Gaston’s half-brother Léon lived near Manosque. He had two sons, and the elder one, named after his father, was particularly close to his uncle Gaston. Young Léon, even though he seldom visited the Grand’ Terre, managed to convince himself that his uncle Gaston was a kind of substitute father when Léon senior died, having fallen off a ladder when the boy was fourteen. He later used his questionable skills as a journalist to mount a campaign that proclaimed Gaston innocent of all charges, but his efforts were so riddled with contradictions and distortions that they were mostly dismissed as dismal efforts at self-promotion.
As Gaston grew older his alcohol intake increased to an average of 1.6 gallons per day. He took great pleasure in torturing his wife. He would eat alone, waited upon by his wretched wife or one of his daughters. If he did not like a particular dish, he would throw it at whoever had the misfortune to serve him. In 1939 Gustave was twenty years old and had passed the recruitment board. Aimé was seventeen. Neither were paid for the hard work they did on the Grand’ Terre, but they picked up a few francs by doing odd jobs for their neighbors. They would spend their hard-earned money on the weekends in Lurs, where films were shown and dances were held in the Café Bonnet.
Gustave, like his father, liked to pick a fight. He found ample opportunity to test his skills during the dances, where the rivalries and jealousies of young men frequently exploded into unruly brawls. At one of these dances Gustave’s roving eye fell upon a sixteen-year-old girl, Léone Roche. She responded to his advances, and they decided to get engaged. Her parents, who farmed nearby, had no objections. Gaston, knowing that the Roches had a bit of money, gave his consent. All looked well for the young couple, but Gustave had appendicitis and was whisked off for an operation in Forcalquier. While in the hospital he met a young woman from Marseille who made him forget Léone. Next there was the grocer’s daughter from Brillane. His amorous adventures were rudely interrupted by call-up papers. He was posted to the Nineteenth Artillery Regiment, stationed in Draguignan, but the armistice was signed before he saw any action.
Now the old man looked after his goats and helped himself to wine, olive oil, and potatoes. Gustave was responsible for selling all the produce and for paying the taxes. He bitterly complained that he did all the work but received little recompense. Relations between father and son became increasingly strained. Gustave never had the strength of will to escape his father’s domination and grew ever more bitter and resentful.
7
Gaston Dominici Awaits His Trial
On his return to Digne 16 November, Gaston was incarcerated in the Saint-Charles prison across the street from his birthplace. He was allowed to have as much of his wine as he wished, but his request to have his dog stay with him was denied. He offered his hand to the policeman who led him to his cell, but it was refused. In amazement he muttered: “Why refuse to shake hands? I am going to Elba!”1 On the following day his legal team assembled, clearly indicating that it was already in place and ready to act. Unfortunately Émile Pollak was involved in a serious motor accident one week later that put him out of action for a while and left him less energetic than he might otherwise have been.
Back at the Grand’ Terre the Dominici clan was divided into two factions. Clovis and his sister Germaine Perrin stood up for Zézé, while the rest of the family, under the histrionic leadership of Yvette, united against Clovis for his denunciation of Gaston and accused young Zézé of being a deceitful little liar. The weak-willed Gustave, shattered by his father’s harsh accusations, submitted meekly to his wife’s direction. He told any journalist willing to listen that one day the truth would come out, and everyone would be amazed.2 He continued to repeat this remark until his death in 1996. His prophecy was never fulfilled.
Examining Magistrate Roger Périès took a few days’ holiday on the Côte d’Azur before scrutinizing the dossier to decide whether the case should be forwarded to the court of appeal in Aix-en-Provence, where it would be examined by the prosecutor’s office. A number of loose ends needed to be tied up. The precise charges had to be made clear, it had to be determined whether there were any accomplices to the crime, and the inconsistencies and contradictions in the confessions had to be clarified. In short, his task was to go beyond the police investigation and complete a full judicial inquiry.
To this end Périès began by cross-examining Clovis once again on 24 November. He gave yet another slightly modified version of his father’s confession. This time he said that he could not remember exactly why his parents had been quarreling, but both of them were in such a towering rage that he had said that if they did not stop at once he would not sleep in the house any more. Thereupon they had calmed down, and his mother stalked off to bed. Gaston continued to hurl imprecations at his wife and said, “I’m not scared of anyone. I’ve bumped off three of ’em. I’ll bump off another if necessary.”3 Clovis had assumed that he meant the three English people and asked his father, “Is it you?” His father had replied, “Yes, but don’t tell anyone.”
Périès then asked why Clovis had lied about the carbine. He replied that he had initially tried to cover up as much as possible. He had told Gustave not to say anything either about having heard screams after the shots were fired or about having seen that the little girl was still alive. He had simply wanted to keep his brother out of trouble as initially he had believed that his brother Gustave was guilty, until his father confessed. Then his own obligation to keep silent was even harder, because when his brother was in prison, he had learned that his father was the murderer. He was naturally anxious to protect his family for as long as possible, but for how long?
Périès suspected that on 5 August 1952 Clovis might have helped Gustave rearrange the murder site from 7:00 and 7:15 a.m., between the time that Jean Ricard had walked by to catch the bus to Marseille and the arrival of the gendarmes. But Clovis had never been under suspicion, and not even his father in his wildest moments had ever accused him of the crime.
Périès next managed to glean some additional information from Gustave about the murder weapon. He said that he and Yvette had tidied up the shed in January 1951 shortly after his brother Aimé had married and left the Grand’ Terre. At that time Gustave had not seen the carbine, but he spotted it sometime later and had noticed that it had been patched up. He had seen the two magazines but not any loose cartridges. He had never held it in his hands. He assumed that his father had previously kept it hidden in his bedroom, but true to form his mother, Marie, claimed that she had never seen it.4 Clovis confirmed this story, saying that he had first seen the carbine sometime after Aimé had left home. He had taken a close look at it but, unlike his brother, had only seen one magazine. A slight problem with this account is that Joseph Chauve, the tinker from Marseille who testified that he had sold the Duralumin band used to bind the hand guard to the barrel, did not set up business in the area until 1952. Perhaps Gustave and Clovis had mistaken the date or maybe the repairs on the M1 had not yet been completed.
Paul Maillet also had further revelations to make. He had told a journalist from Paris, who had introduced himself as an official of the Ministry of Information, that on his release from prison Gustave had told him that he had “taken part in every phase of the drama.” When questioned by Commissioner Edmond Sébeille, Maillet said that he had asked Gustave where he was when he heard the screams on the night of the shootings.5 Gustave had then pointed in the direction of the alfalfa field. (Gustave, however, had said that he had not seen anything because the campsite was not visible from his bedroom window and that he had not left the house.) Maillet also stated that a truck driver named Gauthier had told him that the M1 belonged to Gustave. Gauthier refused to confirm this statement, saying that he was already ostracized for suggesting that he knew the provenance of the murder weapon. The commissioner did not seem to think that this piece of evidence was of any interest and did not bother to pursue it. If what Maillet had said was true, the question arises as to what Gustave was doing outside at the tim
e of the murders. Did he just happen to go and look at the landslide at exactly the same time as the murders? Was his account of first having met his father around four o’clock in the morning a fabrication?
At Périès’s request, Sébeille went to Brillane on 7 December and questioned Émile Escudier, the grocer to whom Paul Maillet had confided the previous year. He assured the commissioner that Maillet had told him that Gustave had seen that Elizabeth was still alive and that he had persuaded him to tell the police. He also confirmed that Maillet had said that he had important additional information that he did not wish to divulge at that moment.6
Neither Périès nor Sébeille bothered to question Paul Maillet again until ten days later, so he had plenty of time to think things over and mend bridges with Gustave. Périès decided to question Gustave first. He insisted that he had not heard his father get up until four o’clock in the morning. He said that he had heard the screams but that he had seen nothing because he had stayed in his bedroom. Gustave stuck to his story when confronted with Paul Maillet, vigorously denying that he had ever said that he was in the alfalfa field at the time of the shootings.7 Maillet was nervously anxious and eager to leave because his wife was in labor. He told the waiting journalists that he was going to call his son Edmond—“like Sébeille.”
Maillet having left, Gustave continued with his story. He now claimed that Gaston’s dog, Mirza, had barked ceaselessly. This had kept him awake. In this new version of events, he said he had heard his father’s footsteps in the yard at about two o’clock. He went downstairs and found him standing near the well, considerably agitated, and without his cane. Gaston had said, “I’ve thrown it away.” Gustave imagined that he was referring to the carbine. Next Gustave went “in a state of panic” to have a look at Elizabeth. He noticed that she was still moving. He then went to the campsite but did not touch anything. When he got back to the farmhouse, his father had gone inside and the light was on in the kitchen. Gustave then went upstairs to tell Yvette what had happened. He did not go downstairs again until five o’clock. He insisted that he had not messed around among the Drummond’s possessions and that he had not looked for the cartridges, but he had gone to the shed and noticed that the carbine and the two magazines were missing. He concluded his statement by saying that Clovis had often told him of his suspicions about Paul Maillet.
Périès then sent for Clovis, who acknowledged that he had initially suspected Paul Maillet because on the morning of 5 August he had arrived late for work. Clovis admitted to having recognized the carbine and had gone immediately to the shed, where he noticed that it was missing. He had told Gustave, who then said that he knew it had already been removed. Until that moment the two brothers had maintained that they had first confided in one another at Christmastime in 1952.
The following day Périès made a surprise visit to the Grand’ Terre and asked Yvette to give her account of what Gustave had done during the night of the murders. She took some time to collect her thoughts before answering. She began by saying that it was “all too hard” and that for the last year she had been extremely tense and on edge. She insisted that she had always told the truth. Then she said she had heard the screams when the shots were fired, but they had not been very distinct because the dogs were barking. They kept barking for a long time. At about 1:30 she had given the baby a bottle. When the dogs started barking again, Gustave got up. She could not remember whether Gustave had switched on the bedside light when he got up. She did not hear any footsteps outside or anyone talking, but when Gustave went back to bed some ten or fifteen minutes later, he said he had found his father in the yard. Gaston had appeared to be completely done in, as if he were drunk. Gustave, who was extremely agitated, told his wife that his father had admitted to having killed someone. Yvette was terribly shocked. Gustave said, “I ask myself why he went down there. Why did he do that?”
Neither was able to sleep again, although Yvette dozed off once or twice. She said that she heard her father-in-law going downstairs, but she could not say exactly when. It must have been before five o’clock because at that time she heard the goats’ bells as he took his herd out to pasture.
Yvette stated categorically that Gustave had not told her that he had gone to the scene of the crime after he had spoken to his father. They got up at about five o’clock. Gustave went to tend his animals and then looked at the campsite. When he came back, he said that he had seen the little girl lying with a bloodstained face on the slope beyond the bridge. Yvette thought that he had not mentioned that the girl had moved until much later. She was unable to say how many times Gustave had returned to the scene of the crime.
She never told her mother-in-law what Gustave had said, and she always avoided talking about it with her father-in-law. She was not absolutely certain, but she thought Gustave had told her after she had returned from the market at Oraison on 5 August, the morning of the murders, that his father had used the American carbine. Although Gustave had said that the weapon was kept on a shelf in the shed, she had never seen it there. In response to a direct question, she said she could not remember when she had learned that Clovis knew who the murderer was. She added that her husband had not told her in detail what his father had told him in the yard, about an hour after the crime. He did not seem to know why his father had killed the English family.8
Yvette’s testimony was devastating for Gaston Dominici. It was a coherent account that confirmed the denunciations of his two sons Gustave and Clovis. She soon denied, however, that she had ever made or signed this statement. When confronted with the duly signed document, she claimed that she had made it under duress, with Périès threatening to arrest Gustave as an accomplice if she did not do so. This assertion is quite contrary to Périès’s nature and is absolutely out of the question. Furthermore, Yvette did not need a threat to realize that her husband was in a singularly precarious situation and that the slightest slip on her part could well land him in the most serious trouble. She had every reason to protect Gustave. She may not have had much affection for the man, but he was the father of her children and ran the farm. Were he to be charged with murder and probably guillotined, she would have been left fully dependent on her father-in-law.
Périès then showed Gustave his wife’s signed statement. He said that it was perfectly correct and that he had gone back to bed between 2:30 and 2:45 a.m. He had not told Yvette that he had been to the scene of the crime, and he did not want to tell her that he had seen the child move.
Marie was briefly questioned. She only repeated that she had heard nothing, seen nothing, and knew nothing.
Both Périès and Yvette had gotten what they wanted. She had managed to protect her husband while Périès had obtained valuable testimony that strengthened his case against Gaston Dominici. The examining magistrate was hesitant to pursue questioning Gustave, because that could well mean suspending the preparation of the case for trial. The res judicata before the magistrate’s court was final, so any new elements could only be introduced by reopening the case against Gaston. The public in France and Britain, fueled by the popular press in both countries, demanded that the case be solved after such a painfully lengthy investigation; thus, prolonging the case was the last thing that either Périès or Sébeille wanted.
At this point the public prosecutor in Digne waxed poetic about the context in which the crime had taken place. He portentously announced to the press:
Here we have poultry thieves, fights among drunks, poachers whom we consider to be monsters and who are treated without reason or pity. It is the country that demands that. A sun-scorched land, meagre pastures, lavender water distilleries where the alchemist’s fire burns. This is not rich soil, where everything grows easily, but a hard country: avaricious, charred and arid. Everything that grows in our poor communes has a particular taste and power: our thin red wine, our stunted wheat and our rare, short hay. Everything burns, everything is strongly scented and everything exudes passion: men, animals, and plants. It is under th
is sky, the purest in France, during these crystalline nights teeming with stars, across which travels an enormous moon, that the most primitive instincts demand satisfaction.9
In Jean Giono’s novel The Hussar on the Roof (1955), set in Basses-Alpes, Pauline says, “We have fallen among monsters!” Angelo replies, “No, we have fallen among something worse than that—decent people who have ceased to fear the gendarmes.” Here was another Provence, far removed from the quaint tourists’ idyll: dark, violent, passionate, and brutal, with charmingly stereotypical characters transformed into vicious psychopaths, pathological liars, and mean-spirited bumpkins. The horrors that lay behind the picturesque facade titillated Parisian newspaper readers and reaffirmed their vision of Provence as a primitive backwater that hardly could be considered part of civilized France.
Périès could not resist questioning Gustave again after Christmas.10 He altered his story once again. This time he admitted that he had gone to the campsite around 2:00 a.m., but he denied having met his father in the yard. Consequently, there was no question of Gaston’s having admitted committing the triple murder to his son that night. He repeated that the carbine was kept in the shed and that there were two magazines. Gustave now tried to pretend that it was Clovis who had first denounced their father, but after further grilling he had to admit that he had been pressured by the family to say so.
On 30 December Gaston was taken to the law courts, where he was confronted by his sons Gustave and Clovis. A crowd of journalists were waiting for him. He appeared to be relaxed and cheerful. He now told Périès that he had first got up at 4:00 a.m. to take his goats out to pasture and had returned at about 8:00 a.m. It was then that Yvette told him of “the drama.” Faustin Roure, who had returned to the Grand’ Terre at the same time, had witnessed this exchange between Gaston and his daughter-in-law.11 Gaston now claimed that the police had made him confess, saying if Gustave took the rap he would have his head sliced off, whereas he as an old man would merely get a prison sentence. He claimed to have been so exhausted that he had confessed rather than face the ordeal of further questioning the next day. He declared he had been so ridiculed during the reconstitution of the crime that he had tried to kill himself. When asked about his sons’ accusations, he muttered: “Let ’em come!”
The Dominici Affair Page 19
