The Thirteenth Bullet

by Marcel Lanteaume

  ‘To what do you attribute that pointless... performance?’

  ‘Pointless is not entirely accurate. Richard still needed two or three days to receive the letter from Cairo. But, above all, he succumbed to the giddy sensation of success a criminal feels after he’s escaped justice for a while. He had decided that his father could no longer play his role. The professor’s illness must have changed his plans. It was so simple. But he was at the stage where simplicity was not enough, and he craved new sensations. André Richard had tasted the voluptuous pleasure of succeeding in his plans in spite of everything.

  ‘His sick father could not have led that pseudo-investigation we held last Monday, with such a vivid account. No matter. He himself, in disguise, would do it. Remember, also, that for eight days, nobody who was close to him actually saw him. He only met strangers who knew the professor’s face from the newspapers, and didn’t see him close-up. Easy successes that went to Richard’s head. It was to be expected that he would undertake a more challenging ordeal. There was also, in such a re-incarnation, a deeper motive which I will explain later.’

  ‘But, having succeeded, why did he want to kill Maryse as well?’

  ‘For two reasons. The first was that André Richard wanted, not just to escape, but to remain unknown. He made it a quixotic point of honour that the Richard name emerge unblemished from the adventure. He believed that the puzzle of the bunker murder would remain unsolved and, for that, nobody must think of him or his father. But Maryse had seen him. She hadn’t recognised him there and then, but it was inevitable that, sooner or later, she would realise. For the honour of his name—as Dumas once said—it was necessary to eliminate her. The method chosen was hardly simple, but the idea of shooting his cousin point blank was something that even Richard couldn’t stomach.

  ‘The second reason was unknown to Richard himself, but I have no doubt that, in the end, it was more decisive than the first. André had never stopped loving Maryse and, subconsciously, wanted to avenge her disdain for him.

  ‘Whatever the reason, the combination of his passions led to the last bravado of the monster and his defeat.’

  There was a short silence, then Bob continued:

  ‘From my personal point of view, the real tragedy isn’t any of the twelve or thirteen crimes in succession. It’s not even all of them together. No. It’s the dreadful collapse of a father who sees a life wholly devoted to a pursuit of justice scorned and vilified by the very person he is obliged to defend. Think how it must have been for Richard who, for ages, had fought to defend people from death, from illness or crime, to be confronted by the most terrible criminal he had ever confronted, and the revelation of his identity.

  ‘That tragedy played out in the mind and heart of the scientist and, if the latter resisted, the former collapsed. Not suddenly. Not completely, either. Total madness can be as merciful as death. Neither happened to thedistraught father and it was left to him after, horribly, having raised the criminal, to become his accomplice. I say horribly, because if Professor Richard, after several days of confusion, was dazzled by the lure of enormous wealth and power and, above all, a deranged paternal love, he never lost his moral compass and, in contrast to his son, judged himself very severely.

  ‘I think the poisoning of the Russian was just a defensive reflex. At the time, Richard, who understood the tragedy, had not made contact with his son. He knew nothing of the genesis of the affair. It was only later... but let’s start at the beginning. The psychology of André Richard will shine light on the events.

  ‘His feelings towards his father were very complex. The word is especially appropriate because, as you know, in Freudian terminology, it refers to the repressed emotions that are the basis for so many pathological mental states. That the Oedipus Complex played a role in André’s case, there is no doubt. Whilst his mother was alive, he had a jealous love for her. Jealous, in the passionate sense, of his father, for whom he had a veritable hatred. The death of his mother soon afterwards diverted that sentiment. André became closer to the professor and the pride he took in his glory and renown brought to the fore what is, in the Oedipus Complex, the substitution of the son for the father. That was the real reason for André’s supposed scientific vocation. He was intelligent enough to succeed brilliantly, but he did not have his father’s zeal. Without the desire to identify with his father, André would undoubtedly have taken up a career rich in material benefits. Maryse herself noted that her cousin often wanted to cut his career short, with an eye on politics. In any case, his manner was curt and dry, and even when he dealt with patients, he was unfeeling and unsympathetic. Another unequivocal proof of that mentality and the underlying psychology was the pleasure that the young André derived from aping his father and disguising himself to look like him. He was fifteen when he attended his first masked ball and appeared in a wig, a beard, and small frock coat, the very image of his father.’

  ‘I know,’ said Maryse, ‘I have a photo of him. The resemblance is striking.’

  ‘The curious thing is that, at the beginning of the case, Professor Richard, completely committed to the task at hand, threw himself wholeheartedly into the mission. Not knowing initially the adversary he was confronting, the desire to win enabled him to get back to normal. If we saw him ready to give up a couple of times, it was doubtless because he was becoming suspicious, but he quickly recovered his confidence, and his determination to do a good job was enough to forget the months of discouragement.

  ‘That only made his fall so much harder. I must admit I didn’t know how the revelation had dawned on him until André Richard explained. The professor had come to know Gregor from his service to his son, whom he visited occasionally. The Russian, who had entered the clinic as a patient, spent his convalescence as a voluntary nurse. So he knew the young doctor well. We now know that, during the crime at Villemomble, the latter’s hat fell off, revealing the scar. Did Gregor also recognize the professor? I don’t know, but there was a look of terror on his face when he saw Richard. Moreover, his hand mechanically traced the shape of a U on his cranium. It was at that moment that the professor solved the problem of the man in grey. But at what a price! The biggest victim was himself.

  ‘In asort of high-speed film, he imagined the consequences of the revelation. Did he hesitate? We don’t yet know, but we shouldn’t be in a hurry to judge him. His reason had already been under attack. Delivering the criminal is beyond his ability. His son has been returned to him. Will he lose him again? Will he discuss his well-being? A criminal son is still a son, and is not to be rejected once one has experienced the rare joy of finding him. Oh, I know there are morality and society to be considered. Richard has served both for many years, but this time he deserts them. He makes a quick decision. But, note one very important point: when he decides to poison the Russian, he doesn’t yet know that André’s bullet is in his chest. He cannot therefore foresee the baffling problem of the bunker. In fact, he assumes that he will automatically be suspected, and accepts that risk calmly. To save his son, he kills, almost openly.

  ‘You can see we’re a long way from the professor acquiring a taste for murder. He’s lost his footing, certainly, but he’s still only a father coming to the aid of his son.

  ‘That night changed everything. André had been able to approach the fort and, even though he was unaware of his father’s decisive intervention, he knew that the professor was aware of what he had done. What decision had he taken? André had to know and so, risking everything, he went to find his father at Rue Cassini.

  ‘What a scene! He told me about it this morning, with such cynicism that it left me shattered to hear it.

  ‘Following the discovery of Gregor’s body, the professor, having played his role with great art and precision, and leaving us in a state of alarm and mystification, returned home.

  ‘The completion of his work, after he’d found himself face to face with the horrible situation, triggered intense debates of conscience. On the one hand, a
ll his passion for justice, all his habits of goodness and honesty, everything which had formed his character and which he refused to abandon, compelled him to remain Professor Richard, the great criminologist. On the other hand, the twin temptations of fortune and power and the desire, on the brink of death, to thumb his nose at society and inflict a stinging revenge. If you add to all that the fact that the tempter was his own son, you will understand that everything conspired to destabilise him.

  ‘I would add that André Richard explained to me that, during the eight days he forcibly incarcerated his father, he derived intense pleasure speaking to his listeners as his father would have done, with the same sarcasm and mockery. And all the more pleasurable because the opinions he expressed were as far as possible from his own personal convictions. There was a sort of macabre sadism, bordering on vampirism. He thus defiled the spirit of his father, at death’s door, abominably mocking the man he once held in the greatest esteem. And the better he played his role, the more his speech reflected the opinions of the dying man, and the more his satisfaction was complete.

  ‘From that moment on, the son had an accomplice who brought the advantages of his position to add to his qualities of intelligence and imagination. It’s a miracle that, in such circumstances, the two criminals failed to triumph over the police, who were at their service.

  ‘In my opinion, two factors worked against them: first of all, their self-infatuation. They thought too highly of themselves and imagined no one would ever tumble to their game. They neglected certain elementary precautions, such as my assassination. My second advantage is that I work outside normal police channels. I act alone and as I please, and that way I escaped the control that the professor exercised over the investigation. As a result, he believed that I hadn’t understood anything. Which proves that oneof the most useful qualities is to be able to pass oneself off as an imbecile.

  ‘But it’s fair to say that they tricked me almost completely and, as I say, without André Richard’s last fantasy, he at least would have escaped my attention. I have to say that, until this morning, I had absolutely no idea where he was hiding. I had an idea, but when I tried to verify it, it turned out to be mistaken. That shows you the strength of our adversary. This morning’s conversation was almost cordial. To the point that he made me a gift of the gold cigarette case you admired just now. Sportingly, he admitted being beaten and gave me all the information I needed to complete my documentation.’

  ‘It’s extraordinary to see the precision and meticulousness my cousin brought to bear throughout the affair,’ said Maryse. ‘The clues he left were so slight he had every reason to think we would never pick up his trail.’

  ‘It’s worth noting that André had, even before he disappeared, organised his hide-out and the preparation of false identities. Was he already planning the twelve murders? I doubt it. They were simply an excess of precaution. As soon as he and his father were in agreement, they used the means of communication he had already prepared.

  ‘It’s curious that no one has pointed out that all the crimes were pointless. They were committed to prevent any of the daltonians from deciphering the frescos from the photos prepared for l’Image. But the issue that was supposed to contain the reproductions never apeared. Richard could have waited calmly until January 15th and then profited peacefully from Argier’s discovery. How ironic! The most extraordinary series of crimes ever executed was a complete waste of time and the only tangible result was to deprive their perpetrator of the benefit he’d hoped to protect. The moralists will have a field day. As for me, I only see life’s usual lottery.’

  As he pronounced those last words, my friend pulled the cigarette case from his pocket, opened it and took one of the last two cigarettes. As he was closing the case, Maryse exclaimed:

  ‘Oh, Monsieur Slowman, there’s one left. May I have it? I know it’s rather rude, but they’re marvellous and I love them.’

  ‘Feel free, mademoiselle, I’m expecting another packet any day now. If you like them, I can get you some.’

  ‘That’s very nice of you. I can’t refuse. But wait a minute. I’ve been robbed. This isn’t one of your Egyptian cigarettes, but a Lucky Strike. It must have been mixed with the others. No matter, I like them as well. Can you give me a light, Jacques?’

  ‘I’m sorry, my lighter is out of fuel and I haven’t any matches.’ Little flames sprang up everywhere, everyone pressing to give her a light. Except me, who doesn’t smoke, and Bob, whose head seemed to be in the clouds.

  ‘It’s very embarrassing,’ she laughed. “ I don’t want to make anyone jealous.’

  ‘Well then, it’s my light you should take,’ said Hyacinthe. ‘My reputation is such that no one will be jealous.’

  ‘Fair enough.’

  As he extended the lighter, she leant forward and brought the cigarette to her lips with that slightly gauche gesture common to all women, even the most experienced smokers. Bob bounded forward and, with a quick swipe, sent the nicotine-filled tube into the air.

  Amidst general stupefaction, Bob got up and gingerly picked up the cigarette. He smelt it, examined it closely, then carefully split open the paper. He scrutinised the interior and extended his hand:

  ‘Smell that. But be careful not to touch the tobacco with your hands or the tip of your nose.’

  A faint odour of almonds could be detected amidst the straw and honey of the tobacco. I asked briefly:

  ‘Prussic acid?’

  ‘Yes. So, you see, the bandit didn’t disarm. He gave me his case after having seemingly removed the cigarettes, but he actually left some, counting on me not paying attention. And that’s what happened. Without Maryse’s reaction, I wouldn’t have noticed. But I knew there couldn’t have been any Lucky Strikes mixed in with my cigarettes. The conclusion was simple. So it’s sometimes useful for a lighter not to function.If yours had worked, Jacques, there would be no more Maryse.’

  ‘That’s twice you’ve saved my life, Bob. I shan’t forget.’

  ‘Neither shall I,’ said Jacques.

  Bob didn’t reply. He stood up and asked to use the telephone. Five minutes later, he was back.

  ‘It’s as I thought. He had more on him. He planned to wait to learn who the victim was before poisoning himself in turn.’

  A shiver ran down my spine. Everyone present had had a narrow escape, except me.

  ‘Well,’ said Bob, in a tone of forced gaiety, ‘Maryse, you won your bet. Has Jacques given you the Montaigne?’

  ‘Yes.’ She was still pale.

  ‘And, because he didn’t find anything, you escaped the danger.’

  ‘What danger?’

  ‘Marrying him.’

  ‘Ah, that’s true. But he showed himself capable of such decisiveness on Monday in Rue Cassini, that I decided it was a draw, meaning we each won.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So I have the Montaigne, but I also have to marry Jacques. It’s hard to bear, but justice will triumph in the end.’

  ___________________________________________________

  After a sensational trial, André Richard was sentenced to death and, one bright morning, Monsieur de Paris cut his head off.

  As for the treasure, if that’s what one should call the deposit of... let’s say radium, they sought it in vain. The astronomer’s calculations had given its location with sufficient accuracy. It was to be found in a spot in the Andes Cordillera but, when an expedition assembled in the closest secrecy arrived there, it discovered that a terrible earthquake, accompanied by a volcanic eruption, had wreaked havoc on the whole region.

  A mass of rock the size of the Massif du Mont Blanc had crushed the presumed site of the mine. The miracle rock, if not the fruit of the unbridled imagination of the Egyptians or of Argier, found itself beneath two or three hundred kilometres of rock. It was out of the reach of any search party.

  So that was yet another reason why all the crimes committed during this whole business were pointless. The bandit, who learnt o
f the result before his execution exclaimed ironically:

  ‘What does it matter? On the contrary, I will still have made art for art’s sake.’ And, parodying Cyrano, he added: ‘It’s more beautiful if it’s useless.’

  ___________________________________________________

  One last word: when I submitted my manuscript to my friend, he observed:

  ‘Don’t you realise your title is false? Contrary to what we believed, it wasn’t the thirteenth bullet, but the twelfth, which almost killed Gregor.’

  That was true, but I didn’t change my title.

  THE END

  Hattingen-Ruhr

  February-December 1941

  Hemer bei Iserlohn

  December 1941-February 1942

  APPENDIX I: THE FRENCH PROSECUTORIAL SYSTEM

  In the British and American systems, the police and prosecution gather information likely to convict the suspect. The defence gathers information likely to acquit the defendant. Arguments between the two, and the examination of witnesses, are conducted in open court, and refereed by a judge. The winner is decided, in most important cases, by a jury of ordinary citizens.

  In the French system, also adopted in many other continental countries, all criminal cases are investigated by an examining magistrate (Juge d’instruction) who is appointed and given his brief by the public prosecutor (Le Parquet) . He or she is independent of the government and the prosecution service, and works with the police. Much of the evaluation of the evidence goes on, in secret, during the investigation: confrontations between witnesses; recreations of the crime, etc. The final report of the examining magistrate is supposed to contain all the evidence favourable to both defence and prosecution.