The Art of Murder (12 page)

“
So he was looking for true
love, then?” Levain could be uncommonly perceptive at
times.

“
Yes, I think so.” Leblanc’s
look was appreciative. “That’s sometimes a tough thing, for a rich
and handsome man.”

There was a light tap at the door. The
secretary returned and offered Leblanc a file, from which he
selected a card and then wrote the information down for them. He
returned the card to the file and she took it away again. This
whole exchange happened wordlessly.

“
In short, gentlemen, my
style has evolved over time. We live in an age that is so rich in
innovations, a decisive era in the history of European
civilization, that anything is possible, for a man like me, but
even more so for a man like Theo Duval. Oh, yes, I knew him well
enough. But he was a type of man…if you will forgive the
expression, he was a psychopath. Most modern psychopaths are
unsuccessful in life, because we no longer measure the justice of
our desires by the strength of our arms or the length of our
swords. But he had the sort of intellectual focus many lacked. He
knew what he wanted, and he knew what he had to do to get there.
For him, ultimately it was about more than just the money. It was
about validation, a validation of who he was and who he wanted to
be, although he was definitely obsessed by the work.”

“
There is no doubt he had a
good brain.”

Leblanc nodded at Levain’s
assertion.

“
And you?” Gilles was still
curious about Leblanc, who had insisted he had no other name,
no
prenom.

“
For me it is about the art,
and I suppose it’s about living the life of an artist, if you
accept that photography is an art. I was born in a very small town
in the Cevennes. Look at me now. Money makes all other things
possible, or I would ignore it entirely. It is also the measure of
success.”

The officers pondered that briefly, but
there was no way to verify such a statement either way.

“
If there’s anything else…”
He was leaving the door to further questions open for them, and
showing them an exit at the same time.

“
Yes, we’d better go.”
Gilles looked over at Levain, who shrugged expressively.

They rose to take their leave of the
gentleman.

***

They sat waiting in the back room,
which passed for Guillaume’s office. Levain checked his
watch.

“
He should be along any
minute now.” Andre’s voice was a harsh whisper. It echoed all up
and down, around their heads, and it would be a dead giveaway if
the man showed up at the wrong time.

He just wanted to get an impression of
Alain Duval, and this was as good way as any. To identify next of
kin was bad enough, but a brother with his face blown off would be
extremely tough on almost any person. He had the idea that Alain
was some moral weakling, but had no idea where the notion had come
from or why it had taken root. He couldn’t take Madame Fontaine’s
obvious dislike as fact. Her petit-bourgeois attitude was
deeply-embedded, but hardly enlightened. The doctor muttered to
himself as he worked on another cadaver, another case, another
series of notes and observations. He at least, seemed happy with
life this afternoon. There was a loud noise and Gilles visualized
the door opening in the other room, the one from the corridor.
There were scrapes and light foot steps. The sounds faded
away.

“
May I help you?” Guillaume
sounded like he had been surprised in a nap.

It wasn’t exactly acting. He was so
absorbed in his work. The doctor’s muffled voice came to him, and
another man spoke, sounding slightly breathless. It was the tension
in the diaphragm that did it. Gilles had once been asked to
identify a fellow officer, a single man, an orphan with no living
relatives that could be located quickly. He was killed in the line
of duty, and there was a reluctance to see the truth up close and
at first hand. His partner had been overcome, and as his commanding
officer, Gilles had little choice. It was tough duty.

Andre was already on his feet, and now
Gilles rose carefully on the dimness. This was why he had taken a
hard wooden seat instead of the creaky old swivel chair behind
Guillaume’s desk, and he made it to the door, standing slightly
ajar, without any unwanted noises. Easing back, Andre let him have
a look.

True to his word, Guillaume had the man
on the far side of the tablet. The sheet was pulled back. There was
a gasp, more like a wince, and then more silence. The man, a
slender person but tall enough, looking to be about thirty years
old, shook his head.

“
There’s not much left, is
there?” Silence ruled the scene as the pair watched. “Oh,
wow.”

The fellow straightened up from the
body of Theodore Duval.

“
What do you want from me?”
He seemed resigned, and he had been warned. “You need me to sign
something, I guess.”

He was seeing what he expected to
see.

“
Forgive the formalities,
but is this the body of your brother, Theodore Duval, a resident of
the Rue Duvivier? Take your time please. I know this is hard for
you.” Guillaume had his hand on the man’s shoulder, and some
emotions were visible in the heaving for breath and the sort of
straightening up of Alain’s head and shoulders.

“
Well. I suppose it is. It
must be.” He looked wildly around the room for a moment, as if the
walls, the ceiling, the stainless steel fixtures and glaring work
lights could give him any real assurance.

Andre coughed right on cue, and the
pair made their way into the room.

“
Did your brother have any
identifying marks? Are you aware of any birthmarks, injuries or
tattoos, that sort of thing? Is this his ring?” Levain went by the
usual routine.

Brothers often knew a lot about each
other, but there was the difference in their ages.

“
I don’t know.” Alain
accepted the presence of the two officers with no remark as they
came up and around on the other side of the table now. “Yes. That’s
his ring, or one very much like it.”

“
Was Theo the sort of person
to commit suicide?” Gilles saw the look on Alain’s face.

“
No. Never.” He seemed sure
enough of that.

“
Can you think of anyone who
might have wanted to kill him?”

The fact that Alain Duval wasn’t
shocked at the question didn’t mean much. He must have had some
time to think on the way back from Brittany. His answer to this
question didn’t surprise Gilles either.

“
Huh. On some level, oh,
probably hundreds or even thousands. On the one you mean, not
really. He really was a good person. All, or I should say most, of
his former lovers speak well of Theo. They parted with regret,
rather than outright hatred.”

“
On some level?” Gilles
wanted more, something specific.

“
His competitors.” Alain had
a dry tone that showed he had recovered well from his initial
shock. “Are you saying this isn’t my brother?”

“
No, young man. I’m saying
that I would like to know for certain. Which is just what you can’t
do for us, apparently.” Gilles wasn’t trying to sound mean or
angry. “It’s all right, it’s just a fact of life for
us.”

It wasn’t just the physical damage to
the tissues, there was also a lot of bruising. Other tissues were
swollen and distorted.

“
I guess it could be him.”
Alain shrugged in a kind of exhaustion. “It could hardly be anyone
else.”

He’d been though an emotional
roller-coaster ride. It was the anticipation, the forewarning of
what lay ahead. The long journey must have been a sleepless one,
judging by the eyes.

“
Yes, well, look, it
probably is him.” Levain stated the obvious. “He was in his house,
in his studio, in his own suit, wearing his own watch, his shoes,
and his own underwear. Sorry, but we’re all tired.”

“
I wish I could be of more
help.” Alain sighed in futility. “We weren’t exactly close, these
last few years, but of course we never know how much time we have
left.”

Gilles couldn’t have put it any better
himself.

“
When was the last time you
saw your brother?” Levain was poised with his pencil.

“
It would have to be a
month, or maybe a month and a half ago.”

“
I suppose you’ll be going
to the house.” Gilles wasn’t making a statement, and yet neither
was it a question.

“
Yes, but first I’ll need to
do something about my baggage. I came straight here from the
Gare.”

“
Ah, yes. We also have
another appointment, and a few other dockets to deal with this
week.” Gilles extended a hand to Alain. “Our condolences on your
loss, and if there is anything we can do, please let us
know.”

To no one’s surprise, tears welled up
in Alain’s eyes, and he turned as if drawn by magnetic force to
what remained of the person on the slab.

“
It’s probably him.” The
sobs were torn from Alain, the words almost indecipherable. “Poor
Theodore! He missed the point, in so many ways, and now he’s
gone.”

“
The point?” Levain looked
into Gilles’ eyes, knowing it was the details of personality
revealed that he sought.

“
The point of life,
Inspector. Theo…Theo had no idea of what life was actually about.”
Alain broke up into an inconsolable grief, one perhaps explained by
the worship of a younger for an older brother, no longer embittered
by the long years of some personal misunderstanding.

“
We will be in touch,
Monsieur Duval.” With a nod at Andre, Maintenon turned and headed
for the door.

His last sight of Alain was of the man
bending over Guillaume’s desk, blinking through tears as he signed
the paper.

Chapter Eight

“
Ta da!”

“
Ta da!” Giroux stared
triumphantly from the doorway. Andre and Gilles looked up from the
endless written reports, wondering what had kept him.

“
The locked room puzzle, so
beloved of fiction and readers of the mystery genre everywhere, is
actually a bit of a myth.” He strutted into the room now, snapping
the door closed quietly and carefully as was his habit. “The killer
who uses it as part of a well-laid plan is fooling himself. That’s
not to draw any conclusions about your current case. I am just
stating a simple fact.”

Giroux grinned fiendishly and laughed
like a ghoul feasting on human flesh, which he was in some
ways.

“
The problem with using
another key to lock the door behind you after a successful murder
is that there really isn’t room inside the lock mechanism. The butt
end, which is the rounded-off portion of the key, sticks in too
far. The keys hit each other and it’s simply impossible, hence the
reliance on needle-nose pliers and the like. Once the lock is
turned, the first key, the inner key, is locked in position. It has
to be turned an equal distance in the opposite direction, and then
returned to the vertical position in order to withdraw it. It
cannot go too far in because of the metallic safety ring which all
such keys should have. Otherwise it could go right through and
stick out the other side. This one has some rings which are purely
decorative, similar to the one at the Duval house. The tongue, to
use a highly-technical word, is what actually engages the cam and
moves the bolt. In our case, the key was in his pocket, an even
simpler variation on the theme.”

The key, along with others, was on a
ring in Duval’s pocket, but Gilles let him have his moment. The
weakness of skeleton keys was the small number of pins in the
actual lockset. It was the possibility of another key that was of
interest. Was Giroux nothing more than a hobbyist? He bit back a
bitter laugh.

“
All right.” Gilles pondered
the significance, but there was more.

“
Now, the other key, the one
that has disappeared. If the end was sawed off, it would still be
too long. The tongue would still be engaged with the cam. If it was
still in the lock.”

“
Right!” Andre nodded as if
this was some brilliant revelation.

“
Well, you’ve got our
attention. Go on.” Gilles threw down his pen and tidied up the
papers in front of him.

He had them lined up in rows and piles
depending on whether he had read them, had questions about them, or
if they still remained to be read. Gilles rubbed tired eyes as
Giroux continued his performance.

“
Sit down if you can bring
yourself to do it.” Levain had only so much patience for the little
peccadilloes of his brother officers.

The technician had other
ideas.

Giroux went back to the office door and
gave a series of taps. The door swung open, and an assistant,
complete with a white lab smock and an upper pocket with a row of
pens and pencils denoting that this was indeed another like-minded
individual, entered the room pushing a trolley on which was mounted
a framework and a two-thirds scale model of a door. The lock was
remarkably similar to the one at the Duval residence. His name-tag
was unreadable at even this short distance, but they all seemed to
wear one.