by Pirate Irwin
This information sent electric currents through Lafarge’s body, for this was the eve of the Count’s murder and also when he was meant to be meeting with GP, which he recalled had been underlined three times. He sighed and regretted he had not made more inroads into the Count’s address book because surely the person, who those initials belonged to, was inside it.
However, what with the outrage perpetrated on Berenice and now the interminable wait for the Courneuves he had not had the time to do so. If only Levau was more experienced he could have left him to deal with the Courneuves and he would have spent his time engaged in tracking down the others mentioned in the diary.
“One last question if you don’t mind. Do you think either of his guests overheard what he said to you?” asked Lafarge while accepting one last cognac offered by the barman.
“No, I don’t think so as they stayed seated at the table while he paid the bill. Look, it is far enough away from the bar,” said the barman gesturing towards a table situated in the far corner by the window that opened up onto the terrace.
Any further conversation was interrupted as Levau appeared in the doorway.
“I see you have been stretching both your legs and your arm,” he said smiling.
“Indeed, Levau, indeed,” said Lafarge.
“Well, sorry to break up the exercise routine but our couple of flighty birds have returned to the nest,” said Levau.
“Thank you for the analogy, Levau,” replied Lafarge drily.
“Let’s go and see if we can get them to hatch a few eggs,” he added as he passed Levau winking at him.
****
The Courneuves had displayed a mixture of annoyance and petulance at being visited by the police at such an unsocial hour, but Lafarge had waved their protests aside and their suggestion he return the next morning.
Lafarge had told Levau to take Marianne Courneuve, who was a tall woman of around 40, pretty but with a harsh look, into another room and question her there while he dealt with Hubert Courneuve in their drawing room.
Hubert was good-looking with a wiry build, steel grey hair that made him look older than he probably was, with piercing grey eyes, and was quite effeminate in the manner in which he moved. His high-pitched voice added to this image.
There had been no suggestion of a coffee or something stronger, nor indeed an explanation as to why they had disappeared for two days although there was, to Lafarge’s mind anyway, an excess of sorrowful remarks about the Count’s demise.
Thus Lafarge, having already taken a keen dislike to the couple even before they met and feeling near to death with exhaustion – the three cognacs had briefly given him a fresh burst of energy –was not in the mood to deal with someone giving him the runaround.
This was clearly what Courneuve had been trying to do for the first few minutes of the meeting which led to Lafarge averting his gaze and yawning ostentatiously several times while admiring the stunning tableaux on the walls. There were two by Claude Monet and one by Paul Gauguin. Those three alone would keep the Courneuves living in the lifestyle to which they had become accustomed for the rest of their lives. How long that would be was a moot point given the wealth of circumstantial evidence surrounding their roles in the murder of the Count.
Courneuve, who was sitting on a floral-covered sofa while Lafarge was seated in a leather armchair to his left, had explained that they had left early in the morning to go and see what state their house in Fontainebleau was in as it had been occupied by a couple of Wehrmacht generals during the war.
“You can only imagine how they had left it,” moaned Courneuve.
“People seem to become animals when they are not living in homes they actually bought. They treat everything with such disrespect and don’t care if they break something – it is not as if we can go after them or send them the bill for damage,” he added mournfully.
Lafarge couldn’t have cared less but he conjectured the Jakowicz’s would have been delighted to see how well their apartment had been preserved through the Occupation.
“Overall, Monsieur Courneuve, I think you should be very happy. I mean you managed to keep your paintings out of fat Hermann’s hands,” said Lafarge gesturing towards the walls.
“Ah yes, the Reichsmarshall Goering didn’t get to hear of this fine collection, though others have not been so fortunate,” said Courneuve casting an admiring glance at the paintings.
“Well from what I hear the fact they are still on your walls is testament to the company you kept before you left for Algiers in 1942,” said Lafarge frostily.
Courneuve didn’t look like he had appreciated the remark.
“I am sure you would have done the same in our position Chief Inspector. René Bousquet was a friend of mine before the war and I saw no reason to cut ties with him, especially given the powerful position he came to hold,” said Courneuve.
“I am not one for discarding friends solely because their political views are different to mine or that I disapprove of their decisions. I think personally he trod a delicate line between collaboration and obstructing the excesses of the Nazis. If he were to return to France I would speak in his defence,” added Courneuve.
Lafarge could barely believe what he was hearing and he wasn’t going to let the weasel, for that was what Courneuve reminded him of, opposite him try and defend the indefensible. However, he was going to be as civil as possible as he wasn’t here to spend the whole evening discussing Bousquet and Vichy politics.
“Monsieur Courneuve, forgive me if I am speaking out of turn and I know you were out of the country when this happened, but I was here in Paris and I witnessed first-hand your friend’s sense of duty. There was no obstruction – there was only open collaboration as he sent out colleagues of mine to round up men, women, children just because of their religion.
“Then they were packed into the Vel d’Hiv and thence to Drancy and after that a nice train ride packed like animals into cattle trucks out to the East. It is an indelible stain on France’s name,” said Lafarge, his voice rising.
Courneuve smiled. Lafarge thought this was just the reaction he had been seeking – to get his inquisitor angry and distracted from the main reason for him being there – and he chided himself for having fallen for it.
“Ah come, come, Chief Inspector, I think you are exaggerating. They were, from what I hear, largely foreign Jews who we could not afford to feed and house anymore and René made the right decision in complying with the Nazis request to send them back from where they had originally come from.
“I don’t really see where the stain comes from. I am sure after this whole wretched war thing is over that those same people will thank the French state not only for their initial welcome but also for returning them to their homeland.
“By the way, did you do anything to prevent it from happening? The fact you are still alive suggests not,” said Courneuve.
Lafarge would have liked to leap to his feet and grab the weasel by his throat, place him in a bag and throw him in the Seine, but instead lit a cigarette to calm down.
“I am sure the Jankowicz’s would be warmed by your words, Monsieur Courneuve,” said Lafarge and enjoyed seeing Courneuve flinch.
“Yes well, Chief Inspector, we paid them a good price given their urgent desire to quit the country. We have no need to feel guilty about that and indeed we can feel proud we even paid them. We could have waited and had it for nothing a year later,” he said, a grin sweeping across his face.
“Let me take that satisfied look off your face, Monsieur Courneuve. I am here to inform you that what you and your wife did in purchasing this apartment was considered a crime at the time, and now that your friends have been ousted from power is once again.
“Thus you and your wife are likely to be charged with theft and grand larceny, and if the Jakowicz’s return I am sure they will wish to reclaim the apartment or at the very least receive the market price for it … without the paintings being take into account,” said Lafarge, a
nd this time it was he who wore the broad grin.
Courneuve looked livid, his bronzed face turned puce and his hands shook.
“This is outrageous! You can’t do that, Chief Inspector. I will call on your superiors to have a word with you because you do not realise how much influence I still have!” he yelled, although with the timbre of his voice it was more like a whine.
Lafarge brusquely waved his protests aside and called out for Levau, who reappeared with Madame Courneuve.
“Monsieur and Madame Courneuve you will both present yourselves at the Quai des Orfèvres tomorrow morning at 10 o’clock for further questioning with regard to your purchase of this apartment and the murder of Count de Boinville,” said Lafarge in a matter-of-fact tone.
Marianne Courneuve looked anxiously at her husband who had risen from the sofa, went to his side and held his hand as if to restrain him from assaulting Lafarge.
“My partner and I will now proceed with a thorough search of your apartment. You are both of course allowed to watch us conduct it, but I warn you that any effort to obstruct us or to interfere with it will be dealt with most severely,” said Lafarge enjoying every moment as he saw Hubert Courneuve get angrier and angrier.
“Monsieur Courneuve, if you wish you can always telephone one of your influential friends and see if they can help, but I doubt that they would get here in time to prevent us from completing our search,” said Lafarge.
“What is the name of your superior?” asked Courneuve, clearly not willing to give a yard.
Lafarge sighed and shrugged his shoulders.
“Commissaire Pinault. Why? Is he on the list of your friends?”
Lafarge could tell that he wasn’t which gave him a double dose of satisfaction.
“Fine, in that case we shall proceed with the search.”
Marianne Courneuve accompanied them on their search, though, she didn’t say a word. She stood by the doorway of each room as they went meticulously through the drawers and looked under furniture and the beds, but it yielded little. Even the oak-panelled study, which held a chest of drawers and a writing desk, held nothing of interest, which given they had returned only a week before was perhaps understandable. Lafarge suspected that they had used the two days they had been absent to clear the place of any incriminating evidence.
Frustrated he returned to the drawing room.
“So, Chief Inspector, did you find anything?” asked Courneuve shooting him a smug look.
Lafarge didn’t rise to the provocation, simply shaking his head.
“We will leave you in peace now, though there will be a gendarme posted outside your door so don’t think that you are at liberty to flee ahead of tomorrow morning’s rendezvous,” said Lafarge.
“However, having thought about it, there is no need for both of you to come to the Quai. I would suggest Madame that you come and answer the questions as I already have taken down your husband’s responses,” said Lafarge noticing Levau’s look of surprise.
Marianne Courneuve looked anxiously at her husband before nodding.
“Very good then, we will let ourselves out. Thank you for your time,” said Lafarge before ushering Levau out the door.
Levau waited until they had left the building before demanding an explanation as to why Lafarge had decided only to question Madame Courneuve in the morning.
“My dear Levau, it is for a very simple reason. We didn’t find any evidence in the apartment inculpating them which does not mean they are innocent – for me it is clearly the opposite. They must have used the time to rid themselves of the evidence.
“Courneuve is so full of himself and his circle of influential friends on both sides but he didn’t boast about being present at the victory parade by the Americans on the 29th where the General and other luminaries were present.
“To me, for such a self-important man that would have sprung to his lips immediately. No, instead he claims they were more concerned about their house in Fontainebleau.
“Thus my thinking is that they deposited the evidence there, probably burnt a lot of it like bloody clothes etcetera, but there will be papers because people like this who are profiteers and blackmailers do not throw away stuff like that.
“It is their ammunition. Thus in the morning you will interview Madame Courneuve on the matter of the purchase of the apartment and I will be waiting outside here to follow her husband. For if my instinct has not left me, I believe he will use the time to go to the house and ensure that whatever evidence incriminating them and others is hidden in a very safe place.”
Levau looked admiringly at his superior.
“Please, Levau, no fawning looks. It could be so obvious that I am proved completely wrong – it is just a hunch.”
Levau smiled.
“I would wager it is more than a hunch, sir. With regard to the ice maiden, do I charge her before you return or wait for what you discover?”
“No, don’t charge her but keep her at the Quai till I return. To be honest I was flying a kite when I said they would be charged with larceny and theft. There is sadly no conceivable way they can be even though what they did was despicable,” said Lafarge.
“The way he spoke about the deportations I wanted to just rattle his cage and strike the fear of god into him. I don’t think, sadly, it worked but if I can get them for murder then I think that should change his demeanor.
“Anyway that is enough about him. I take it from your remark about her, the ‘ice maiden’, that you didn’t get anything from her?” asked Lafarge.
Levau shook his head.
“She just sat smoking like a chimney and refused to answer any of my questions. If you ask me, sir, I think she is Lady Macbeth to his Macbeth and she will prove to be difficult to break,” said Levau.
“However, on our own territory at least I will have her at a disadvantage and without her husband who knows she may not be quite so confident.”
Lafarge nodded and patted him on the shoulder
“Let’s hope your interrogation techniques are as sharp as your burgeoning ability for analogies, Levau, then I won’t have to worry too much about my side of things!” said Lafarge laughing.
Lafarge conceded that the Macbeth comparison was not too bad, but his more experienced instinct also told him that these two may have wielded the dagger against de Boinville but there was somebody more powerful who had handed it to them – and that worried him.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Lafarge’s instinct about the Courneuves proved correct much to both his relief and satisfaction. For Marianne, who had dressed up for the interview at the Quai with a white dress and a navy jacket and a delicately poised navy hat with a veil over her face, exited the building in good time to make her appointment and hailed a taxi.
Before taking her seat inside it she bid her husband farewell with a wave of her gloved hand as Hubert, who was definitely not going to be digging up his garden if he was going to Fontainebleau as he was dressed in a beige suit with a panama hat shielding him from the morning sun, strode off in the opposite direction.
Lafarge followed in his car, hoping that Hubert wasn’t going to try and take public transport because then the chances of tracking him would be nigh on impossible. However, Lafarge doubted that a snobbish couple like the Courneuves would consider public transport worthy of them. Fortunately he was correct for Hubert turned down a side street, glanced up and down it, and then produced a set of keys which he slid into the lock of a far smarter Citroёn than the battered old one Lafarge was in.
Noting that Hubert was suspicious he might be being followed, whether it was because he suspected Lafarge would put a tail on him or he was worried about someone else was impossible to tell, Lafarge kept well back just in case he caught sight of him in his mirror.
With 60 odd kilometres to drive to Fontainbleau, an historic town much unloved by Protestants for it was there that Louis XIV or the Sun King had issued his infamous Nantes Edicts – another piece of French legislation aimed at
eradicating a religion and which had forced thousands of Protestants to emigrate – Lafarge was able to reflect on a successful night’s work.
For after leaving Levau he had dropped in on Berenice who was in better spirits and was talking about sending her neighbor out to see if she could buy a wig to cover her shaven head. He had been delighted by that and in order not to cast a downer on the occasion he hadn’t bothered to pester her about her attacker, preferring to wait until she volunteered the information. Besides he had enough to be dealing with rather than chasing round Paris after what he hoped was a rogue gendarme officer. He just prayed that not too many other women would fall victim to his depravity.
He had more satisfyingly cracked the code surrounding the initials in the diary, after taking a much needed bath, although truth be told it wouldn’t have tested the skills of a five-year-old. The JM and JC belonged to Paris’s and perhaps the world’s most famous artistic homosexual couple, the actor Jean Marais and the playwright, poet and gushingly pretentious collaborator Jean Cocteau.
Both had remained in Paris during the Occupation, indeed Lafarge had seen them at first hand in his previous life, or case as he preferred to view it, at the colourful cabaret club owned by Suzy Solidor, herself a lesbian. On that occasion he had had no need to talk to them, but this time there was no choice.
So he had called Cocteau’s residence in the Rue Montpensier, though the apartment looked onto the beautiful Palais Royale Gardens which adjoined the Comédie Francaise where Cocteau put on several of his plays and Marais performed there to great acclaim – and requested a different type of audience.
Cocteau’s manservant had informed him that both Cocteau and Marais would receive him that evening at eight o’clock sharp, with the emphasis on sharp. Thus Lafarge was hopeful, firstly, that his following of Courneuve would not be a fruitless exercise and, secondly, that the weasel would be pliable and not put up any sort of resistance if he had to take him in.
Courneuve was definitely taking the right route to Fontainebleau and he had not appeared to have clocked that he was being followed despite there not being many cars on the road – petrol being at a premium – but the beauty of having a black Citroёn was they did not stand out. Just in case, though, Lafarge would drop back some of the time and allow a car or two to be between him and his prey.