The Montmartre Investigation (13 page)

‘Just give it some bromide!'

 

The clouds drifted like huge, dark sails over the rooftops. A poor, skinny wretch with unkempt hair, his clothes in disarray and gasping for breath, was running as fast as he could behind a cab that was making its way up Rue des Saints-Pères. The concierge, Madame Ballu, leapt out of the way on to the porch, but was still splashed as the cab drew up alongside the gutter.

‘Hooligans!' she muttered, picking up her broom.

She stood hands on hips at the entrance to
her
courtyard and watched Monsieur Mori jump from the carriage and help down a young lady she had never clapped eyes on before. Pignot's son staggered after them carrying a pile of hat boxes followed by the skinny fellow who had just heaved a huge trunk on to his shoulders.

‘Well now! I hope that porter won't be going up my nice shiny stairs! I nearly broke my back polishing them!' the concierge cried out crossly.

‘Please, Madame Ballu, he has my permission,' Kenji Mori said, doffing his hat.

‘Permission, says he! Permission! What do I care about his permission? And what's he doing bringing this hussy here? Who's in charge of this building anyway?' muttered the concierge, following closely behind them. ‘Oh, and don't bother wiping your feet, will you!' she barked at Joseph, who was bounding up the stairs.

‘They're here, Monsieur Legris,' he said, bursting into the bookshop. ‘Between you and me, the young lady is a little young for…for…Well, you know what I mean. Will she be staying long?'

‘I have no idea, Joseph, and I fancy you're being rather nosy.'

‘That's a bit rich; accusing me of being nosy when you're the one doing all the ferreting about!'

‘If the cap fits…They're expecting me upstairs, Joseph. I'll see you later.'

 

Father and daughter were standing side by side in the kitchen making tea. In contrast to Kenji, who looked almost embarrassed, Iris had a joyous expression on her face.

‘Monsieur Legris! How kind of you to give up your apartment to me. Finally I shall see how my godfather lives!'

She laughed. ‘Tongues will wag, but let them. Who cares? I'm so happy!'

‘I just need to pack a few clothes into a suitcase and then you can settle in.'

 

Victor looked around his apartment and picked up a few of Tasha's things. He dropped a pair of gloves, some pieces of charcoal and a few crumpled sketches on to the counterpane then carefully folded his shirts, waistcoat and trousers. He remembered the little picture, a nude of Tasha, leaning on the dresser in the dining room and was afraid it might shock Iris. He was looking for somewhere to hide it when Iris walked in.

‘I've been exploring my godfather's rooms; an interesting mixture of styles. Please don't worry on my account. I have already seen the picture of the woman bathing so you can leave it where it was. She's your sweetheart, isn't she?'

‘I'm not sure that…your godfather…'

‘This is your home, and I'm not a child any more,' she replied, following him into the bedroom. ‘She's very beautiful. What's her name?'

‘Tasha,' Victor murmured.

‘The tea is ready,' Kenji said, interrupting their conversation, which he had overheard.

‘And who is she?' asked Iris, standing in front of a photograph of Daphné Legris. ‘She has a sweet, thoughtful face.'

‘My mother,' Victor replied, pointing to an oval frame above his bed.

Kenji silently left the room and hurried through his apartments to the bathroom, where he seized the photo of Daphné and the young Victor and hid it in the trunk at the base of his futon.

 

Joseph cupped his chin in his hand and contemplated the stack of frames leaning against the wall of the studio. Mademoiselle Tasha was really coming along. Maybe one day, when his reputation as an author was established, he would ask her to illustrate his books.

What's keeping the Boss? He left his suitcase in the alcove and said he'd be back in one minute. One minute! An eternity, more like!

He moved the potted palm he had given Tasha last spring away from the stove. It seemed to have grown so much that if it got any more warmth it might burst out of its pot!

‘There he is, and about time,' he grumbled as he heard the key in the lock.

Victor came in without saying a word, slumped into a chair and opened a copy of
Le Passe-partout.

‘What's new, Boss?'

The main headline read:

 

MORE FAT ON THE FIRE

NOÉMI GERFLEUR FOUND MURDERED

AT HER HOME

 

The article, signed by The Virus, described the career of the singer who, after humble beginnings in Lyon, had triumphed in London and Brighton. Returning to Paris at the time of the Universal Exhibition she had become a roaring success at L'Eldorado. The world of entertainment had been brutally deprived of her talent, for in the early hours of the morning her strangled corpse had been found strewn with red roses in her drawing room. On her chest lay a red shoe containing the label
Made in England, Dickins & Jones, Regent Street, W1.
The odd thing was the shoe did not fit her foot.

‘Well I never! That's the same make of shoe as the one that strange fellow left!' exclaimed Joseph, who was reading over Victor's shoulder.

Irritated, Victor went to close the newspaper, but checked himself and looked up at his assistant with a kindly expression.

‘Tell me, Joseph, when did we last collaborate on a case?'

‘Have you started another investigation, Boss?'

‘Yes and no…Funnily enough it was I who advised Monsieur Mori to bring his…to bring Mademoiselle Iris to Rue des Saints-Pères. I was concerned for her safety.'

‘Why, Boss?'

‘One of her classmates, Élisa, went missing from their residence. Mademoiselle Iris had lent her a pair of red shoes, they were a little big for her and…'

Joseph clutched his head in both hands.

‘I've got it! It's her! Élisa is the girl at the crossroads! And would I be right in saying that her murder is related to that of Noémi Gerfleur?'

‘We cannot be sure yet. I'm following a trail that has led me to Le Moulin-Rouge. Élisa's lover worked there. The annoying thing is that Tasha saw me, and you know how she hates this hobby of mine. I was obliged to put her off the scent by implicating you and…'

‘Me and who?'

‘Boni de Pont-Joubert.'

‘Not that dandy! And what was I supposed to be doing at Le Moulin-Rouge?'

‘Challenging him to a duel.'

‘A duel! Hang on a minute! Let's not get carried away! I value my life, you know! So you want me to back up your story, is that it? And what do I get out of it?'

‘You can assist me.'

‘Word of honour?'

‘Word of honour.'

As soon as Joseph had left, Victor examined the card he had pocketed in Noémi Gerfleur's dressing room:
In memory of Lyon…

Lyon. Where La Gerfleur had begun her career. He looked again at the scrap of paper he had found in Gaston Molina's locker.

Apart from the reference to ‘Salpêtrière' he could make no sense of it for the moment.

‘
Cour manon
,' he murmured, his face pressed up against the window.

On the other side of the courtyard, the windows of the hairdressing salon stared back at him blankly.

‘Tomorrow I must get in touch with a decorator…by Christmas time I should have a home of my own.'

Thursday 19 November

A Sudden breeze scattered the pile of index cards Kenji had just filed as a brunette waltzed into the shop flaunting feathers, flowers and jewellery in the most audacious fashion.

‘Monsieur Mori…Do you remember me?

Kenji was at a loss to recall where he had seen those dark eyes and that sensuous mouth. He stammered:

‘Mademoiselle…Mademoiselle…Allard? You…you look more beautiful than ever!'

‘Call me Eudoxie. Thank you for the compliment. Do you mean it?'

‘Yes…yes, in…indeed. I…Please have a seat…'

She found his embarrassment amusing, and when he pulled up a chair she moved closer, brushing against him. He tried to rearrange his index cards, but they fell through his fingers.

‘I came here to see Monsieur Legris. Is he out?'

‘He's down in his dark room developing photographs. I'll call him for you.'

Eudoxie grabbed a catalogue and buried her face in it as Victor came up the stairs. He walked unsuspectingly over to the studious customer, who lowered her mask with a giggle. He was trapped.

‘What are you staring at, darling? Your associate was far more gallant – he at least offered me a chair.'

‘In that case make the most of it. You've caught me at a bad moment; I have nothing to offer you.'

‘Don't be so sure. At least allow me to try to change your mind,' she said loudly enough to be heard by Kenji, who had retreated behind his desk.

She gave a mocking smile, and brushed Victor's cheek with her glove.

‘Darling, I'm challenging you and all you can do is frown! You were in a much nicer mood the other night. I only wanted to tell you about Gaston Molina! Ah, that's better! I prefer your face when it's relaxed. What do you think, Monsieur Mori, should I accept your offer of a chair and tell my tale to horrid Victor?'

‘I-I do not know to what you are referring,' Kenji stuttered.

‘Well, well, how wrong I was. I could have sworn you two were as thick as thieves! Hasn't Victor told you about the awkward situation one of your customer's daughters is in? What's all that noise? Are you moving house?'

Kenji looked up abruptly. Iris was banging about upstairs, rearranging the furniture to her liking. Victor had a sudden fit of coughing.

‘Have you caught a cold? It must have been when you were at Le Moulin-Rouge; we certainly get chilled lifting our legs to do the quadrille. Grille d'Égout insists that the immoral atmosphere corrupts men's minds. Maybe that's what brought Gaston to an early grave.'

‘Is he dead?' cried Victor.

‘As dead as a doornail. Don't worry it wasn't consumption or the pox that carried him off. Some joker stuck a knife in his belly, no doubt for services rendered. Josette went to the morgue to identify her lover, shed a few crocodile tears and then began screaming at him. And well she might! He relieved her of her life savings and left her in the lurch. Be thankful that your customer's daughter is out of harm's way. Has she returned to the bosom of her family, by the way?'

Eudoxie picked up a piece of blotting paper from the table and began fanning herself nonchalantly. Victor made an evasive gesture.

‘I am grateful to you for this piece of information and I shall relay it to my customer,' he muttered.

‘Poppycock! You can't fool Fifi Bas-Rhin! No one can. You can cut off my hand if there's not more to this than a girl's honour. Come on, tell me everything. It's to do with one of your investigations, isn't it?'

‘I'll cut off your tongue, not your hand, if you don't pipe down,' Victor hissed out of the corner of his mouth, casting a meaningful look towards Kenji, who was hunched over his index cards.

‘Oh, I see. This is our secret. In that case fair's fair. I'll keep silent in exchange for a few afternoons with you.'

She had lowered her voice to a whisper. He replied in equally hushed tones:

‘I was under the impression that you were involved with Monsieur Dolbreuse.'

‘Does that pose a problem for you, darling? Louis is a nice boy but utterly conceited. His entire conversation revolves around what he's done, what he's doing, what he's going to do and how talented he is. It's terribly dull!'

‘I ought to warn you that I am already…'

‘Hush! Never say never. Here's my address. Who knows, I might be able to assist you in rushing to the aid of some new maiden in distress.'

He stooped to kiss her hand after reading the card and then hurried back downstairs.

‘Men are a veritable mystery to me, Monsieur Mori. They beg for your help and when you give it they send you packing! No doubt your bookshop is full of novels about the folly of women. How would you describe that of men?'

‘A man most loves a woman who loves him not.'

‘Do you really think so? I'd be interested to put your theory to the test, but unfortunately I'm in a hurry. Please accept this complimentary ticket. It'll give you a chance to become acquainted with Le Moulin-Rouge, if you don't already know it, and you will be able to enlighten me as to the intimate practices of the Orientals. Be sure to wrap up warm; I don't want to be responsible for anyone else catching cold!'

She had barely closed the door behind her when Victor shot out of the front of the main building.

‘Where did you spring from? Like a jack-in-a-box!'

‘Forgive my rather cool reception, Euxodie.'

‘Is that a euphemism?'

‘I didn't want to talk in front of my associate. I assume the police are already investigating Molina's murder?'

‘Yes, that delightful Inspector Lecacheur has honoured Le Moulin-Rouge with a visit. Thank God he didn't recognise me, or I'd be suspect number one. He still bears a grudge against
Le Passe-partout
.'

‘Do you know whether my name was mentioned?'

‘You aren't celebrated enough for the cabarets to be proclaiming your attendance from the roof tops! Don't worry; Lucienne and Josette were unable to describe the dark, handsome gentleman who was hot on Gaston's trail. However, if the police continue their questioning, they might ask to interrogate Alcide, Louis or me and…'

‘It is vital my name is kept out of this!' he growled, squeezing her arm.

‘You horrid man, you're hurting me! When you request such things of a lady you should use tact and diplomacy.'

She pulled away in a pretend sulk.

‘I thought I'd explained…' Victor began, and then plunged his hand into his pocket and extracted his cigarette case just as Joseph, whistling nonchalantly, returned from a delivery.

‘You have very strange manners. Do redheads find them especially attractive? Come now, Victor, let us part on friendly terms. I shall do my best to ensure that you remain anonymous. After all, my ungrateful darling, who else at Le Moulin-Rouge cares about you enough to remain silent under threat of torture!'

Victor went back into the bookshop to find Joseph battling with a ball of string he was using to tie up a parcel of books. The muffled voices of Kenji and Iris were audible upstairs.

‘Another delivery?'

‘Alas! The complete works of Zénaïde Fleuriot
²⁵
for a certain Salomé de Flavignol, Madame Mathilde's cousin who lives at Passy! Damn, damn and triple damn, what a pain!' groaned Jojo, trying without success to tie a knot.

Victor helped by pressing his finger down on the string.

‘Much obliged, Boss. By the way, do you know who Diogenes was?'

‘He was a humble Greek philosopher who chose to live in a barrel. Why do you ask?'

‘Well, that's what Monsieur Gouvier calls the fellow they found in a barrel at the wine market. Though actually the police already know him; he had a record. Shall I go on?'

‘Yes.'

‘This will help me with my book. His name was Gaston Molina, a petty criminal, only if I were to include him in my novel I would change his name. He could fall madly in love with…'

‘Brilliant idea!' cried Victor, rushing out of the door.

‘That'll teach me a lesson. He couldn't care less! He'll change his tune when I'm famous!' muttered Joseph, savagely finishing tying up the most dreadful parcel of books that had ever come his way.

 

Victor strode down Rue des Saints-Pères,
Le Passe-partout
under one arm, reflecting on the article he had just read by Isidore Gouvier. It described how a man had been found stabbed to death and stored in a barrel of wine at the wine market. His body had been there for several days. Gaston Molina had been born in Saint-Symphorien-d'Ozon in 1865. His father had been a silk worker and his mother a washerwoman, and he was known to the police. Caught thieving red-handed, he had been sentenced to six months, which he'd served in a Lyon prison in early 1891. He would have done a longer stretch had the authorities been able to establish his involvement in a series of robberies in the Saint-Étienne area three years earlier. The only witness to his guilt was a peddler who was too fond of his drink to stand up in court.

Victor tried to make sense of the facts. Molina had been the lover of Noémi Gerfleur's daughter, Élisa. But why had the three of them been murdered? He reread the card he had picked up in Noémi's dressing room at L'Eldorado, sensing that it contained the key:

He was about to cross the road to the bookshop when he saw Jojo closing the door and putting up a sign that read:
Back at half-past two.
He had forgotten that he was supposed to be having lunch with Tasha!

 

He bought two portions of sauerkraut and a bottle of white wine at the Brasserie d'Alsace on Boulevard de Clichy. Then, his coat collar turned up against the icy wind, he hurried in the direction of the studio, whistling the tune to
L'Alsace et Lorraine
, but paused at her door. She had company. Standing next to her beside the stove, looking as though he owned the place, was a man wearing a sombrero and striking a handsome pose. It was Louis Dolbreuse, the charmer from Le Chat-Noir he had met at Le Moulin-Rouge. He was after Tasha! Victor's suspicions became instant certainties: she was deceiving him with this dandy.

‘Have you brought lunch? Excellent timing; I'm famished!' Dolbreuse cried.

‘It was meant for two,' muttered Victor.

‘Oh! I wouldn't wish to intrude. I shall sit in the alcove.'

‘In that case we'll need another portion.'

‘Let me see. There's more than enough for three! Look, I don't mind admitting I'm penniless, so I'd be only too delighted to share your lunch. Do you know what I've been living on for the last week? Spinach kindly donated by my landlady, and horribly bitter because I cannot afford the luxury of cream.'

‘You're exaggerating, of course!' Tasha laughed. ‘Take a plate from the dresser, pile it with food and go and sit on the bed. And try not to make a mess!'

Victor waited until Dolbreuse was out of earshot.

‘What's he doing here?' he muttered angrily.

‘Salis gave him my address. He came round yesterday to look at my work. He likes my style. He's a good person to know. He's well-connected in the entertainment world and thinks I should try my hand at set design. I invited him here today to sketch his portrait.'

Victor was so furious he couldn't swallow. For a moment he thought he would choke on his sauerkraut. When he finally managed to breathe again he remarked drily:

‘He won't be able to pay you for his portrait; he's penniless.'

‘I don't mind. I need models.'

‘I can't believe it! You're attracted to him!'

‘Calm down, Victor, please! You're always imagining…'

‘Monsieur Legris!' Dolbreuse shouted from the far end of the room. ‘Have you seen the newspaper? That chap you were looking for, Gaston Molina, he's kicked the bucket. They found his body in a vat of wine. Funny coincidence, isn't it?'

‘Gaston Molina…Isn't that the name you mentioned at Le Chat-Noir?' Tasha asked, glaring at him. ‘And now he's dead? Victor, what are you cooking up?'

That was the last straw. Consumed by jealousy and anxious at the prospect of being peppered with questions, Victor put down his plate, picked up his hat and muttered something about having to go and buy a book. Tasha looked at him, frowning.

‘Aren't you going to finish your sauerkraut?' Dolbreuse called.

The door slammed.

Victor walked into a café where he took a glass of rum and lemon to lift his spirits. He must stop thinking about Tasha with other men, or he would lose his mind. He forced himself to unroll a newspaper on a pole. It was a special edition of
Le Passe-partout
.

The article on the first page, signed by The Virus, was devoted to the Gerfleur affair and gave details of the crime scene. A red shoe containing two cryptic messages had been discovered close to the wretched woman's body and would doubtless provide the police with a lead. Victor was so intrigued by this new piece of information that his disastrous luncheon went right out of his mind. He resolved to head straight for Rue de la Grange-Batelière.

 

The hue and cry was at its peak. On the corner of Rue Montmartre and Rue du Croissant, Victor glanced at a bust of Émile de Girardin and dawdled in front of one of the cheap bookshops, plastered with posters. At the entrance to the printworks, the pavement was encumbered with bundles of the evening editions wrapped in thick yellow paper advertising in big letters the name of the newspaper. High-wheeled carts trundled over the cobblestones, returning to dump their unsold copies.
Le Passe-partout's
offices were a few doors along Rue Grange-Batelière from the auction house.