place is properly searched. You go back to the bureau and write up the report, as much as you know so far. Réal is sure to want it immediately, especially as we lost a man tonight.”

  “I will, of course, if you want me to, but shouldn’t you be the one to do it? I’ve never written a report of this nature before.”

  “I should, but I’m not thinking properly at the moment and I doubt if I could put two words together.” I looked at him and he was shaking. “I’ll need Petit to help me with the search. You’ll be doing me a favour, if you keep Réal from interfering for a few hours. He won’t come and get in my hair, if he knows what’s going on. We can get on with doing what has to be done before he arrives.”

  I didn’t argue any further. I left him there and went back to the bureau as he had asked me to.

  Chapter 12

  I spent an hour or so writing my report. I found it easy enough to describe the bare facts of what happened. My hand shook so badly, though, I wondered whether my writing would be readable. Fortunately I did not need to include how I felt, or the document would not have made any sense at all. Once I’d finished, I called for a messenger to take it up to Réal. The man told me he was not in. He had gone to one of the state receptions and he was not due back until the morning. The man said he would place my report on Réal’s desk, where he would be sure to see it when he returned.

  The office was empty; Fournier had not returned either. I was too tired and dispirited to go back to the scene of the fight. I also had the strong impression Fournier did not want me to. It was almost as if he wanted to get rid of me and used the report as his excuse. I wondered why, but I knew that he didn’t wish me any evil. So I decided to wait and see what he had to tell me when he arrived.

  By this time it was very late, although, being winter, the dawn was still hours away. The candles had burned down and their light was dimmed. My head kept nodding and eventually my eyelids drooped. The next thing I knew, someone was shaking me by the shoulder.

  “Come with me,” the messenger said. “They’ve been waiting for you to come in.”

  “I never went home,” I muttered, stretching myself to get rid of the fumes of sleep. “Who’s waiting for me?” I asked but he did not answer. We hurried down several corridors, until he left me at the door of Réal’s office. I heard raised voices inside. In some trepidation, I scratched upon the panel.

  “Enter.”

  Réal sat at the table with Fournier facing him. They both wore the arrested look of men who had been in the middle of a heated argument. Réal motioned me to sit beside Fournier. He picked up a paper.

  “I’ve been reading your report,” he said. “Good enough for a first attempt, but you omitted part of the detail. For example, you do not name the man who stabbed Gilbert. A pity about his death, he was a good agent.”

  “I didn’t mention it, because I’m not sure who killed him. Either one of the two men we arrested might be the killer. I didn’t see what happened. The place was dark and Gilbert was at the other end of the room. I was intent on holding onto the man I fought. I couldn’t help Gilbert or prevent his death.” Petit had made me feel guilty. Irrational. In a fight like that, it’s every man for himself
and I might easily be lying there dead instead of Gilbert.

  “You misunderstand me,” Réal said brusquely. “I’m not blaming you for his death. Gilbert had sufficient experience in such things to be aware of his danger and take precautions. He’d been injured in affairs before. On this occasion, he was unlucky and you did unexpectedly well for a new man in a difficult situation.”

  “Thank you, Citizen, but I wish I could have aided him, nevertheless. What has happened to the three men we caught?”

  “Fournier has just returned from questioning them.” He turned to him. “Tell Duval what you reported to me.”

  “It will take a long time to find out what really happened, both at the Rue Saint-Nicaise and at the lodging house,” Fournier said. He sounded very weary, “At the moment none of them are admitting anything and there was nothing to incriminate them in their room. We’ll search the yard where you found the spillage of gunpowder, later this morning. I didn’t fancy going over the place last night with torches. I’ve posted guards to make sure nobody gets in. You saw these men hurry away from the scene and Gilbert’s murderer panicked or we would have little to accuse them of. We can hold them on suspicion, of course. Don’t worry, they’ll talk to us in the end and tell us everything they know.”

  A sudden memory came back to me at his words. “I’m certain they carried away some bulky items from the yard under their cloaks two nights ago,” I told him. “They looked awkward and difficult to conceal. The men took them into the lodging house.”

  “If they did, they haven’t been found. Perhaps the fourth man went to dispose of them. That might be why we did not find him with the others when we raided the place. Another thing to ask them. We’ll find the answer. We always do.”

  Réal nodded. “Fournier rarely fails, do you not?”

  “No, Citizen. They will talk; I guarantee it.”

  “In any event, there is no need for you to remain any longer in the Faubourg du Temple,” Réal continued. “The other conspirator will not go back to the lodging house or the yard. He will either leave the city or lie low somewhere else.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief. “What would you like me to do next, Citizen?”

  “Return to the area around the Rue Saint-Nicaise and continue where Gilbert left off. He hadn’t finished his enquiries, or so Fournier tells me. Any more evidence against the men in custody will be useful, although we already have enough to keep them in gaol until we find out more.” He sounded satisfied.

  Then I remembered something else. “Citizen?”

  “Yes?”

  “A woman was with the girl who died holding a horse when the bomb exploded. We showed her the sketches and she pointed out one of the men she had seen. She said she would be able to recognise him if she saw him again. Also the merchant, Lamballe, might be able to confirm the one who bought his horse and cart.”

  “Fetch the woman. Take her to the prison and let her look at the prisoners. Fournier will arrange for you to be admitted and he can bring the merchant along. The more witnesses the better. Once these men know they have been positively identified, they will open their mouths. Perhaps we’ll be able to find the missing one and any others involved. Go now.”

  I stood up, bowed and left them. Then I went back to the bureau where I had been working, to pick up my cloak and hat. There were several people in the room by now and I thought I heard the chink of coins as I entered — an odd sound. Everyone stopped talking and looked at me as I came in. Laurent held an upturned hat in his hand.

  “We’re collecting for Gilbert’s widow. Care to contribute?” He pushed the hat at me. “Poor woman, her pension is so small it won’t feed a mouse.”

  I dropped a few coins into the hat, thinking that the advance on my wages from Picot had almost run out. The outfit I’d bought cost a lot and so did the expensive wine. I realised I would need to collect the rest of my pay soon, or visit the money lenders again — an unpleasant thought.

  “They’re pleased with you upstairs,” Laurent said with an edge to his voice. So I answered warily,

  “I’m not pleased. Gilbert died.”

  “Yes. Odd that it was him rather than you, the newcomer.” He sounded unpleasant, as ever.

  “I was fortunate.” I shrugged, determined to say no more about it. I thought that, if I did, it would lead me into trouble and I certainly didn’t want to get into a dispute with him. I would always feel partly responsible for Gilbert’s death and some of the others would blame me too. I didn’t know yet how friendly people were, for I’d only met them fleetingly, if at all. At least two men in the room I had never met before. One of them seemed awkward, though, because he intervened quickly.

  “Didn’t Gilbert’s widow send you a message, Laurent? Asking to meet the man who was there when he died?”

  “She did.” He looked annoyed at the reminder. “Go round there, Duval. You can take her the money at the same time.” Laurent said, with a note in his voice I didn’t like.

  “I’ve never met the woman,” I protested. “Surely one of you should go? You all knew him better than I did. You worked with him longer.”

  “It’s you she wants. You were there, we weren’t, but I’d be careful what you tell her. You know what women are in these circumstances. Their tongues wag like dogs’ tails. The less said to them, the better.” Laurent looked at me sharply. “As it happens, none of us has met her, except perhaps Fournier, although I even doubt that. Gilbert kept his home life separate from his work. Perhaps he had good reason to do so.” Laurent grinned but his smile was almost a leer. Then I wondered if I had read him correctly.

  “You go. That’s an order.” He thrust the hat into my hands and I recoiled.

  “I’ll take the money to her, but count it first,” I said. “I don’t want anyone to say afterwards I didn’t give her the full amount.” I took a piece of paper and made a note. I decided that, if she could write, I would ask her to sign the paper to prove she’d received the lot from me. Then I could protect myself from any accusations. Laurent’s frown deepened at my action, which confirmed my uneasiness.

  They counted the coins and put them into a purse which I stuffed into my pocket. I reflected that the last thing I wanted to do was visit Gilbert’s grieving widow. I was still reacting to his death but I couldn’t back out. If I’d had my way, I would never have gone, never met Eugénie and my future life would have been very different indeed.

  Chapter 13

  Gilbert lived in an apartment on the third floor of a building overlooking a small dusty square. I could hear the sound of someone crying as I paused outside his door. I grimaced, wishing I did not need to go in, and then I called myself three kinds of a coward and tapped on the panel. An oldish woman answered my knock.

  “Citizeness Gilbert?”

  “She’s inside, but this is not a good time to call on her, Citizen. There has been a tragedy in the family. Please come back another day.”

  “I don’t wish to disturb her, but she asked to see me. My name is Duval and I have come from the Ministry. I used to work with her husband and I was with him when he died. Also I have something to give to her. Could you please tell her I am here?”

  She nodded and closed the door, leaving me standing in the corridor. I waited, working out what I should say to Gilbert’s widow. I had never done such a task before. Few of our men had wives or sweethearts who followed the army and were near enough to be told bad news in person.

  A few minutes later the old woman returned and asked me to come in. The door led immediately into the room and I realised why she had left me standing outside. When I entered, the place seemed to be full of women, most of them in tears. The widow, it had to be her, sat by the fire, with the others making a circle around her. At first glance I would have said there were a dozen of them. Strange what tricks the imagination can play. In reality, there were only six, the old woman who showed me in, the widow and four more.

  The widow looked up at me enquiringly and I flinched as I s
aw her for the first time. Although no longer young and dishevelled with weeping, she was still lovely. Her light brown hair was touched with grey and her eyes red-rimmed, but the shape of her face was delicate and her skin flawless. Few people escape a few marks of the pox but, if she ever suffered from it, it did not leave any signs. No wonder Gilbert kept his home life private. If she had been mine, I would have kept her well away from people like Laurent too.

  I wished fervently to be anywhere else but here. Yet I had to go through with my task, so I bowed to her and said, “I deeply regret your loss, Citizeness.”

  She rose and gave me her hand. Her voice shook, but her words were clear. “Thank you for coming. I appreciate it.”

  “I only worked with your husband for a short time but I respected him. He was kind and helpful to me.”

  “Roland was a kind man.” Her voice choked and, to distract her, I pulled the purse from my pocket and handed it to her.

  “His colleagues asked me to bring you this gift which we have collected, some twelve francs and seven sous. It can never compensate you for his loss, but it may be of immediate help to you at this sad time.” I wanted to mention the sum before witnesses and I took out the paper I prepared.

  “Would it be possible for you to write your name here, so my chief will know that I have given it to you intact?”

  “Of course.” I gave her a pencil. Her fingers were shaking, but she scribbled her name. I folded the paper and put it away. If Laurent had really given me the task to incriminate me, he’d failed.

  “You are most thoughtful,” she murmured, “to bring the money to me. Please give my thanks to your colleagues. I didn’t expect anything. It’s good of you to be so concerned about my welfare, but tell me...” She sighed and looked away from me. Then she said, so softly I almost did not hear her, “You said that you were with him. Please tell me how he died.”