by Pirate Irwin
He could barely believe it. For him it made Joanovici even more repellent and did not erase the crimes he had been either directly involved in or had ignored while he got rich off the Nazis and the Bonny and Lafont gang.
He stared glumly at Luizet, who looked back at him blankly, and then glanced at Joanovici, who had a broad self-satisfied smile on his chubby features.
Lafarge felt like shooting him there and then but resisted the urge. He reasoned it was not worth joining some of his ‘best friends’ in the cells for this piece of trash, and an experience that would probably result in him not seeing the night out.
“I am surprised by your naivety, Lafarge.
“You after all worked for, and brought down, one of the great equivocators of the Vichy regime, Bousquet.
“Yet you didn’t even pose the question, after you saw me yesterday – why would I, such a high-profile collaborator, be so brazen about showing my face in the newly liberated Paris,” said Joanovici, his voice confident, eyes twinkling with the assurance of those who by dint of their wealth believe they can switch sides as easily as changing a shirt and not be punished for it even if the colour is a different tone.
“Yes, in my line of work I was party to some appalling things, but the cover was what mattered. I know you will find it hard to believe but I did save some people. However, I was not so powerful that I could halt the round-ups, the denunciations and the trains leaving.
“Look at the Resistance cells, what did they really achieve? A little train track blown up here, a German dead there, and for what? So the Nazis could dispense their justice by lining up and executing a hundred French people.
“The deaths of innocent people must lie uneasily on their minds too. Lafarge, from what I hear, you somehow managed to mostly avoid participating in the worst of the crimes, but I am sure you made compromises at times, which in the end you justified by the goal of bringing Bousquet down.”
Lafarge winced at Joanovici’s last phrase. He was right – he had indeed made an awful compromise. Thankfully one that, though no credit to him, had not cost the life of a person he cared deeply for, and he wasn’t thinking of de Chastelain and Petiot.
Mercifully he did not have to consider how he would he have felt, if it hadn’t been the case and that person had died, but the overall goal had been achieved in bringing down Bousquet.
He grudgingly accepted, however, some of what Joanovici had said, even taking into consideration that he was trying to justify his actions, was true.
“People say I sold out to the Nazis. Well, gentlemen, nothing could be further from the truth – I was paying them,” added Joanovici, a smile creasing his lips.
Lafarge didn’t believe that for one moment but kept silent.
“On that note, Luizet, I almost forgot in the midst of this animated debate over my sainthood, which as a good Jew even I would have to decline, Duhamel here has a little something for the good officers of the Paris police,” said Joanovici smoothly.
Duhamel reached into the inside pocket of his finely cut suit and withdrew a large envelope.
He studiously avoided passing it through Joanovici’s hands, stretched past his client, and held it out to the Prefect. Lafarge stared disbelievingly as Luizet leant forward and took the envelope before standing up and nodding deferentially at Joanovici.
He told Lafarge to follow him, turned and walked to the door with his disillusioned but furious subordinate trailing after him.
****
Once they were settled in the car, the driver being a trusted lieutenant of Luizet’s from his time in Algeria, Lafarge didn’t think of deploying the maxim discretion was the better part of valour.
“So, Prefect, the new order is no different to the one you came in and threw out – prepared to compromise whenever it suits with criminals and traitors and take their cash to boot,” hissed Lafarge, noting the driver taking a keen look at him in the mirror.
Luizet shifted in his seat and stared out the window as he replied.
“Listen, Lafarge, I am not going to apologise for doing deals or taking cash from the likes of Joseph Joanovici. I know for a fact he contributed some crucial intelligence during the Occupation, to the Free French in London, and it has been relayed to me it outweighs in the end anything he might have done for the other side,” said Luizet.
“So it is all right to imprison actors like Guitry, writers such as Brasillach, whose editorials were revolting but no matter they were words not actions, and leave men such as Joanovici free to carry on their duplicitousness only because he can pay to save himself. It is disgusting and I don’t want any part of it,” said Lafarge, his voice rising once again.
Luizet sighed. Lafarge sensed he was trying to retain the calm veneer he liked to project. However, Lafarge could tell there was some passion suppressed inside the man which he fought constantly to restrain so as to remain to all the cool, reasonable, safe pair of hands which had seen him rise up the ranks because everyone felt he was unflappable – and probably incorruptible.
Hah to that notion, reflected Lafarge sourly.
“Listen, Lafarge, I am not going to discuss every individual case but just for the sake of it, and because I think it worth pointing out, take Brasillach and Joanovici. The former, a renowned pederast, wrote the vilest stuff about the Jews and openly called for a Nazi victory. If that is not treason then I do not know it by its proper name,” said Luizet.
“Joanovici held no rank within the Vichy state. His religion made him subject to all sorts of blackmail, and nervous every day he might wake up to find he too was to join the trainloads being sent to the East.
“So he made himself as invaluable as he could and like he says, he paid the Nazis not the other way round. Now he is doing the same with us, and we already owe him one huge debt in that he delivered Bonny and Lafont into our hands. Even you must appreciate that, given how close you came to being one of their victims,” added Luizet.
Lafarge of course was delighted the thugs had been caught and were now on trial, not to mention he had added to the crowded space in the dock with his sister Vanessa and Villaplane. He was still sick to the stomach Joanovici was not joining them.
“Lafarge, you are not naïve, like Joanovici said you had to make moral choices. Working for Bousquet it must have been difficult to do so successfully. On balance you achieved a miracle, but we can’t all be like you. You talk of a new order, well in many respects it is. There will be no more train rides east, no more persecution of Jews and minorities, and instead there will be respect for all.
“However, at the same time there is a huge mess to be cleared up. Not just the infrastructure like getting the metros working, the electricity and the water running, but also sorting out who to keep and who to … erm … dispense with.
“Joanovici’s skills and his steel business are crucial to the rebuilding process and hence he will remain free.
“Forgive me for aping the language of our allies the Americans, but just because we rode into town and liberated the city of light doesn’t mean we are all cut from the same cloth as John Wayne.
“There are many who wore black hats before switching to white hats, their motives mostly to preserve their skins. Take for instance Sartre, adored by the left but whose wartime activities are cloudy and the joke going round is he joined the Resistance the same day the police did. By the same token the left is not the guardian of all that is good, and the right does not hold the copyright on all that is evil.
“You look at them and just see one thing, ‘criminal’ stamped on their forehead.
“But we the administrators need them. The way we judge it is they are crucial to the restoration of the country to something approaching normal. In effect, Lafarge, the unconscionable truth, just as before, is don’t trust anybody,” added Luizet still staring out the window.
Lafarge didn’t know if Luizet’s refusal to look him in the eye was whether he liked to look out of the window when travelling in a car or out of sheer e
mbarrassment at what he had just admitted to.
The new regime was equally prepared to do deals with evil, unscrupulous people and Lafarge wasn’t sure whether he really could go along with that for much longer.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Lafarge entered the interrogation room in a foul mood, and it didn’t brighten any when he saw de Cambedessus was not alone.
He exited and bumped into Pinault, who was smoking in the corridor having taken a break from questioning Petiot. Lafarge suppressed his fury at his superior for making him a party to the pay-off from Joanovici, and asked him what was going on.
“He demanded a lawyer and we acceded to his request,” said an exhausted-looking Pinault.
“But you know very well the accused are not allowed lawyers while they are being questioned. Does Petiot have one? No, so why does de Cambedessus get the right?” said Lafarge angrily.
Pinault shrugged and turned to return to his interrogation of the good doctor.
“We are playing by new rules Lafarge, though they are not known to all.
“De Cambedessus had the nerve to ask for a lawyer, saying he felt he merited one.
“I decided so as there was to be no misunderstanding at a trial, if there is to be one, then it would be best for him to have a lawyer present. These are delicate matters you are going to be discussing,” said Pinault as he turned the handle on the door, opening it and shutting it behind him, leaving Lafarge baffled.
He stood there trying to dissemble Pinault’s remarks, which appeared to suggest they would now prefer the plot was not brought to the public’s attention.
It sounded as if the orders were filtering down from the General himself, or at the very least from Palewski, which would be extremely gracious of him given only a few hours ago he was close to being executed by de Cambedessus and his cronies.
This seemed to be taking generous spiritedness to an extreme level and Lafarge didn’t feel like extending it to de Cambedessus, who deserved to be humiliated publicly in court before being executed.
He was going to drive him into such a corner there would be no option but for the new regime to go through the judicial process. He wandered back to the interrogation room only to espy Levau coming down the corridor
“Everything all right, Gaston?” said Levau.
Lafarge shook his head, but rather than dwell on his interrogation of de Cambedessus he was keener naturally to know whether they had rescued Pierre.
Levau smiled, running a hand through his hair, before showing Lafarge a bullet hole in his fedora. Lafarge gasped and started shaking, fearing the worst. Levau put a hand on his shoulder to calm him.
“There was a bit of a shoot-out to start with. Two of the uniforms were killed but Ruffier and I forced our way in and after a firefight we rescued your boy.
“He’s a gutsy little thing your son. He held a gun to the head of one of de Cambedessus’s men … looked like he would pull the trigger too until Ruffier relieved him of the pistol,” said Levau shaking his head.
Christ, thought Lafarge, what on earth had he been doing, the silly boy.
Furthermore he had never allowed him to hold his service revolver. He would have to give him a lecture about that later. Not that he cared one jot for the plotters but he didn’t want his six-year-old son to have blood on his hands, not now not ever.
“Where is he now,” asked Lafarge, feeling as if he should skip the de Cambedessus interrogation after all and be with his son.
“Ruffier took him back to your place and was either going to leave him with Berenice or with the concierge if she wasn’t there.
“We didn’t think the Quai was the best place for him to be. We did tell him off sternly about handling the gun but he just laughed. He said we shouldn’t worry, Chabrol had taught him all about guns and they had even gone hunting together to get food for his men,” said Levau.
“I didn’t dare ask if the hunting trip had extended into going after Germans,” he added drily.
Lafarge shuddered at the thought. He cursed Chabrol for introducing his son to guns but he also conceded that hiding out from the Germans, no matter what age they were, everyone needed to be handy with one.
As for losing his innocence, well not many children would emerge from the Occupation or the war with that intact. All their illusions will have been shattered, none more so than that adults were responsible human beings who should always be obeyed.
Lafarge took a deep breath and, pushing family concerns aside, strode into the badly lit room.
There was just a naked bulb hanging loosely from a streaky wire while the lamp on the table didn’t work.
After dismissing the gendarme he turned to de Cambedessus who was sitting calmly smoking a cigarette – the tobacco smelt Turkish to Lafarge – and purposefully ignored the lawyer.
De Cambedessus gestured for the lawyer – a thin wiry man with greying hair and thick spectacles – to leave the room, allowing Lafarge to smile triumphantly.
However, his smile froze as de Cambedessus informed Lafarge he was only leaving so this man’s partner could replace him. Maître Lautner had come to the Quai just in case the police insisted on holding the interrogation immediately. His own lawyer was preoccupied putting together some papers pertinent to the case.
“It doesn’t matter to me who you have as your lawyer, de Cambedessus, the evidence against you is incontrovertible. The only thing that really remains is for you to write a confession and to sign it,” said Lafarge.
De Cambedessus simply flashed a knowing smile and stayed silent, drumming his fingertips on the worn surface of the table while they waited for lawyer number two to appear.
Finally the door opened and in to his astonishment walked Gerland, who Lafarge had not seen since he had helped him when he was in Limoges looking for de Chastelain two years before and who had subsequently saved his life.
He liked Gerland enormously, but it perplexed him why he would be acting for de Cambedessus. This was not going to be a formality after all, for you don’t hire expensive lawyers of the ability of Gerland if your case is hopeless and just a case of signing a confession.
Gerland, who was portly and had thick wavy dark hair, though by now he was comfortably into his 50s, set down a thick folder he was carrying, patted de Cambedessus on the back and smiled warmly at Lafarge.
“Henri, well, well, well. I’m delighted to see you survived your exile in Limoges,” said Lafarge in an effort to defrost the atmosphere which had existed prior to Gerland’s entrance.
“I would have thought you couldn’t spare the time with the Bonny and Lafont trial set to start,” he added.
Gerland had acted for them during the war and agreed to take on their defence. Lafarge thought it was the least he could do given he had got extremely rich thanks to them, although their murdering his man Hoariau balanced the books somewhat.
Still Gerland was first and foremost a man dedicated to making money and sentiment could be shunted aside in pursuit of that as he had evidently done in Bonny and Lafont’s case. Lafarge just hoped Gerland remembered Hoariau’s widow and two children when he came to pick up the cheque.
Gerland smiled again and then gestured with his head that they step outside the room. Lafarge acquiesced and called for the gendarme to stand guard over the prisoner.
Gerland looked up and down the corridor and, assured there was nobody in hearing range, addressed Lafarge.
“Look, Gaston, I’m going to get straight to the point. As you say I am busy, and not just because of Lafont and Bonny for if you recall your sister is also on the accused list,” said Gerland, his tone reproachful which Lafarge did not appreciate.
“Leave her out of it, Henri, just give her the best defence you can but don’t bring her up again when we are together,” interjected Lafarge sharply.
Gerland nodded, didn’t apologise, and lowered his voice to a whisper.
“Gaston, you may not wish to discuss her but there are other matters pertaining to you I am h
ere about. De Cambedessus is guilty, there is no doubt, but he has been supplied with some very damaging papers and information about you and the Suchet case,” said Gerland, looking none too happy about it.
“I was approached out of the blue to be his lawyer. He was directed to me, I think, because of my involvement with you and de Chastelain. It is the only connection I can think of, unless you have any better ideas.
“The dossier I have in there are all papers I was supplied with by an associate of his, a Captain Fremont. Aside from furnishing me with them he had no idea as to their contents, only that ‘a friend’ of the colonel’s had supplied them.”
Lafarge’s heart began to palpitate and beads of sweat broke out on his forehead as Gerland’s words sank in. Now he could see why de Cambedessus had been so calm and cocksure, even after he had been fooled over the coup.
All along he knew he had a fail-safe escape clause, now the Chief Inspector regretted not shooting him when he had the chance up in Pinault’s office.
He looked at Gerland, who appeared to be totally genuine in his reluctance to be there and telling him these things.
Lafarge thought about braving it out. However, he knew deep down Gerland too must have suspicions about him, not least he had delivered his friend and former pupil de Chastelain into the hands of Petiot.
How neat that all three of them should now be within yards of each other, why they could even hold a séance and try and connect with de Chastelain to see how he was doing. If he was really dead of course, which Petiot had cast doubt on, then again it was hard to tell when he was telling the truth or not.
Anyway Lafarge didn’t have the time to argue that particular point with Gerland. He needed to clarify a couple of things then, reluctantly, allow de Cambedessus to leave the building a free man.
“This evidence, Henri … is it damning?” asked Lafarge, his voice shaky.
“Well I would probably be able to mount a stern defence as a lot of the evidence is circumstantial, but it is damaging enough certainly for you to be drummed out of the force and to leave a black mark on your name,” said Gerland.