Flykiller (56 page)

‘And Ménétrel will be happy, eh?' yelled Kohler.

The bushy eyebrows arched as the faded blue eyes sought him out. ‘I did not kill them, Inspector. August-Alphonse Olivier did.'

‘Th—That's right,' said Albert. ‘Monsieur Olivier took the knife you promised you'd give me. He … He dropped it in the shit. I saw him.'

Saw him … Saw him …

Water coursed over naked stone thighs, releasing bubbles and catching the light as it ran to swirl around their boots.

‘I took Mademoiselle Dupuis to the Hall just like I was told to,' said Albert, dragging off the hat his mother had knitted. ‘I closed the doors on her and held them tight so she couldn't get out. She screamed.'

‘Albert … Albert, she was your friend,' wept Inès.

‘Not friend.
Enemy!
Pay … I was paid!'

Glances of alarm flew between Ferbrave and the grand-uncle. ‘Albert …' began Hébert only to find that the string which had held the sack tightly closed had loosened. Kohler moved, yanked – dumped the bag.

Dead rats and bundles of share certificates, some of which had broken loose of their rubber bands, spilled out. Sodden, the certificates headed for the baths. Lithographed borders bore coloured scenes of Vichy and its spas, of well-dressed
curates
strolling under parasols, the pictures of health.

‘La Banque du Pays Bourbonnais-Limagne et Crédit Industriel, Commercial de Vichy,' sighed Kohler, having plucked one of the certificates out of. the water. ‘Bearer bonds to the tune of ten thousand francs each. Total capitalization: ten millions, dated Paris, June 1907 and worthless. Albert, tell us again how you got these.'

No one moved. The boy, the man, his tricoloured scarf trailing in the water, ducked his head towards his grand-uncle. ‘I help him,' he gushed. ‘I'm the best rat catcher Vichy ever had. He lets me use his chapel. I built a shrine there.'

A nest, too. ‘And did you give him the rats he put in Lucie Trudel's bed?'

Albert blinked hard, grimaced and frowned deeply. ‘Rats?' he blurted. ‘Bed? Uncle Charles didn't
steal
my rats, did he?'

‘You fool!' swore Hébert. ‘Henri-Claude, shoot them. You must!'

‘Messieurs … Messieurs, a moment,' sang out a voice.

Louis … was it really Louis?

‘A few small questions. Nothing difficult.' St-Cyr held up the Lebel. ‘I will leave it here on this lovely old stone bench. Excuse me,' he said to the two at that end of the bas-reliefs, and, elbowing his way past one of them, walked on. ‘Charles-Frédéric Hébert,' he said, and Kohler knew that Sûreté voice, ‘the pocket knife, please, that you are now forced to carry.'

The water found the Chief Inspector's shoes and rapidly soaked into them, Inès noted. He and Hébert were of about the same height, St-Cyr's shabby overcoat open, the battered fedora tilted back a little; Albert's grand-uncle still in Auvergnat black trousers, black cable-knit cardigan and boots. The hands rough, the fingers strong.

‘That old pocket knife …?' he blurted. ‘Henri-Claude, what is this? You allow him to question me when I know enough to put you in prison for life?'

‘It's in your pocket, Uncle,' said Albert, wanting to be helpful.

‘An Opinel, mademoiselle,' said Louis, opening the thing. ‘You butchered those rats, monsieur, but first you smothered that girl and finished her off in her armoire.'

Frantic now, Hébert threw the others a look of alarm only to be met with the mask of indifference. His black felt fedora was swept off. ‘
Salaud! Imbécile!
' he cried. Albert cringed as the hat repeatedly swatted him. ‘Auguste, you idiot. Auguste did it!'

The hat was snatched away, a wrist grabbed, the arm bent behind Hébert's back. Water coursed and fizzed, and where it poured into the baths, it swirled the share certificates round and round.

‘The foyer, I think, Hermann. Unless I'm mistaken, there will be visitors who are most anxious to hear what we have to say, since I've managed to telephone them.'

Laval hadn't just brought Ménétrel, he had insisted on Bousquet and the others being present. Honoré de Fleury, uncomfortable at being summoned and wondering what the future held, was there, as were Deschambeault and Richard. A full house, snorted Kohler silently, but
grace à Dieu
, Madame la Maréchale and the wives hadn't been invited.

Bousquet, handsome and well dressed as always, remained a little detached from the others. Deschambeault stood near the desk; Richard and de Fleury sat on the lip of the fountain. The Garde, still armed, stood to one side with the prisoner.

Alone, Laval sat in an armchair the concierge had dragged out for him, the Premier still in his overcoat, gloves and fedora. Those black patent leather shoes of his with their grey-cloth and buttoned uppers were all too evident, as was the white necktie and, certainly, the soggy butt of the Gitane that clung to his lower lip.

The dark eyes took in everything swiftly, even to noting that among the hotel's residents, a few had timidly approached the gallery railings and were now in attendance.

‘Messieurs …' began Louis, drawing on his pipe and then exhaling to gesture with it as he always did at such times, ‘these killings, the deaths of these “flies” as you called them, Premier, occurred at a particular point in time. There was, of course, the party at the Chateau des Oiseaux Splendides on 24 October last, but then, suddenly, everything was lost with total Occupation on 11 November, the killings starting on 9 December with that of Mademoiselle Marie-Jacqueline Mailloux.'

He would take a moment now, thought Inès. He would let them all think about it.

‘With the drowning, since quite obviously the victim was a little drunk, there could be little question among the investigating police. Death by misadventure. Later, however, my partner and I discovered what they'd failed to note: that Sandrine Richard had threatened to do just that to Mademoiselle Mailloux, and the evidence is that she and the other wives not only knew exactly where her husband's lover would be but when.'

‘Get on with it!' muttered Hébert.

Laval had brought along a bottle of his own wine and a glass, but had yet to light another cigarette or take a sip.

‘Ah
bon
, Monsieur Hébert,' said Louis, unruffled. ‘With the second killing, that of Camille Lefébvre, there could be no such question: she was killed with a wire, similar to that which your grand-nephew uses for his snares. Monsieur le Secrétaire Général thought himself the target and so was born the myth of a Resistance threat, one that you, Doctor, wanted sown and encouraged.'

‘You'll never prove it,' snapped Ménétrel.

‘I will if pressed,' countered Louis. ‘Monsieur Bousquet fired two or three shots at the intruder or intruders, and then beat a hasty retreat to Paris, notifying no one of the killing.'

‘I really did think the terrorists were after me,' grunted Bousquet. ‘Bernard, why couldn't you have taken us into your confidence?'

‘Because, Secrétaire, confidence is not the way of an
éminence grise
when plotting revenge.'

‘How dare you! Pierre, how can you sit there and let him …'

‘Bernard, be quiet,' said Laval, lighting a cigarette and inhaling deeply.

‘A Résistance or terrorist plot to bump off the boys,' said Louis. ‘Little for my partner and me to go on in the police reports and primary autopsies. Information withheld also by each of you, damning information, but …'

He'd let them think about that, too, thought Inès. She had chosen to sit on the edge of the fountain as far to one side as possible, but unfortunately Albert had again cosied up to her, and the Chief Inspector, though he was aware of this, had let it be.

‘But,' he said, gesturing with the hand that held that pipe of his, ‘certainly the killer knew where Monsieur le Secrétaire Général and his mistress would spend the night. A cabin downriver, perfect isolation, and perfect for eliminating yet another of the flies.'

‘Informants. Why not call them that?' demanded Ménétrel.

Ignored … he'd be ignored, thought Kohler, squeezing the water out of his socks and draining each shoe. Examining the burns their last case had given him between the toes of his right foot. The Milice had done that with molten metal.

‘This killer,' said Louis, ‘had his or her ear so close to the ground that he or she knew of everything you'd do well before it happened.'

‘Olivier,' snapped Hébert.

‘We'll come to him, monsieur. But … but what we failed to realize is that although others might or might not know everything in each case, someone other than the killer most definitely did, and so began a tug of wills we did not see until very recently. The killer determined to kill, while this other person hesitated to intervene for fear of revealing the very ear he used.'

‘You said he or she, and now use only he,' interjected Ménétrel.

‘Auguste-Alphonse Olivier,' said Louis. ‘With the third killing, that of Lucie Trudel, there was the possibility that someone might have stopped the girl on her way home to the Hotel d'Allier at just after 5 a.m. I mention it only as a suggestion. We know the details of the killing, how savage it was, but had this other person, this shadow of yours, Monsieur Hébert, really tried to stop you?'

He turned away from them, began to lose himself in thought, tried this and that, arguing always. Then he said, ‘I want to think he must have, but of this I am far from sure. The girl either didn't believe him or he thought it best to let her be, and allow her to escape to Paris. Tragically she invited her killer to enter her room.'

‘And with the fourth killing, Louis?' said Kohler. ‘That of Céline Dupuis at about 10 p.m. on Tuesday, 2 February.'

‘Premier, you telexed and then telephoned Gestapo Boemelburg after you had viewed the body.'

‘I have it here, Louis,' said Hermann. ‘“Flykiller slays mistress of high-ranking Government employee in Hall des Sources. Imperative you immediately send experienced detectives who are not from this district. Repeat, not from this district.”'

‘The whole business threatened to blow up in our faces,' said Laval tersely. ‘A scandal – vans from the Bank of France, the girlfriends …'

‘Informants, Pierre!' seethed Ménétrel.

‘You said it, Bernard, not I who knew nothing of such a serious breach of security.'

‘Messieurs, a moment more,' interjected Louis convivially. ‘Had you not also telephoned Gestapo Boemelburg, Premier, we might never have realized the ear this other person had, but you did.'

‘And
L'Humanité
published your name at the top of their latest list!' shouted Hébert.

‘And you saw fully then, didn't you, monsieur, just how in tune that ear was? You suggested to the Doctor that the earrings and the perfume would remind the Maréchal of Noëlle Olivier; you had him tell Paul Varollier in no uncertain terms that her knife was needed. Blanche and Paul would have told you of it,
n'est-ce pass
? You then sent Albert Grenier to deliver a hamper to the dressing room at Chez Crusoe, a hamper Céline Dupuis was to have taken with her.'

‘But … but it never got there,' muttered Albert, ‘'cause Edith took it from me.'

‘But gave you as a little reward your uncle's pocket knife, the Laguiole he'd had since a boy.'

‘Edith and Olivier let the other side know they were on to what would happen, Louis,' said Hermann sadly. ‘Albert waited on that balcony for Céline, and she went with him willingly enough, since you told her, didn't you, Albert, that Monsieur Olivier wanted her to go to the Hall?'

‘And would … would take her to safety,' said Inès.

‘They did not intervene,' said Louis. ‘You see, by then Edith had told Auguste-Alphonse that Charles-Frederic must have realized where this ear was hidden.'

‘Where?' asked Laval.

‘A moment, Monsieur le Premier. You were not the only person able to duck into the Hall to view the corpse. Monsieur Olivier also did, but the beam of his torch gave him away as he tried to unscrew the second earring and …'

‘He removed the knife, Louis, and then dropped it into the outhouse for Albert to find, because Albert had seen him.'

‘But not leaving the matchstick V for Victory, Hermann. If it had been present at 5 a.m. or thereabouts on Wednesday, he'd have taken it.'

‘Then that one left it. The doctor, Louis, when he pronounced her dead and saw an end to the four informants.'

‘Just as our killer left the cigar band on the counter of the Buvette du Parc, knowing his grand-nephew would be sure to find and wear it and that we'd notice this.'

‘Giving us suspects and suspects so that we would have to sort through them to find the one they wanted us to arrest,' said Kohler.

‘The identity card is left for you to find, Secrétaire, and later, the dress, the sapphires and letters for Hermann and myself – Edith Pascal perhaps, or Olivier himself. Both sides were desperately working against each other, the one to hide who the real killer was, the other to lead us to him.'

‘And the location of this “ear”?' asked Laval.

‘The old PTT next door,' said St-Cyr. ‘Switchboard lines to the Hôtel du Parc and other hotels and places have been reconnected. That is why I telephoned you, Premier. To test the theory.'

‘And warn him!' shouted Ferbrave, as he and the Garde swept out, leaving them in a cold draught that blew in through the front entrance.

‘They'll find nothing,' spat Hébert, ‘because you let him go.'

‘Not at all, monsieur. I had no choice but to telephone Monsieur le Premier and Dr Ménétrel, and it was only as I did so that I realized there were two of you who knew everything beforehand and that I might well have let the other side know. You had your information from the doctor; Olivier, from yours and his telephone conversations, and those of others, including the wives and Madame la Maréchale.'