by Pirate Irwin
Lafarge nodded and admitted Marchand was probably right not to have handed money over as it sounded Fayette was probably beyond salvation with his addiction. It also appeared that Fayette had either been dropped from the plot to murder his father or he had had a dramatic conversion at the last minute and pulled out.
However, his desperate desire for money, it must have been a considerable amount if he was already earning extra from the inmates, discounted the latter rather charitable thought. Another possibility occurred to Lafarge, what if Fayette had been used by his old friend Bousquet to become part of the conspiracy to murder his father. That was a credible line of enquiry and one that appealed to him for if proven it would condemn Bousquet to death.
“So is that all Freddy? Nothing else you can think of?” asked Lafarge.
Marchand pretended to look thoughtful and as Lafarge expected shook his head.
Lafarge bought them a final round of drinks, including one for Mireille as it was close to the fifth race and he thought it might serve him well in the future should they meet again, and decided he had nothing to lose by showing Marchand a photo of the Fayette gang.
“Do you recognize anyone apart from obviously Fayette in this photo?” asked Lafarge.
Marchand pored over it, with rather more of an effort than he had in reflecting on whether he had anything else to impart.
“Well I recognise Bousquet and the rest I remember from my time down there, although their names I wouldn’t be able to reel off,” he said before pausing with his finger over Levau.
Lafarge waited.
“Him actually I do remember very well. It’s not a surprise he’s skulking in the background. He was like a shadow to Fayette. He was obliged to be as he was a cop, although as you know those lines were more blurred than ever during the Occupation. Sometimes for good reasons, as in uniting against the Nazis but most of the time it was for the basest reasons.
“It was the perfect storm of criminal gang, crooked cop and the Nazis, all taking their share. I can’t remember his name, although funnily enough I can recall his nickname which Fayette gave him. It was ‘Foie de Veau’…I think because Fayette liked his word play and phonetically well you known what it sounds like.”
“Faith of Levau,” said Lafarge quietly and walked away thoroughly dejected.
Chapter Eleven
“You’re very quiet Gaston,” remarked Rochedebois.
Lafarge certainly wasn’t in a mood for social conversation and had expected to be driving the short distance back to Paris on his own, but had bumped into his stepbrother on his way out of the racecourse. He had thought Rochedebois would have been consoling his mother.
Instead dapperly-dressed here he was consorting with textile magnate Marcel Boussac, the dominant force in racing, his grey and orange colours a regular visitor to the winners enclosure for the big races both before the Occupation and during it where more controversially he had done extremely well out of the Nazis.
“How’s Antoinette? Wouldn’t it have been a good thing for a son to do and spend the day with her, she was pretty distraught when I left last night,” said Lafarge making his disapproval clear.
Rochedebois took a slug from his hip flask and dismissed Lafarge’s admonishment by flapping his hand at him.
“She was half-drugged up and I said I’d have dinner with her this evening. I’m extremely upset about what happened to father, but there is little I can do about it unlike you. So I thought the best remedy was to come out and see some of my old friends and let them know Lucien Rochedebois is back and the same as ever,” he said with a suitable amount of insouciance.
His attitude irked Lafarge but then anything would have done as he contemplated having to confront Levau, even perhaps treat him as a suspect for Fayette’s murder at least. He just didn’t believe that the young man he had come to appreciate and like and who had restored his belief in having a partner was capable of being so duplicitous.
He had even saved his life last year, which not many who had been on the force for some time would have been happy about. However, Lafarge knew he had to put aside those feelings and look at the hard facts and they weren’t good for Levau.
“So have you got any leads as to how father was murdered?” asked Rochedebois.
Lafarge kept back his thoughts on Levau but told Rochedebois about how their chosen guardian angels had turned out to be vipers.
“I hope you had more luck on the track than in your selection of trustworthy guards!” said Lafarge.
Rochedebois grinned.
“Christ that is dreadful! Makes you think doesn’t it! Human nature hasn’t changed for the better just because the Nazis have been kicked out, their legacy will stay with us for decades to come,” said Rochedebois.
“So have you run them down?” asked Rochedebois
“No. So how do you know Boussac so well?” Lafarge asked wishing to change the subject.
“Oh I was introduced to him before the War by Rene de Chambrun, and we got on well. Boussac’s a very cultured and interesting man. I’m hoping that I can obtain a job with him,” said Rochedebois.
Lafarge had forgotten how effective his stepbrother had been at gaining favour with the upwardly mobile and successful people before the Occupation, evidently he hadn’t lost that habit during his time inside German camps. Not that De Chambrun would be a good name to bandy about now being the son-in-law of the soon to be executed Laval.
“What on earth do you know about textiles Lucien? Don’t you think you would be better aiming a bit lower,” said Lafarge trying vainly he knew to temper his stepbrother’s enthusiasm for taking on impossible challenges which risked making him a laughing stock among the very people he wished to impress.
“Good grief Gaston I’m not going to be doing anything technical! I’m going to be a meeter and greeter, my job will be to facilitate introductions to the great man himself. I’ll also help out with his horses, that will be a learning curve admittedly because apart from betting on them I’m not very au fait with pedigrees and such like,” said Rochedebois.
“So here’s a little test for you. What’s his best horse at the moment?” asked Lafarge, reasoning that as Rochedebois had been away he may not have had occasion till today to attend the races since he returned.
“Christ Gaston you don’t need to be such a killjoy! How on earth would I know!” said Rochedebois.
“Ardan is his name. He won the Arc last year and was second last Sunday, beaten by a filly. From getting the vote to winning the Arc the female sex are the ones doing the best since the Liberation,” said Lafarge drily.
Rochedebois laughed.
“Talking of the fairer sex, anything promising on your horizon? I don’t suppose it has been easy since Berenice died,” he said.
Lafarge felt unsettled by the topic, fair though it was. However, having lost both his wife and then his subsequent girlfriend within months of each other, he blamed himself for both their deaths and he didn’t feel comfortable discussing it. He was surprised that Rochedebois had chosen this moment to bring it up rather than a more relaxed environment over a couple of bottles.
“That is a conversation for another time Lucien. Now the only fairer sex I’m interested in is Antoinette and delivering you there to honour your promise of dining with her,” said Lafarge.
Lafarge duly deposited Rochedebois at the building and headed off to the Quai hoping that Levau was there.
He wasn’t but there was a note on his desk from him saying he had a lead on Vandamme and was pursuing it but hoped to be back in the office later that evening.
Lafarge didn’t mind too much, so long as he caught Vandamme alive and didn’t return saying he had had no option but to shoot him. In the meantime he picked up the file on Neveu, the first of the three victims, and poured himself a cognac before sitting down and adjusting his posture to the most comfortable possible which was not an easy task given the hardness of the wooden backed chair.
He flicked through it
seeing nothing startling in it and certainly no connection whatsoever to Fayette. There was only one tenuous link to his father and that was they had both served in The Great War, but then millions of men had and lots had died since, many no doubt violent deaths. He had won his Croix de Guerre in that conflict, and had served so his file said with distinction for the few months of combat in 1940. His marriage was a solid one and since the Liberation he had landed a decent job in the Ministry of Defence, probably on the back of knowing a general.
They had managed to obtain his service record, including any disciplinary problems, as the Ministry of Defence was keen to see his murderer swiftly brought to justice and were prepared to release his files to aid that process. A transparency sure to become a distant memory soon enough thought Lafarge as those inside the various relevant ministries realize being open is not necessarily the best way of winning friends and influence for those who prefer their pasts remain hidden.
Blowing out his cheeks in anticipation of a pretty dull read except for the citation for his Croix de Guerre he launched into it. He was certainly brave for he had saved several members of his platoon from certain death at the second battle of the Aisne, or better known by its more infamous title the Nivelle Offensive, as he took out a machine gun nest which had pinned them down at the ridge of Chemin des Dames. It had at least allowed the men to gain some breathing space in seeking to return to their own trench for seizing the ridge was impossible.
Neveu by all accounts, although only 19 and a corporal, had led the depleted platoon back through the crater-filled mudflats that the fields had become and saved eight of them through his calm leadership. All this was neatly written down as was the addendum which read that he was fortunate to have shown such bravery and earned the decoration for had the application not been filed prior to the Mutiny on the front line he would surely have been executed.
It turned out that he had been one of the most prominent objectors to returning to combat, pleading the men in his platoon were broken and needed more time to rest. This was interpreted as mutinous behaviour rather than simple common sense, and he was one of the many sent for court martial before being reprieved by Petain’s judicious intervention.
However, his joy was someone else’s misery for in his place they had to take someone from the platoon. For once they didn’t choose some poor sod from the ranks but the lieutenant, de Granville.
He had inadvertently signed his own death warrant for it had been he who had nominated Neveu for his medal. There was no mention in the file of why it hadn’t been de Granville who had led the platoon to safety. However, judging from accounts by his friends who fought in The Great War Lafarge knew that once out in No Man’s Land it was easy to lose contact such was the confusion and the smoke shrouding the battlefield.
De Granville had not been spared, despite his rank and given his name coming from an aristocratic family, albeit it must have been a minor one for him to have been sacrificed. However, there had been a bitter twist to the story. Neveu had been ordered to be part of the firing squad. Indeed all the surviving members of the platoon had been commandeered to execute their former commanding officer.
That was pretty dark even for someone as cynical as Lafarge. There was no commentary on whether Neveu had objected, but he imagined he didn’t wish to push his luck after gaining his life once from a body of men, the French General Staff who were not a forgiving lot, no more so than when they realised they were clearly in the wrong.
Lafarge thought about it for a few minutes, but decided it was too fanciful to believe there was a link even if the murders of Neveu and his father had been within days of one another. However, he decided to check with the Ministry of Defence whether they kept paperwork on the make-up of a firing squad, though he doubted it.
Lafarge leant back and sipped at his hip flask and closed his eyes. He feared this case could be taken away from him and Levau if he went to Pinault. Both of them were compromised, though, the slight consolation for Lafarge was at least it wasn’t for being a suspect on account of alleged criminal links to one of the victims. It made a nice change to have his partner in the eye of that particular storm.
Not that he was out of the woods yet either, he still had to see Gerland about this most pressing matter and made another note to bring that up with him when they saw each other the next day. Gerland had passed by the Quai and left a letter of condolence, being beside the Palais de Justice had its benefits mused Lafarge.
He used this rare time he had on his own to mull over the facts and things that he had learnt from the conversations with Madame Meunville and Freddy Marchand.
Vandamme owed the nameless third man his life seemingly from when they fought together, Fayette owed everybody and had a loose mouth due to his drinking, which probably cost him his life and he favoured Vandamme for that murder and logically then Neveu given the use of a chain on both occasions.
Vandamme was the favourite too for his father’s murder. All that was fine but they knew nothing about Vandamme’s background and as a result had little clue as to where he may have fled too. He hoped the alleged sighting of him turned into a genuine lead because they needed some luck. Lafarge feared that if they ever came across Vandamme it would only be his corpse for he had served his purpose.
As to who was behind them, or at least the murder of his father well he harboured serious suspicions about Bousquet. His hatred of Lafarge and a desire for revenge would have been too much for him and he had been presented with a golden opportunity having been imprisoned with his father.
Also with no love lost between the colonel and Laval and Bousquet being an ultra-loyalist to the former Prime Minister what better way to give him a leaving gift on this earth than by taking care of an enemy. It was almost as good as killing Petain as they were so close.
There was also a link between Fayette and Bousquet. The former police chief would have recognised his former ally from Marseille and whether through blackmail or charm he could have corralled him into setting up the murder. However, Fayette was so attached to the bottle and unpredictable it took the edge off that theory much to Lafarge’s regret.
Still there was enough to justify a visit to Fresnes and a face to face with Bousquet. He would ring Valentin and organise it.
Lafarge was on the point of giving up on his partner and going home, reasoning he could think just as well in his flat and more comfortably as at the dirty decaying office, when he ambled in looking none too happy.
“I take it from the look on your face that you have just wasted valuable time on a fruitless chase?” asked Lafarge.
Levau threw his fedora onto his desk, a far tidier vision than that of his senior partner’s which was piled high with papers, full ashtrays and other detritus. He poured himself a glass of red wine from a bottle that one of their colleague’s had unwisely left on the desk.
“You could say that. The call came from a reliable informant who had been shown the photo of Vandamme and said he had seen him in a café in Bastille. So I sped over there and talked to the owner, who gave me the impression he was hiding something though it may have more to do with the black market than something more sinister.
“I showed him the photo of Vandamme. The good news is he did recognise him but he claimed he hadn’t been in his café for three days, which was unusual as he normally passed by on a daily basis either before work or after.
“So I’m afraid he has disappeared into the wind.”
Lafarge grunted.
“Well not all is lost. We have added a tiny detail to an almost non-existent tableau of his life. We should first of all post one of our men there in case he feels he can emerge into the light again and return to one of his haunts,” said Lafarge trying to give the news a positive twist.
“Did you get the impression the owner was a friend of Vandamme’s? Or did the owner tell you much about the people he frequented in his bar?”
“Difficult to say as I remarked he was cagey. Whether that is because h
e knows much more than he told me I can’t tell. I didn’t ask him about people Vandamme might have drunk with, if they were regulars or not,” said a sullen Levau, who realized immediately he had made a glaring error in not asking.
Lafarge was surprised at the omission and chalked it up as another sign Levau had been rattled by something, and he knew what that was. He would have to confront him now, but perhaps best in the café they frequented on the opposite corner to the Quai.
“Well I tell you what we can go back there in the morning, or perhaps best you do as I have other matters I have to attend to, and sound him out.
“The other thing we could do is follow him when he locks up tonight and see where he goes. There could be a wild outside chance he might be giving Vandamme shelter,” said Lafarge, rather pleased with himself as he was pretty much making up the plan off the cuff.
Levau’s expression brightened at those suggestions.
“I don’t mind going back there now and waiting for him outside. He could of course have rung Vandamme already and told him we’re looking for him,” said Levau.
“That is a possibility but let’s just hope his phone in the bar doesn’t work very well, like most things these days,” said Lafarge.
“In any case the Communists control the phone exchange and they are on strike as usual. So much for bringing the nation together as De Gaulle promised. He has completely alienated them through some arrogant belief he was solely responsible for the Resistance.
“For once I am happy he did if it has cut that phone off.”
Levau smiled and went to pick up his hat and leave but Lafarge stopped him.
“Listen Levau I need to talk to you so before you go back there let us retire to the Bistro d’Argent and have a chat, informally,” said Lafarge softly but forcefully enough to let Levau know there wasn’t an alternative but to say yes.
