by Pirate Irwin
He would have been willing to accept his step-brother had gone off on a fortnight long binge – why the heck not after you’ve been banged up for five years with an all-male company save his dalliance with the farmer’s wife – and had not wanted to hurt his mother by admitting as such.
However, by not putting that up as an excuse he was directly challenging Lafarge to prove him wrong. The stakes he was playing for were high because should Lafarge expose his version as a lie then he would not stop there, he didn’t like being lied to or played and he would be merciless regardless of their close friendship.
“Right if you’re quite finished Gaston, I’m for my bed. I’m going to Longchamp tomorrow and hopefully it will be profitable,” said Lucien yawning.
“There is one more thing I have to tell you Lucien. I would have preferred that Antoinette was here too but it can’t be helped,” said Lafarge.
Lucien leant forward his eyes suddenly alert.
“I’ve arrested a man this evening for the murder of father,” he said.
Lucien’s mouth dropped open in surprise.
“Good grief Gaston how did you manage that? I thought the man had disappeared and probably done a runner,” said Lucien, his voice going up several octaves.
“Yes I thought we had lost him too. However, my partner Levau tracked him down. He was like a bloodhound when he picked up a scent and he was no different with this chap! Sadly he was killed in the process,” said Lafarge.
“Christ the poor fellow, you must be very upset Gaston. Thankfully you escaped,” said Rochedebois, who appeared all of a sudden not to be fatigued and rose and poured them another generous dose of cognac.
Lafarge explained how Durand had saved his life and that another detective had also been killed.
“Crikey the fellow is going to wish Durand overdid the sedative. I can imagine a sleepless night for him at the Quai after killing two detectives. You better hope he’s alive when you question him,” said Rochedebois.
His remark may have been made half in jest but Lafarge was worried about that. Levau and Alliot were both well-liked and a few drinks downed in their honour could push some of their colleagues into taking matters into their own hands.
Lafarge, though, couldn’t do much about that. He wasn’t Vandamme’s protector.
“So who is the murderer then Gaston?” asked Rochedebois.
Lafarge pondered whether to tell Lucien. He was reluctant to give out too much information, partly to do with the superstitious side to him that he never talked about the suspect until he had a signed confession.
Also in slightly childish fashion as he didn’t think his step-brother had told him the truth about his return he reasoned why should he be open with him.
“He was one of your men,” said Lafarge.
Rochedebois looked oddly at Lafarge, his eyes swiveled left and right and his brow creased.
“One of my men, what do you mean by that Gaston? It’s not funny if it is intended as a joke,” said Rochedebois angrily clearly stung by Lafarge’s response.
Lafarge apologised, admitting to himself it was a low blow for although Rochedebois had persuaded him he should choose the guards it could just as easily have been him and he might have chosen the same two.
“I didn’t intend to be flippant Lucien. But we made a poor investment as the probable murderer is one of the two prison guards you chose to keep father alive,” said Lafarge.
Rochedebois rubbed his hands and did that nervous licking of his lips again.
“Jesus one of them! I knew they’d gone missing but that is appalling Gaston. Christ I chose my father’s murderer, what a great way to reintroduce myself to Parisian society!” said Rochedebois, whose voice was trembling and he appeared to be on the verge of tears.
Lafarge couldn’t but sympathise with Rochedebois, as the realisation dawned on him that he had selected his father’s murderer.
“So did they act on their own initiative or was your friend Bousquet behind it?” he asked his voice still shaky.
“I’m sorry but I can’t tell you any more Lucien until the investigation is concluded. I’m limited in what I can impart save for informing you and Antoinette that I arrested a man for the murder,” said Lafarge.
Rochedebois clicked his tongue. Lafarge couldn’t tell whether it was a sign of disapproval but if it was he wasn’t going to give him anything more just to gain his gratitude.
He glanced at the clock and saw to his horror it was nearly three o’clock, which gave him little time to get some sleep and then turn round and begin the interrogation of Vandamme.
He certainly wouldn’t be fresh and that annoyed him. Once again he would have to rely on his seemingly endless stamina to get him through and keep him sharp.
Chapter Seventeen
Lafarge needn’t have worried about Vandamme’s overnight stay in the cells.
He was brought in undamaged to the bleak interrogation room at the Quai early the next morning, far too early for Lafarge’s taste as even after he had got back he had been prevented from going to bed because a restless and nervy Aimee had been in urgent need of a reassuring chat.
Lafarge felt for her, she was evidently under great strain despite a generally sunny outward disposition and he shuddered at the memories and experiences she was trying courageously to suppress. It appeared, though, that spending time on her own was only serving to make her think more about them and it was having a bad effect on her nerves.
She’d spoken in a machine gun style when he had returned about being whipped for looking one of the female guards in the eyes and then having to eat mud until she almost choked.
She had then been forced to sleep outside that night. Only the thought she had a baby inside her kept her from running towards the barbed wire fence and either electrocuting herself or being shot before she got there by one of the faceless guards in the watch towers.
He was amazed once again at her resilience and iron will because he did not think he would have been able to withstand such treatment.
He would probably have gone the other way and thought how can one bring an innocent child into this world of brutality and base behaviour where even your neighbour, who one exchanged pleasantries with every day, might be the person who informed on you.
Looking across the table at Vandamme he thought whether the prisoner realised how fortunate he was. He would be treated as a human being and unlike the millions of victims of the Nazis and their allies he would have a proper trial.
What was more until he was executed he would eat better and have a cell to himself. It would be a far cry from the Nazi camps where prisoners were fed a thin soup and shared a lice-ridden wooden bunk, a threadbare blanket hardly sufficient protection against the freezing conditions.
It made Lafarge sick but proud at the same time that a rule of law had been restored since the Liberation because some of the people being so well treated wouldn’t have thought twice about throwing their victims straight onto a cattle truck to the east. As for rule of law they wouldn’t have been capable of putting the three words together.
Lafarge sat there not prepared to exchange with Vandamme until Pinault turned up. He’d gone through the formalities of asking him whether he wished to be represented by a lawyer and a sullen Vandamme had shaken his head. He’d repeated the gesture when Lafarge suggested a coffee, but the Chief Inspector had refrained from extending his generosity to offering him a cigarette.
Instead he enjoyed the moment of lighting one himself and smoking it in front of the prisoner, who looked for the first time interested and seemed to be desperately trying to breathe in the fumes.
Lafarge noticing this deliberately blew the smoke to the side towards one of the coffee-stained walls, which had been cleaned after the Liberation but it had been a cursory job at best.
Rather like French society the façade might have looked cleansed but the dirt and the blood was ingrained and going to take a far harder scrub to eradicate it.
Pinault eventually ambled in, apologising for being delayed but he had been held up at Fresnes.
“The prisoner might be interested as he used to guard him, and I know you will be Chief Inspector, I was there representing the police at Laval’s execution,” said Pinault.
“Things didn’t go to plan. I was meant to be attending the execution at the Fortress of Chatillon but it had to be switched because Laval tried to commit suicide overnight. Obviously Vaillant is very distressed first Renault’s suspicious death, then your father’s murder and now Laval’s failed attempt. He fears for his job, and I hear he has good reason to be afraid.
“I may be surprising you Chief Inspector by being so liberal with my tongue in front of a man who murdered two of our colleagues but it is relevant the reference to Vaillant as we are principally here to ask the prisoner about the death of your father, Colonel Pierre Lafarge,” added Pinault coolly.
Lafarge thought it was a stupid man who would ever take Pinault at face value, a rather grey appearance, exacerbated by his salt and pepper hair and thin gaunt face, and nothing flamboyant about his delivery. However, he had a rapier sharp mind and he was a master of psychology games.
He had just demonstrated this by seemingly going off on a tangent, adding too many details which Lafarge thought Vandamme didn’t need to know, when in fact he was bringing the interrogation nicely to its focal point.
Vandamme shifted uneasily in his chair. Lafarge grinned at his discomfort because he had purposefully switched the chairs round, so the one Vandamme was sitting in had splinters all over the surface, making it damn difficult for him to ever feel at ease throughout the interrogation.
Pinault double checked with Vandamme whether he wanted a lawyer present, and again he shook his head. Lafarge was relaxed about allowing Pinault the lead on the questioning, it gave him a chance to refresh his head a bit and also he didn’t expect it to be a long session for the prisoner’s guilt was pretty clear and he would be astonished if he contested it.
Pinault opened the file and laid out three pencils to the side of it. He lit a cigarette, offered one to Lafarge and to the latter’s surprise one to Vandamme who accepted it, smirking at Lafarge as he had it light.
Lafarge allowed him his little moment of triumph.
“So Vandamme could you provide us with your whole given name please, date of birth and place of birth,” said Pinault remaining courteous.
Lafarge knew this was another of his games as Pinault liked to lull the suspects into thinking this cop isn’t too bad and I could have a chance of a reduced charge before he transformed completely and fired a range of aggressively-delivered questions.
“Etienne Vandamme, born 24th of May 1920 in Mulhouse,” replied the prisoner, his voice full of confidence.
Pinault noted them down fastidiously, making a remark about having visited Mulhouse once when he was in the army and having thanked his lucky stars he wasn’t garrisoned there permanently.
“Yes it is an awful place, I couldn’t wait to leave there and I did as soon as I left school,” said Vandamme, his face lighting up a little.
Pinault chuckled, Lafarge stayed poker-faced.
“Indeed and where did you go Etienne?” asked Pinault gently.
“I came to the big smoke, Paris,” said Vandamme without elucidating further.
Vandamme picked at a spot on his nose, and looked with some disgust at the end product on the end of his finger.
“Did you have the same look on your face when you surveyed Mulhouse for the last time?” said Pinault laughing.
Vandamme smiled, Lafarge restrained himself from doing so.
“Yes, I also had the same look on my face when I put the bullets in your colleagues yesterday,” he said his tone matter of fact.
“I generally reserve such a look for things that disgust me.”
Lafarge leapt from his chair raising his hand to slap Vandamme, who recoiled while Pinault stayed silent. Lafarge connected with the top of Vandamme’s skull and sat back down again. Vandamme rubbed his head and shot a look of hatred at Lafarge and then looked to Pinault for help.
None was forthcoming.
“You know Vandamme such remarks would have earned you more than just a slap during the Occupation. I don’t know if you were ever in trouble during that time but in this very room I know several people who walked in but exited in a box,” said Pinault, keeping his tone civil.
“Now I wasn’t around at the time, but Chief Inspector Lafarge was and I’m sure that even though he didn’t indulge in the worst excesses of our former colleagues he knows how to inflict the punishments they meted out.”
Lafarge stared at Vandamme, who sneered. He knew of course that these were empty threats, the coffin trade was no longer booming on account of the new regime in place at the Quai.
Lafarge, though, was worried about something else and that was Vandamme had got Pinault’s measure very early.
He had not fallen for the courteous approach deployed by Pinault which to Lafarge suggested he was au fait with police interrogation. He had not wasted their time by inventing a story which many other suspects would try even when their guilt was not in doubt. He had murdered Alliot and Levau, however, he had stopped there and it was clear to Lafarge they were going to have to fight hard to extract a confession over his father’s murder and who the third man was.
It was time for a rethink. There was no point sitting there firing questions and accusations at Vandamme, who Lafarge conjectured was willing to go to the guillotine for the two murders in the mortuary. However, it meant Vandamme being already a condemned man he felt no compunction to help them over the earlier murders.
Vandamme could make it a long and painful process. Lafarge knew the type, tantalise then pull back, a sociopath’s dream of being in charge and playing havoc with the audience.
Lafarge thought it best to call a time out, let Vandamme think he’d got the better of them and then hope he became so confident they cut the legs from under him. He nudged Pinault’s knee and slid a piece of note paper across to him suggesting this to which he received a nod.
Once outside of the room, a uniform replacing them to keep an eye on the prisoner, they talked over the best possible avenue to go down but each one seemed to have its limitations. They went back over everything they knew of him, Lafarge wished roles had been reversed and they had the alcoholic verbose Fayette in the interrogation room and whose past they knew all about.
“We know they fought together, that at least gives us something to work on,” said Lafarge.
Pinault looked grim.
“Yes, I know but not exactly a killer fact. It could mean the Spanish Civil War for all we know, though Vandamme doesn’t strike me as being a card carrying Communist,” said Lafarge.
Both looked as gloomy as the other. However, as so often in desperate circumstances Lafarge grasped at the slimmest of possibilities, a reason why his bosses retained faith in him even if his lack of obedience and unorthodox methods tested their patience.
“Have we taken his fingerprints and compared them to others we have on file?” he asked Pinault.
“I don’t know, you had to leave once you dropped him off here and I was on my way home. I would dearly expect so but these days,” he said shaking his head.
“Why do you ask?”
“Because perhaps the reason he is so cocksure is that he has another secret, that of his real identity,” said Lafarge.
“I don’t think anybody even thought he might be somebody else. After all he was accepted into the prison service as Etienne Vandamme so that being a state organisation you would have thought all the necessary checks were done,” said Pinault.
“Well they may have been sir, but with the shortage of prison staff and limited financial resources I would suggest that the checks were very basic at best,” said Lafarge.
Pinault looked even gloomier.
“Well I suggest you get upstairs and check if his prints were taken and if they were you better
enroll several men to go through the fingerprints files to see if our friend in there is indeed someone else,” said Pinault.
“You are right he seems awfully smug, and it isn’t about escaping the guillotine. He knows that the death penalty is a certainty so either he is slightly soft up top or he is hiding something which he prefers to keep secret and which could lead us to the third man.”
Lafarge barely heard the end of what Pinault was saying as he was halfway up the stairs already. He cursed himself for not thinking of the possibility of the fingerprints being on file earlier. When he reflected on it it seemed blindingly obvious someone who had a sinister past – like Vandamme and less successfully Fayette -- would use the chaos of the post war period to reinvent himself starting with a new identity.
Lafarge, though, accepted the possibility frustratingly existed of never discovering whether Etienne Vandamme was really who he said he was.
If they didn’t have his fingerprints already on file then there was little chance of tracking them down in other headquarters in the major cities round the country, simply because of lack of man power and paying over time was out of the question.
He found to his relief that the fingerprints had been taken and promptly assigned three detectives and three uniforms including the efficient desk sergeant Grognard – they were to do it in pairs relieving each other after thirty minute intervals -- to the arduous and tedious task of comparing the prints.
Back in the stuffy smoke-filled room with Pinault and Vandamme, Lafarge decided to take the onus off his boss and probe the prisoner over his father’s case.
“How much were you and Fayette paid to murder my father?”
Vandamme shrugged his shoulders and stared over Lafarge’s shoulder.
“I take it must have been more than my family paid you to protect him?”
Vandamme wobbled his head from side to side as if flexing his neck muscles.
“Fayette, though, had second thoughts didn’t he and you seized your chance and got rid of the old drunk too. Did you get paid for that as well and for Neveu too?” asked Lafarge, undeterred despite the accused’s reticence to keep pressing.
