by Pirate Irwin
“Thus I am searching for the real reason, and I believe I have it. It wasn’t to frustrate Bousquet either, though you evidently did, and it wouldn’t be very good, for you were the big chiefs in Berlin, to learn of your role in it.
“At best, you would be sent to the Eastern Front and well the worst I am sure you are more than aware of what that would be, as you have consigned many to that fate. While I would find your outsmarting Bousquet a foolish act, I believe your motives were rather more venal. Do you know a man by the name of Arnaud Lescarboura?”
Von Dirlinger flashed a look of panic at the mention of the jewel thief’s name. Massu too noted it, making any denial totally lacking in credibility.
“I’ve heard of him. Who hasn’t, he was the poor beggar who was due to be defended by de Chastelain the day he disappeared,” replied von Dirlinger, trying to shrug off the question.
“Yes, I believe that you may not have met him personally, even though he did spend some nights at Marguerite’s, but we will leave that aside for the moment. However, my theory is that you used de Chastelain to get Lescarboura to steal from the Baroness, and then you were all to share the profits from the theft,” said Lafarge calmly.
“That’s an interesting allegation, Chief Inspector. I would hope you have the necessary proof before you take that any further. It would not do you any good at all to make such serious claims against a German officer,” interjected von Dirlinger, but in a tone lacking any great assurance.
“Physical proof I have none, but I have enough circumstantial evidence to make your life extremely difficult, without making it into a public scandal. I realize my chances of bringing you to trial are non–existent, but de Chastelain is a different proposition.
“I believe that Marguerite, who I acknowledge was not an innocent party in the theft but was maybe unaware of your role, was murdered because she did not either keep the jewels or found a way to sell them.
“I think this was de Chastelain’s motivation. He had not only lost her, for she was in love with you, but also the consolation prize of the money. One of those is motive enough, both together are pretty much conclusive.”
Von Dirlinger surprised Lafarge and Massu in applauding the Chief Inspector, poured what remained of the bottle of cognac into their glasses and having taken a sip and swirled it around his mouth before swallowing it, addressed his audience.
“I congratulate you on your theory, which I take it to be, and which certainly would be one I would myself have proposed if our roles were reversed. Without admitting to anything I would say that I did have a different motive to the one I claimed I had earlier in having de Chastelain removed from the scene, and Marguerite was the ideal instrument for that.
“I swear that I did not see de Chastelain from the moment he disappeared, I do not know what happened with the jewels, but you know all too well both of you that hackneyed phrase; honour among thieves wears thin quickly should there be a discrepancy in the figures!” he said smiling one of his smooth smiles.
Lafarge was on the point of opening his mouth, but was quickly silenced as the colonel held up one of his hands.
“You will not find my fingerprints on these jewels, Chief Inspector, and if you insist on intimating that again, I will take action. Having said that, it is obviously in both our best interests you find de Chastelain.
“I can help you with that by issuing you with that most prized of things, an Ausweis. Obviously, I would wish that my co–operation would be signalled should there be a problem further down the line with the secretary–general of the French police,” he said, adding yet another of his maddening smiles.
Lafarge felt like hitting him with something harder than words, but preferring to keep Massu on side, he nodded his assent, without going so far as to say yes. However, he had one further weapon to use before this interview came to its conclusion and he wasn’t going to let it slip.
“I will not make any comment on what you have said about your role, sorry, non–role in the jewelry theft for that will be resolved by my investigation.
“I will gladly accept your offer of the Ausweis as the investigation may well require me to travel outside of Paris, given the information I have been furnished with about the whereabouts of de Chastelain.
“I would also like from you any non–sensitive intelligence you may have about résistance cells around the Limoges area, as it is likely the fugitive is either holed up with one of them or has used one of them to pass him on down to another one.”
Von Dirlinger nodded his head vigorously to his requests, and made to rise from his desk judging that the torrid two hours were over. However, it was Lafarge’s turn to raise his hand to tell him not to be so hasty.
“I have of course suggested in my theory and in an earlier part of the meeting that I suspect de Chastelain of being the murderer,” he said evenly.
“Yes, you have. However, by your tone you appear to have something to add to that,” said von Dirlinger warily.
Lafarge smiled, enjoying the sudden return of uncertainty to the Abwehr colonel’s features.
“Well as I said earlier, much earlier in fact and received a far from satisfactory response, aside from de Chastelain and yourself, Marguerite was meeting with someone else.
“You said that it wasn’t worth your while revealing who this was. However, I may have lulled you into a false sense of security by letting you away with the answer at the time, for I know very well who this very important visitor was,” said Lafarge.
Von Dirlinger looked flustered by this, intertwining his fingers so hard that the two policemen could hear his knuckles cracking, and instead of trying to block Lafarge by some obfuscation, he wearily allowed him to continue.
“I know who it is because, when I did a more thorough search of Marguerite’s apartment, notably her drawing room, I came across a silver cigarette case, down the side of one of her armchairs.
“Now of course it may have been there for a while, it could even, I imagine, have been planted there, but it is not the type of object that its owner would simply shrug his shoulders at losing and move on.
“The case had a very personal inscription in it. It was a personal dedication from Ambassador Abetz to none other than your good friend René Bousquet.”
Lafarge could hear the spluttering of surprise from Massu to his right, while he watched as beads of sweat broke out on von Dirlinger’s temple.
He himself felt a sense of contentment, although he accepted that Bousquet was a far more difficult target to bring down, but for the moment, he would enjoy having got the better of von Dirlinger and taking a huge step forward in the investigation.
Whether he would be allowed to see it through was another matter entirely.
“I would like to thank you colonel for your time, your fine cognac and ultimately your co–operation. If you could be so kind to organize the Ausweis as soon as possible that would be of benefit to both of us. Good day,” said Lafarge affably, leaving a confused Massu to follow him out of the room and a dumbfounded von Dirlinger staring into space.
CHAPTER EIGHT
On exiting the splendor of the Lutetia, Lafarge felt an extra spring in his step at not only deflating the large ego of von Dirlinger but also having had his suspicions about Bousquet re–enforced. However, his brief moment of joy was swiftly brought to a close as Massu gripped his shoulder tightly from behind.
“Let’s take a stroll Lafarge,” he said in a clipped tone.
The two of them walked in silence down Boulevard Raspail, with the sedan following them, Lafarge holding his tongue and awaiting his superior’s lecture, for he felt sure that Massu, having recovered his senses and realizing the consequences of what von Dirlinger had told them, would not be best happy with him.
Massu maintained his silence until they came to a non–descript café further down the Boulevard, where he gestured Lafarge to sit at one of the outside tables, as if he was dealing with a school truant. Lafarge obeyed his boss, who surveyed t
he other people sitting outside, all of whom were sitting sufficiently far away for them to be able to hold a relatively discreet discussion.
A middle–aged puffy–faced waiter came and took their order, Massu opting for another cognac, Lafarge for a glass of white wine, and the two of them said nothing until their drinks had been served.
“Lafarge, I like you, I respect you and I appreciate your work. In the present circumstances that places both of us in a minority. You for getting results and me for liking you,” said Massu with a weary sigh.
“However, I am disappointed that you did not feel it worthy of informing me, your superior no less, of your finding the secretary–general’s cigarette case at the murder scene and of other facts surrounding M. Bousquet’s potential involvement in the case,” he added, giving Lafarge a disapproving look.
“Now it puts me in a seriously compromised position. I am duty bound to call Bousquet and either inform him of the findings so far, which he has already asked for, and to which I will have to add the evidence inculpating him or I will as I would normally in such cases have to call him in for formal questioning.
“Obviously I do not wish to do either. It isn’t worth my while to do so and I may add, Lafarge, it certainly is not going to be very pleasant for you if I were to go down the suicidal route.”
Massu smiled thinly at Lafarge, who puffed out his cheeks and took a deep breath in order not to reply in too brutal a fashion and ruin his relationship with one of his few allies in the department.
“I appreciate that sir. I understand that I have placed you in an invidious position but you must comprehend that I had little option once von Dirlinger started playing his clever games with us in the interview,” said Lafarge in a measured tone.
“It is the very reason I did not share any of the information regarding Bousquet with you because I wanted to keep you as far from him as possible and believe me, I was not happy when I realized that I would have to confront him at some point.
“However, we are where we are now and there is nothing we can do to go back on what we heard, which, allied to the physical evidence, makes it imperative I at least get to speak to Bousquet. That way, I can either rule him in or out of the enquiry.
“God knows I would rather not have to, but I can do it without you and prevent you being destroyed.
“Besides, while he may not respect me, he would be a fool to do me any harm as I can call upon my father, albeit reluctantly, to coo into the Marshal’s ear and have Bousquet’s wings clipped.
“Given that he is gunning to replace at the very least Laval in the German’s affections, it would not do him much good to be publicly humiliated by the head of state, even if it is a tin pot regime,” said Lafarge with a rueful smile.
Massu stroked his chin, twiddled briefly with his moustache, and ordered another round of drinks, which was not going to do either of them many favours as it was touching one in the afternoon and with no food inside them, their liquor consumption for the morning would start to take hold.
“I admire your confidence, Lafarge. I hope it is not the drink talking, because Pétain may be head of Vichy but it is Paris where the power is, that is to say where the Germans are, and who is pretty much the senior Frenchman in Paris, or at least the most powerful?
“Why, Bousquet of course! What’s more, they love him, especially after his enthusiastic support for resolving the Jewish problem. So an attack on him, or indeed any hint of scandal, and I can guarantee you that no sweet words from your father would save you from a most uncomfortable time.
“I suggest that you steer away from Bousquet, you press von Dirlinger for the Ausweis and you get yourself on a train to Limoges and find de Chastelain. That way everyone will be happy, or at least those of us who want to stay healthy and prosper till the war comes to an end.
“There is no point fighting battles that you cannot possibly win, you above all should know that after your experience in 1940. I can guarantee you that the camp you find yourself in, should you not take my advice, will be a lot worse than the POW one. And this time, there will be no early release,” said Massu patting Lafarge on the shoulder.
Lafarge nodded, for he knew Massu was right, but he was boiling over inside. For once again, those who had usurped power, through no democratic process, would get away with possibly murder, and in a case that ordinarily he and his colleagues were still allowed the necessary powers to solve.
It made him sick, and not a little bitter, that here was a chance to tackle Bousquet, the man who had sneered at him for becoming a cop, and he was being warned off even before he had a chance to at the very minimum give him a fright.
“I know, Lafarge, that you are a man of great integrity, and there aren’t too many of those these days, but if one felt that there was political pressure before the war in delicate cases, it is nothing compared to what it is now.
“For there is not only the threat of being shunted into some broom cupboard for pushing too hard, but now there is a physical menace too. Some people I knew before these dark days walk to the other side of the street when they see me now, because they say I am a collaborator. My own family, well some of them, treat me with an air of disgust,” he said sadly.
“Well yes, I might keep my head down and I might not raise my voice, but it is only because I love the work of a detective that I have stayed.
“I don’t go around denouncing people, like some do, lord knows I wouldn’t live with myself if I did, but at the same time I accept the limits of the job and what I can do. I just wish that those I like would follow that example,” he said smiling kindly at Lafarge.
Lafarge looked at the big bearlike figure, dapperly dressed as always and with his hair immaculately swept back off his forehead, and felt genuine tenderness for him. It was a feeling he did not hold towards many these days.
He knew Massu was right, there was little sense in pursuing such a futile course of action, but it was gnawing away at him.
His sense of justice was too strong to just let it ride. Also it was a case of putting behind him the feeble fight that the army had put up when the Germans invaded and regaining some pride in taking on one of those who had benefited from the collapse in French prestige.
He at least knew what the consequences would be, and he wouldn’t bring Massu down with him.
“Sir I appreciate immensely your advice and I know it is well meant and also the right course of action to follow.
“However, let me have one shot at Bousquet. He may not respect me but there are old ties there, which I hope might count for something,” said Lafarge, though he wondered how many newly termed enemies of the state thought their old ties with Bousquet counted for something and would probably see their hopes brutally dashed by his overweening ambition.
“Let me be the one to present the initial report on the investigation to him personally.
“You can say that you are involved in another enquiry and you have not been able to pay as much attention as you would have liked to this one, and there would be no better replacement to relate the details than the man Bousquet personally requested be placed in charge of it,” he said with a conspiratorial wink.
Massu didn’t return the wink, it wasn’t his style anyway, and remained impassive and silent for several minutes.
Lafarge took the opportunity to order one final round of drinks, and went to the bar to pay the bill while Massu thought his proposition over.
While at the bar and waiting for his change from the owner, a big burly man with a distinct Auvergnat accent which Lafarge surmised was ones passport into owning cafes these days as all of them seemed to be from the Auvergne region, he appraised the rest of the clientele.
Even though it was lunchtime there were not many, some workmen dressed in their blue overalls munching on hard boiled eggs and drinking pastis at the zinc covered bar.
Two couples of elderly appearance sat in the corner, treasuring their small glasses of wine, and younger couples dotted at the ta
bles on the terrace, smartly dressed, though, their clothes were not new by any means, perhaps parents hand me downs, but the one thing that impressed him was that there was no laughter.
That was it, these days, the majority of the Parisians went about their business, more earnest than ever, just living their lives day to day, hoping to get through to evening and avoid any trouble.
However, the gaiety that used to ring out from terraces all around the city had disappeared, even when people like those here were relaxing.
The humiliation of the defeat and the dark oppressive forces in charge now, German and French, and no sight to the end of them or the ever deepening rationing, had left most people without the reason or ability to laugh.
Lafarge wandered back to the table despondently, thinking for the first time since he had been released whether it would be a better idea to join the family in the south and try through Isadora’s diplomatic connections to get a boat to Argentina or at the very least to Spain. His defeatist thoughts were interrupted by Massu.
“Well my boy. I have given it what thought is needed and whilst I think you are courting unnecessary danger, I will arrange for you to go and see our esteemed secretary–general. Whether you end up leaving by the door you enter through, I will leave up to your powers of diplomacy,” said Massu gruffly.
“Thank you. I will tread cautiously of course, you never know where the trapdoor is these days, but at least, I can then feel that I have done all I can to honour the memory of the victim, even if there are many out there who view her as little more than a whore for the Germans,” said Lafarge.
Lafarge’s tone may have been bitter but inside, he was elated, for now the way had opened up for him to have a confrontation with Bousquet. With that knowledge, he all but skipped to the sedan, whose driver had been patiently waiting for the two men. It was just as well Lafarge did not see Massu’s doleful look as he ambled to the car, and as he did so, muttered under his breath ‘Dead man walking.’