"What are you trying to say Briar?" asked O'Flanahan in a dubious tone. "Do you think Norton is the Shadow-Killer?"
"It is a possibility that must be considered. His behaviour with Paul has been most bizarre and he was in Ottawa at the time of the murders. You must admit it is quite a coincidence."
"Damn it all Briar, the man's a cop, not a killer. Heck, the killer even murdered Norton's sister," argued O'Flanahan, never one to let go.
"Unless Norton killed her too. What if that was his first murder and he's been killing ever since," retorted Briar.
"Come on guys, this is going nowhere. Maybe Norton is the Shadow-Killer but how would we know? We're not cops. We should look at facts, not theories,"
"Coulter is right. Although Norton doesn't exactly inspire confidence, right now, we are under pressure to come up with some answers and we've got to do it before someone else shoots at us," I said.
"You know, when we started, we had just one sentence at the bottom of a forgotten book. Now we have almost too much information," Briar said. "The strangest thing in our possession must be the letter from Adolf Hitler. No matter which way we look at it, it's real. The letter's contents have also presented a new question: what could Hitler have come across, in architecture or art, which would have led him to Etretat? It has to be the Fort. This is why I have been attempting to deepen my knowledge about the archaeological history of the area."
Briar had been busy.
"Unfortunately, most of my research was stymied by a curious lack of information," he added. "I asked Coulter to look into it and he came up with some disturbing information, which he will share in a few moments. However, my efforts were not completely in vain. I did discover a few items of interest. The first is there was not one fort in Etretat but two. On the other side of Etretat, on the Amont cliff, there is an ancient church. Behind that church are ruins, the remains of a Roman garrison. These ruins are of the same period as those of the Fort of Frefosse. It is also the location of several remaining underground tunnels. The problem is Romans never built two forts in one town. It was too expensive. Someone with a personal interest must have pushed for the building of the fort. I believe it had to be for smuggling or piracy. Whoever built the fort placed it in a useless position for defense or attack. There had to be another reason for its position and a cave entrance seems the likely answer. The question is what benefit could such a cave have for anyone? It would be fairly useless, unless it had a secret opening to the sea."
Briar was making sense. He continued, "What if there was a hidden harbour with a passage through the cave to the fort above? A whole community of smugglers could live inside the cave with no one knowing. They would have access to the channel to smuggle goods and a fort to defend the loot. Pirates and smugglers often used secret signs to identify themselves to others. One of the most interesting is this one."
Briar's face vanished, replaced by the photo of a crude symbol, carved in rock: a triangle above a rectangle, both inside a circle.
"We've seen those symbols before, on that drawing of Frefosse's dungeon," I said.
"Correct. Move to the head of the class. We have seen them before, but so have others. This sign was carved in many ancient caves in the cliffs along the English Channel. To date, no one has ever explained their presence, although many of the carvings have been dated to a period near 50 AD. There is a distinct possibility our Mr Hitler might have come across this symbol in his research. He might have suspected what it led to: a secret den, a cave full of pirated treasure. Leblanc's Hollow Needle pointed out a likely location." Briar finished.
An excited Coulter launched into an extension of Briar's theory, "We cannot forget someone inscribed those very same symbols on a drawing of the Fort of Frefosse, a drawing which was deliberately hidden. However, this is not the most alarming information. Allow me to jump back to the other point made by Briar, the absence of local archaeological records. It was unusual to have so little information. I began working on a program right after Briar asked me to check it out. It wasn't long before I had enough data coming in to analyse it. After a while, a pattern became clear. Let me show you."
His face was replaced by a graph. I was becoming adept at navigating the road while looking directly through a large, transparent screen.
"It's really a very simple analysis," Coulter explained. "My search program collected information on the net about research done in France. From that, I created a graph representing the average amount of information available for any given geographical area. Of course, I adjusted the graph for population density, economic factors, etc. Once done, I derived the amount of information available about Etretat and compared it to the general graph."
A new graph appeared in red over the previous one. It was markedly different, showing a much lower curve. "I compared the results with several other areas. Eventually I had to accept there was something anomalous about research information concerning Etretat. So I refined the parameters of my data and came up with this."
The graph disappeared, replaced by another, showing several peaks and some noticeable drops. "This graph reveals the specific areas of 'negative' research causing these anomalous results. For example, there is no lack of recent economic or touristic information about Etretat. However, geological information relating to the Etretat area is conspicuously absent. Its history also contains noticeable periods lacking any information whatsoever."
Coulter's face came back on the screen. "A quick check showed yet another unexpected result. The reason for these anomalous results was the research was missing!"
Everyone erupted in a clamour. He explained his conclusion, "When you look at the information we have about a given topic, it is easy to forget much of this research was conducted in the past, perhaps hundreds of years ago. Up to the late 1980's, the information existed only in forgotten books, slowly rotting away in libraries. If someone were to plan it properly, during the early part of the twentieth century in particular, one could completely eliminate information about a given subject."
"There's a conspiracy about that. I published a small book about it." injected O'Flanahan.
Coulter ignored him and continued, "I checked for periods when the documents might have begun disappearing. Eventually, my search led to Professor Biermann. I'm sure none of you know who he is, probably because he disappeared shortly after the end of the First World War. I believe this is when the 'Etretat Brain Drain' started."
"Brain drain?" I asked.
"Sorry guys, I just couldn't resist saying it," laughed Coulter. "However, that's what it was: a brain drain. Over a period of about twenty years following the First World War, there were a series of unexplained disappearances all over Europe. It started with experts in one science or another, at first general topics, then gradually, more specifically relating to Etretat. The research itself disappeared from different places, universities, colleges, museums, the list is endless."
"I guess Hitler was busy," O'Flanahan said.
Briar snorted and objected, "Oh, it wasn't Hitler; I can assure you. Perhaps Hitler wrote a letter to Leblanc that evaded historical attention but precious little else has escaped our notice. Hitler's life has been sifted through a fine-tooth comb. We know exactly where he was and when he was there. No, if someone was carrying out a secret agenda to destroy information, it wasn't him."
O'Flanahan didn't skip a beat, "That's excellent. It means there's more than one person involved. That spells 'conspiracy', if you ask me."
"It does seem more likely that Hitler directed and another acted in his behalf. Perhaps a hired killer was working in the shadows," Briar added.
That sounded like the killer after us right now but it couldn't be. These events happened over eighty years ago. If our Shadow-Killer was the same man, he would be positively geriatric by now.
"Perhaps they were obtaining information about Etretat and hiding the trail at the same time," Coulter added.
O'Flanahan jumped in excitedly, "That's it. You'
ve hit the nail on the head. Hitler and his hired help completely eradicated information about what lay beneath the Fort of Frefosse. Beginning with the fort's destruction in 1911 onward, a concerted effort was made to hide the existence of the caves of Etretat. This is a totally new conspiracy theory and the best part is it could be true! I am in seventh heaven," he exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear.
"Leblanc must have known about it," added Coulter, "He must have. I wonder what his role was in all this."
***
I pulled into the driveway and turned off the engine. Thankfully, the Porsche had survived the trip. The brakes vibrated a bit, we heard some rattles here and there, but apart from that, it had been a good ride. Our differences had been ironed out during the voyage. In particular, Raymonde had made it clear she expected some techno-glasses rules about privacy.
We had arrived in Perpignan about two hours ago. After renting a motel room, where we showered and ate a small meal, we had headed off to visit the final residence of Maurice Leblanc.
Our glasses were on, we were recording, and everyone was online.
I knocked at the door. For a moment, we heard nothing, then a series of sounds, which got closer and closer. They clarified into distinct words: 'I'm coming. Just hold on, I'll be right there.' Finally, the door opened, revealing a dishevelled woman, with a spot of flour on her left cheek. Her face broke into a wide smile and she welcomed us into the front room, which had been converted into a reception area. We introduced ourselves.
When the woman heard Raymonde's last name, she grew animated. "Oh my Lord. Are you related to Maurice Leblanc the writer?" she asked, her right hand held tight against her chest.
"I am his great-granddaughter," Raymonde answered.
"That's unbelievable," the woman tittered, "did you know that he stayed here? In the rooms upstairs on the second floor." The woman leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, "He died in the room but we're not supposed to mention that to our guests," She stood back up and returned to a normal tone of voice "Would you like to see the rooms? We normally charge five Euros but I guess in your case, I could make an exception, you being family and all. Only two Euros."
I wasn't sure if Raymonde was insulted or complimented. I paid the landlady and we were ushered up the stairs by the overly talkative woman. She unlocked the room and gave us a few minutes alone. As soon as the door was closed, Raymonde headed towards the fireplace. She stayed very quiet, looking at an overstuffed easy chair. "This is where my great-grandfather sat when he told that ditty to Maman, sitting on his knee. He was right here. I can almost feel him."
She fell silent, sitting down in the big chair, perhaps to be closer to him. After a short while, she dabbed her eyes with the edge of her sleeve and glanced around the room. Her gaze settled on a small table. She bent down a little and peered under it. "There's something there. Something hidden behind that table, on the wall."
Coulter got on it right away. "I'm enhancing the image. Yes, I can see scratches in the paint. They are deep."
I pulled the table away from the wall, revealing the scratches in their entirety. They had been painted over but, enhanced by our glasses, we could read two short lines:
Reach a yarn many ought not discover
Last isolation near dawn of narrative'
"What does that nonsense mean?" O'Flanahan said, sounding frustrated. "What a stupid clue to leave behind."
We put the table back in place and looked around the room for a while longer, finding nothing else. We thanked the woman for her help and headed back to our motel room. Once there, Raymonde and I sat down, our online friends still with us. Coulter displayed a still image of the text on the screen. "What if Leblanc were trying to leave a message? Something that would only make sense if you knew what you were looking for. That first line seems pretty clear. I think it means: 'if you want to find a story many people shouldn't know about'."
"I would agree with your interpretation," nodded Briar solemnly.
"Thank you so much," returned Coulter and Raymonde laughed. "The second line is a bit more difficult."
O'Flanahan butted in, "Perhaps you should let an expert try his hand at this. Let's look at the second line a bit closer: 'last isolation, near dawn of narrative'. Most of it is also fairly clear but the word 'isolation' throws me a curve. Doesn't it mean to hold the heat in or something?"
"No, not insulation! Isolation. It's a totally different word," Briar argued.
Coulter smiled, enjoying O'Flanahan's discomfiture briefly, then explained, "Isolation means to separate something or someone from the rest of the group. So last isolation might mean. last separation? No that doesn't sound quite right. Wait, maybe it means to retire or to die. Last retirement? Final retirement near dawn of narrative? Whose retirement?" Briar continued.
"I might have an idea about that," Coulter said. "Raymonde, when your mother talked about coming to Perpignan, she said some of Leblanc's friend might be living here. Many people ran to Perpignan while escaping from the Germans. Leblanc was not the first to come here, nor was he the last. Earlier, I obtained the registry of people living in Etretat during the twenties, thirties and forties. What if I compared it to Perpignan's registry of the same period, to see if there are any names in common? Let me try that."
We waited for a while as his computer collated the results.
"Hey guys, guess whose name just popped up?" Coulter asked.
"I think I have an answer to that. It's, uhm, wait, is it Raymond Lindon?" asked Briar.
Coulter looked stunned. "Why yes it is. How in the world did you guess that?"
"I was puzzled about the word 'isolation' in Leblanc's second sentence. If he meant retirement, why didn't he say retirement? The whole thing seemed contrived as if Leblanc was trying to fit a message into a formula. Leblanc's books were full of codes. I wondered what type of code could apply here. Going back to the word 'Isolation', I tried simple codes, my first attempt being to look at the first letter of each word and that, my friends, gives you R.A.Y.M.O.N.D. on the first line and L.I.N.D.O.N. on the second," Briar glibly explained. I was impressed.
That was quick thinking.
So now, we had two sources of information, both implicating Raymond Lindon. Coulter gathered online information about this intriguing man. We were surprised to learn he was Jewish. He had been forced to assign a deputy mayor during the Nazi invasion and had moved to Perpignan for the period. After the war ended, he returned to Etretat and resumed his post, continuing as mayor for many years, eventually retiring to a small place called Ambrumesy.
"I know Ambrumesy. It is where the Hollow Needle story begins, in the Castle of Ambrumesy!" exclaimed Raymonde excitedly. Her words brought everything into sharp relief. "Lindon retired near the beginning of the story that began everything. Ambrumesy is directly connected to the Hollow Needle. It is what the second line means. We have to go to Ambrumesy and visit Lindon's final home. That is where we will discover what we seek."
"It's just like the little ditty. The end and the beginning come together once again. It's so ingenious. Only someone who already knew what they were looking for could figure out that message. My great-grandfather left us a message after all. We must heed it," Raymonde exclaimed.
I could have said the exact same words.
***
Ambrumesy was difficult to find. It was so small, it wasn't on the regular maps. The GPS finally located it near Dieppe. It had a castle and the ruins of an abbey. Once a home to monks, the castle was destroyed after the Revolution. It had since been repaired and returned to its former glory.
We planned the most direct route and got on the road early next morning, arriving late in the evening, as the sun was beginning to set. We both felt certain something was waiting here and neither of us would leave until we found it.
Raymond Lindon had purchased the castle in the 1950's. Before his death, he had set up a trust fund to protect the castle and keep it in a good state of repair. Lindon's castle w
as directly related to the clue left in Perpignan by Leblanc.
The two men had to have been working together.
The castle was now a museum and tourist attraction. No one lived in it, except for a grounds keeper. It was closed by the time we arrived, so Raymonde and I walked the garden paths, looking for anything out of the ordinary. I had thought to call my friends but Raymonde prevented me. "No, Paul, this moment should be only for us. Our great-grandfathers planned this. Their efforts deserve respect and privacy."
"No O'Flanahan nonsense."
"Yes. Just us."
We walked in silence, holding hands.
"That fountain! It's in the story. And the chapel, over there, hidden in the castle's shadows, it's in the story too. Come on, let's go look," Raymonde exclaimed.
She ran around the large circular fountain and followed a circuitous gravel path through a maze of short hedges. I ran after her, joining her as she reached the ancient chapel. Despite its age, it was in excellent condition. We entered the main chamber and walked down the middle aisle, between two rows of stone pews. The altar was ornate, with decorative carvings covering its entire surface. There were two rooms adjoining the main chamber, one on each side of the altar. We entered the first to find a small baptismal pool and a confessional area. The other room was a small mausoleum, with plaques imbedded into the three walls, each bearing a name and date, none of which I recognised. In the centre of the room was an elaborately carved sarcophagus.
I searched for a name plaque but found none, which I thought curious. I examined the coffin's carvings but they were rather generic in topic. The only exception was on the back of the coffin's base, where I found a circular image carved into the stone: a snake eating its tail. "If anything defines the phrase 'the end and the beginning', this would be it."
Raymonde nodded. "Remember what Maman's ditty said."
"The beginning and the end, follow the circle, it bends. The end and the beginning, the answer in the connecting."
"It suggests we 'follow the circle'. Let's try that," Raymonde suggested.
She touched the snake carving. Hesitatingly, she slid her index finger along the edge of the circle in a clockwise direction. She pulled her finger back with a start. "It moved!"
The Caves of Etretat: Part One of Four Page 10
