President De Gaulle told the people of France and the French army in Algeria that he believed the war in Algeria was militarily winnable, but it could not be defended politically on the international stage. Finally, he announced that France would no longer contest the colony’s eventual independence. Gen. Malboeuf very publically voiced his anger and his sense that Frenchmen and the army were deeply offended. The French settlers and the French city-dwellers—joined by the dissident members of the army—were so enraged that they staged two armed uprisings. Reluctantly de Gaulle sent regular army units and fanatical foreign Legionnaires to the colony to suppress the settlers and troops. During the second uprising, in April 1961—with Gen. Malboeuf as one of the principal leaders—a threat of invasion of France itself was raised in what came to be known as the Generals’ Putsch. Rebel paratroops landed on French soil. Retaliation was swift, excessively brutal, and decisive. A noisy and chaotic demonstration in Paris—which came to be known as the Paris massacre of 1961—led De Gaulle’s government and police to machine-gun dissidents and herd them into the River Seine to drown. The Algerian rebels and angry colonial soldiers made several attempts on de Gaulle’s life.
The massacre and the assassination attempts were kept secret for decades. De Gaulle won decisively and was then faced with the thorny issue of what to do with the French generals in Algeria who had defied him in armed conflict. De Gaulle was a thoroughly unforgiving man, but also a pragmatist. His overwhelming victory could easily have been capped by executions or other draconian punishments visited upon his officers. He knew, however, that reprisals would expose to the world and to his own people the fragmentation of the French armed forces and would explode the myth of French honor and cohesiveness. Against the advice of many of his senior officers who had remained loyal, President de Gaulle decided to show leniency … with a price. Every Algerian officer of the rebellion who preferred life over execution had to choose to resign his commission, to retire into silent obscurity, to foreswear any political activities for the rest of his life, and to accept a subsistence-level pension.
De Vincent nodded his understanding to Madame Roussin-Malboeuf.
She continued, “My husband—the proud Étienne Malboeuf—had to eat humble pie and to live like one of the racaille [riff-raff] in a city apartment. He had to gnash his teeth whenever that pompous ass, de Gaulle, made some new gaffe in his public pronouncements. It ate away at his innards; but his life depended on his silence; and so he kept quiet—even with me.”
“I understand that Gaullists retaliated against some of the old-guard army men and searched them out. Many were taken away and disappeared over the next few years; a few had unfortunate and unexplained accidents; and a few were frankly murdered with the murders never solved,” de Vincent added in his slow soft voice.
As Madame Roussin-Malboeuf had been talking, he had been unobtrusively reading his extensive file on her husband provided by Lieutenant Piétri.
Madame Roussin-Malboeuf nodded her agreement, and added, “And their estates were confiscated. My Etienne and his fellow officers lived in terror. We moved many times, changed our names, and tried to become invisible. We were visited at random times by big men from the Deuxième Bureau. Did you know that they have a whole section devoted just to the ‘appenings in the colonial wars, especially Algeria? Until today, I thought that de Gaulle might have forgotten or forgiven my Étienne, and life had returned to some semblance of normal.”
At the end of the Second World War in 1945, the Deuxième Bureau became the modern French counterespionage service—the SDECE [Service de documentation extérieure et de contre-espionnage: English—Foreign Documentation and Counter-Espionage Service]; but for the Algerians and old French cops it would always be the Deuxième, and would always be regarded with suspicion and distaste seasoned with a generous dollop of fear.
“Any names come to mind?” asked de Vincent.
“I will compose a list,” Madame Roussin-Malboeuf said with a hard set to her features.
The general’s wife was bent from arthritis and spinal osteoporosis, and her face showed every insult and deprivation to which she had been subjected. But in her gray-blue eyes was still the fire of determination and the need for revenge. She was wrinkled, and her skin was sallow. Surprisingly to the detectives, as a result of her fifteen minutes of regaining her composure, Madame Roussin-Malboeuf was well-dressed, at least by the strict rules of the 1950s French style when Paris burgers ruled the fashion world. Her archaic ensemble included a mink coat with hairless patches and considerable jewelry. Had he bothered to ask, the detective would have received the answer, “Because it is the style, Monsieur.” True enough, but off by more than a decade.
Enquêteur De Vincent was sure the elderly woman locked in her time warp would produce a list that would include serious de Gaulle officials, and its release to the public would create an international sensation that could topple the de Gaulle presidency and might well result in his and Lieutenant Sylvain Piétri’s deaths.
He simply nodded noncommittally to the widow and took a new tack in his questioning.
“You have children, I understand,” he said, recalling Piétri’s hasty research back at Paris Police Headquarters at Place Louis Lépine, 1 rue de Lutèce, before he drove his pathetic automobile to the Jardin du Luxembourg Park and his quick study of the file he carried.
“Yes, Monsieur, my husband and I were blessed by the Virgin to have two sons, René and Damien.”
“What is their relationship with you and their father, Madame?”
She paused before answering.
“Somewhat strained I’m sorry to say, Monsieur Enquêteur.”
“And their relationship to you?”
“Better. Much better, I am pleased to say.”
“What was the problem between your sons and their father?”
“I am not entirely sure, but it had to do with money and business, a subject that none of the men in the family share with their women. Relations with the Roussin side of the family have not been good these past six or seven years. I think that was part of the money and business problem. You will have to take that up with René and Damien.”
“Would you please write down their addresses and telephone numbers, Madame Roussin-Malboeuf?”
She nodded and began to write.
“I am sorry to have to bring this up, Madame, but I am afraid that it may have something to do with the tragic events of today,” de Vincent said in his slow and deliberate way.
She gave him a quizzical look.
“My associates and I searched the general’s belongings and found a photograph, a name, and address of a young woman. It was prominently displayed. Can you shed light on that finding? A daughter, perhaps?”
She snorted.
“You mean his putain [whore]—the catin [strumpet] Antoinette de Baudry—the famous model!”
She spat out the words with acidic venom.
“What can you tell me about her, other than the obvious, Madame?”
“She was passed from rich man to rich man. First, an Italian count—maybe a Mafioso—then the son of some wealthy de Gaulle appointee, then just before my husband, she did the dirtiness with a chief criminal of the Unione Corse [Corsican crime syndicate].”
“Do you have a name for any of those men?”
“Only the last one. He was called Benedettu Paganucci. But, knowing that lot, it could be a fake name. For that matter, I can’t be the least bit sure that the catin’s name is what she says it is.”
“It gives us a start,” de Vincent said and paused a moment to take notes.
“Anything else?” he asked, then flipped a few pages in his notes. “Ah, yes, the will—it slipped my mind.
“Madame Roussin-Malboeuf, the gendamerie are familiar somewhat with the general’s career and that he came from a well-to-do family. Can you tell me about the extent of his estate?”
“First of all, the general did not share with me his business dealings, including
the value of his estate. I do know two things: first, he took from me my inheritance from my Roussin relatives, which was valued in the millions of francs; second, de Gaulle allowed him to keep his money and property in recognition of his long service to France and as a way of demonstrating that he forgave him. So, I am certain that he died a very wealthy man.
“I know he had a will, revised only recently when he set up the catin in her own pied-à-terre not far from here. I cannot tell you what evil she seduced him to commit against his wife and his children, but I would not be surprised at anything.”
De Vincent glanced away from the newly created widow and shrugged.
“I will leave you to mourn now, Madame. It is possible that I or others from the police may return with more questions. Please do not leave the area.”
“Of course. I have no means to leave at the moment.”
CHAPTER TEN
26 Rue Vavin, Fauborg Saint Germain-des-Prés, 6th arrondissement [6ème], Paris, Assumption Day, 1962, early afternoon
Lieutenant Piétri arrived back at the park with a new folder of papers containing his research, and he and Enquêteur de Vincent drove to Mademoiselle Baudry’s apartment in Piétri’s wheezing old Peugeot. As they drove, de Vincent quizzed his partner about what he had learned concerning his findings regarding Mlle Baudry’s several former lovers.
They knocked, and the door opened wide to reveal a statuesque blond fashionably dressed in evening wear although it was not yet two in the afternoon. Her full-skirted evening gown made of vermillion silk had a disturbingly low décolletage and close-fitting waist that further accentuated her hour-glass figure. Antoinette Baudry’s face was equally beautiful, and her skin—of which a considerable amount showed—was flawlessly white. She was tall, and her height was enhanced by her matching stiletto heels. The impact was momentarily distracting enough to make De Vincent stammer slightly as he introduced himself.
“We … we are sorry to disturb you, Madame … Mademoiselle. This is Lieutenant Piétri of the Gendarmerie, and I am Detective De Vincent of the Paris police. May we have a word with you?”
“Please come in, gentlemen. I am about to be joined by my gentleman friend for an important Assumption Day gathering; so, I will not have long to talk. May I ask what this is about?” she asked as she showed the men into her sitting room.
De Vincent carried the conversation at this point, “Are you Mademoiselle Antoinette Baudry?”
“Yes. Why do you ask?”
She was not entirely a stranger to visits by law enforcement officers, and now she was on her guard.
“Is your gentleman friend General Étienne Malboeuf, Mademoiselle?”
“Yes, he is,” she replied, entirely focused on the Enquêteur’s face.
“I am afraid that we are the bearers of bad news, Mlle Baudry. It seems that the general has been the victim of a crime … he has been murdered in the park.”
Antoinette gasped and threw her hand to her mouth. Her eyes demonstrated her consternation and bewilderment. She did not cry. It appeared she could not yet process the information entirely.
“We are most sorry for your loss and wish that we did not have to intrude on your privacy at a time like this, but the circumstances are under investigation. Time is of the essence, and we must gather information that can lead us to the murderer or murderers. We are in need of your help, Memwzel.”
Antoinette worked to regain her composure.
“May I sit down, please?” she asked in the voice of a confused young girl, no longer the fashionable sophisticate.
She absent-mindedly brushed back her honey-blond hair to expose her ears. The hair quickly resumed its original ear-covering position.
“But, of course, Memwzel. We will take seats as well. We know this is a shock for you.”
“Please call me Antoinette. I would be more comfortable with that.”
“Certainly. We hope our conversation can be quite informal.”
“Now … how can I help you, Officers?” Antoinette said, having regained her voice and most of her composure.
Quiet tears were slowly running down her well made-up cheeks.
“Please tell us what you can of the general, his family, his friends … and his enemies, Antoinette. If you don’t mind, my partner will take notes as we talk.”
She nodded. “My Etienne, is … was … a retired Général de division in the army, a hero of three wars. Perhaps you are aware that he was … shall we say … on the wrong side in the General’s Putsch and opposed our beloved president. He was forgiven his mistake. He has been silent on the subjects of politics, that war, and in fact, anything to do with Algeria since I have known him.”
“How long was that, Antoinette?”
“About three years.”
“Go on.”
“Let me think. What can I tell you that might help in your investigation? I do recall one unfortunate encounter with a member of the de Gaulle government … a man named Louis Charles de la Reynie. I remember because he was quite threatening and insisted that both of us never forget him or his name because he would be watching our every move. I believed him, but my Etienne told me not to worry. He could not fool me. He was worried, and always looked over his shoulder when we went out.”
“Any other government officials, Antoinette?”
“Two that I can remember for the moment. They did not seem to be so threatening, but Etienne told me to be careful what I said around them. One is a man you probably know: Jean-Baptiste Berryer.”
Both de Vincent and Piétri blanched at the name. Berryer was the sitting lieutenant general of police, the commander of all police forces in France. They knew that Antoinette would do well to be careful of that man who had the ear of de Gaulle and a reputation as a most political and unforgiving man.
Antoinette nodded in acknowledgment of the impact Berryer’s name had on the two police officers. She gave Piétri a moment to make his note.
“The other man was named Louis Thiroux d’Albert, an ugly man with a deep scar on his left cheek. He had a limp. We met him at a reception for old World War I veterans, a dinner that took place in Lyon. He warned Etienne not to attend any more army gatherings. He was being watched, and the president might consider such attendance to be a violation of his promise not to associate with officers in public or private. It was the last army function we attended.”
Louis Thiroux d’Albert was a shadowy figure. De Vincent assumed he was the head of de Gaulle’s intelligence service, or at least a senior officer and a man more to be feared than Berryer or anyone else in government except de Gaulle himself. De Gaulle created the BCRA [Bureau central de renseignements et d’action] in 1942 under the auspices of the Free French government-in-exile in London. The third iteration of the BCRA became the SDECE [Service de documentation extérieure et de contre-espionnage, the Foreign Documentation and Counter-Espionage Service] in 1945. D’Albert was known to be—but seldom mentioned to be in public—the most senior officer in the SDECE, and one of the most feared individuals in French history.
Piétri gave de Vincent a quick look that said, “CAUTION,” a message that was unnecessary to the senior detective.
“Anyone else from the government?”
“Not that I recall.”
“Any other potential enemies, Antoinette? Even maybe associates of yours? Anyone who might like to see Etienne dead?”
“Not really, except for his sons.”
“Let’s leave them for the moment. How about your … friends, or former friends?”
“I presume you have reference to my lovers and … protectors … before Gen. Malboeuf came into my life. Probably you already know about Benedettu Paganucci and Dominic Rizzuto or Tony Lagomarsino. We are all still friends. Actually, I think Benedettu still sort of loves me. He asked me to move back to France for my own protection. It was during a time when the Italian government had one of their crusades against the Mafia. We keep in touch. Benedettu is not a jealous man, and Dominic and Tony work
for him. Sometimes when I can have a vacation, I go to Sicily and pal around with the three of them … on the quiet, if you know what I mean.”
De Vincent nodded.
“Now, how about Gen. Malboeuf’s sons?”
“René and Damien. He had an older son named after himself who was killed in the war. We never talked about him. It was a very sensitive subject and made Etienne emotional. René and Damien were estranged from their father over some business enterprises that went sour. They knew that he made a new will a couple of years ago and presumed that they were cut out of their inheritances; so, they were very angry.”
“Angry enough to kill him?”
“Maybe, but they were wrong about the will—at least partly wrong.”
“How so?”
“It was a big secret while Etienne was still alive, but I am sure it will come out in your investigation and in the papers, I suppose. René and Damien’s and Etienne’s wife Monica’s portions of the estate were cut in half, but that was still several million francs. Monica came to my apartment twice and threatened to have me killed. Etienne told her to mind her own business. He never told his sons, because they refused to talk to him.”
“What is to become of the other half of the estate?” Piétri asked, looking up from his note-taking.
“One half of it comes to me, and the other half goes to the army veteran’s pension fund.”
“I take it that Gen. Malboeuf kept very few secrets from you, Antoinette,” Piétri said.
“That is one of the reasons Etienne kept me. We are … or were … friends. We were lovers at the beginning; but you know, he was getting a bit too old for much of that. He knew about Benedetto and said that he didn’t mind so long as I did not leave him. He needed someone to confide in that he could trust.”
“Have René and Damien made threats against you?”
The Charlemagne Murders Page 10