Murder in Monte Carlo

by Michael Sheridan

  The detective consulted with the examining magistrate Monsieur Malavialle about the establishment of the judicial process. The prisoners would be transported to separate prisons where the magistrate could interview them when appropriate and set up the impending preliminary court hearings which, under the French inquisitorial system would be exhaustive, before the prisoners were extradited and brought to trial in Monte Carlo. There a similar process would take place under the baton of magistrate Monsieur Savard.

  Dupin would take the overnight train to Monte Carlo to continue the investigation with the co-operation of Garonne and the local police authorities. First he had to ring Hennion.

  9

  LA GUILLOTINE?

  PARIS, AUGUST 1907

  The words rang out through the room, transfixing its gathering of amazed and admiring listeners:

  “Danton, you have served the cause of tyranny. You were, it is true, opposed to Lafayette; but Mirabeau, Orleans, Dumouriez were also opposed to him. Dare you deny that you were sold to these three men, the most violent of conspirators against liberty? It was by the protection of Mirabeau that you were named administrator of the department of Paris, at a time when the electoral assembly was decidedly royalist. All the friends of Mirabeau openly boasted that they had shut your mouth. Moreover, as long as that frightful personage lived you remained silent. At that time you charged a rigid patriot in the course of a dinner that he would compromise the good cause by stepping aside from the path along which Barnave and Lameth, who abandoned the popular party, were moving.

  Amid the first gleams of the Revolution you displayed a threatening attitude toward the court; you spoke against it with vehemence. Mirabeau, who meditated a change of dynasty, scented the price of your audacity and seized you. Thenceforward you strayed from rigid principles, and you were no longer spoken of until the massacre of the Champs de Mars. Then you supported, at the Jacobin Club, the motion of Laclos, which was a baleful pretext, paid for by the enemies of the people, for the unfurling of the red flag and an attempt at tyranny. The patriots who were not initiated in this conspiracy had ineffectually combated your sanguinary opinion. You were named with Brissot to draw up the petition of the Champs de Mars, and you both escaped the fury of Lafayette, who caused 2,000 patriots to be massacred. Brissot went about peaceably after that in Paris; and you, you passed away happy hours at Arcis-sur-Aube – if a person who conspired against his country could be happy. Is not the calm of your retreat at Arcis-sur-Aube comprehensible? You, one of the authors of the petition; while of those who had signed it some were loaded with chains, others were massacred; Brissot and you, were you not objects of tyranny’s gratitude since you were not objects of its hatred and terror? What shall I say of your cowardly and constant abandonment of the public cause in the midst of crises, when you always took the part of retreat?

  Mirabeau dead, you conspired with the Lameths and supported them. You remained neutral during the Legislative Assembly, and you held your peace during the sore struggle of the Jacobins against Brissot and the Girondist faction. At first you supported their opinion upon the war. Pressed afterward by the reproaches of the best citizens, you declared that you would observe the two parties, and you retired into silence. Allied with Brissot in the affair of the Champs de Mars you thereafter shared his tranquillity and his liberty-killing principles; then, given over entirely to this victorious party, you said of those who held aloof from it, that since they were alone in their opinion upon the war, and since they wished to ruin themselves, your friends and you must abandon them to their fate. But when you saw the storm of the tenth of August gathering, again you betook yourself to Arcis-sur-Aube. However, urged by shame and reproaches, and when you knew that the fall of tyranny was well prepared and inevitable, you returned to Paris on the 9th of August. You hid yourself during that terrible night. Your section, which had nominated you its president, long awaited you; they dragged you out of a shameful repose. You presided for an hour; you quitted the chair at the moment the tocsin sounded; at the same instant the satellites of tyranny entered and thrust the bayonet through the heart of him who had replaced you. You, you slept!

  You detached yourself from the Mountain amid the dangers which it ran. You publicly claimed it as a merit not to have denounced Gensonné, Gaudet, and Brissot; you incessantly held out to them the olive branch, a pledge of your alliance with them against the people and strict republicans. The Girondists made a mock war against you; in order to force you to declare yourself it demanded a reckoning of you; it accused you of ambition. Your far-sighted hypocrisy conciliated all, and contrived to maintain itself in the midst of parties, always ready to dissimulate before the strongest without offending the weakest. During stormy debates, your absence and your silence were commented on with indignation; you, you spoke of the country, of the delights of solitude and idleness, but you could quit your apathy to defend Dumouriez, Westermann, his boasted creature, and his accomplices, the generals.

  You knew how to allay the wrath of the patriots; you represented our misfortunes as the result of the feebleness of our armies, and you turned attention from the treachery of the generals to occupy yourself with new levies of men. You were associated in the crimes of Lacroix, a long denounced conspirator of impure soul, with whom one could not be united save by the knot which binds conspirators. Lacroix was always more than suspected, hypocritical and perfidious: he has never spoken with good faith within these precincts; he had the audacity to praise Miranda and to propose the renewing of the Convention; his conduct with Dumouriez was the same as yours. Lacroix has often testified his hatred for the Jacobins. Whence came the pomp with which he was surrounded? But why recall so many horrors when your evident complicity with Orleans and Dumouriez in Belgium suffices for justice to smite you.

  Unworthy citizen, you have plotted; false friend, you spoke evil two days ago of Desmoulins, an instrument whom you have lost, and you attributed shameful vices to him. Wicked man, you have compared public opinion to a woman of loose life; you have said that honour was absurd, that glory and posterity were a folly. These maxims were to conciliate you with the aristocracy; they were those of Catiline. If Fabre is innocent, if Orleans, if Dumouriez were innocent, then doubtless you are innocent. I have said too much: you shall answer to justice.”

  Clemenceau had stunned his audience with his perfect rendering of Louis Saint-Just’s condemnation of Danton delivered before the Convention in March 1794, to which the accused had no opportunity to reply in his own defence.

  When the applause died down, the Minister would no doubt have a point to make to the gathering of his Cabinet.

  Célestin Hennion was mightily impressed with his mentor’s delivery of that age-old speech and wondered with the rest of the assembled company what was going to come next. Clemenceau loved such diversions before he got down to business, but apart from anything else, he already had a captive audience.

  “Well, Celestin, what do you think?”

  “An example of evil, deceit and betrayal that would make any of the government’s allies and indeed enemies appear saintly by comparison.”

  “Indeed, false accusations, distorted facts, delivered in an atrocious but very effective manner, and left unchallenged. In the interests of justice it is, however, to be recalled that despite the fact that Danton was executed six days later, the deliverer of the speech together with its undoubted author Robespierre four months later were led to the guillotine!”

  The Prime Minister had now revealed his reason for using this example: there had been a concerted political effort to get rid of the guillotine which was gathering some credibility.

  They were in different times now, Clemenceau remarked, with far different outcomes to the swings and roundabouts of politics, but he emphasised the same swings were still present and the same inclinations for alliances of convenience and betrayal. A brief history of the Third Republic would provide ample evidence for that fact. Just now the radicals and socialists were pushing for legisl
ation for the abolition of capital punishment, a move which he urged his colleagues and allies in government to oppose.

  “We are all aware from the history surrounding the speech which I have just hopefully properly recounted, that abuse of capital punishment has unforgivable consequences both for society and individuals. That awful time in the development of the republic provides a classic example of the total breakdown of law and order. We are concerned with the preservation of law and order which we are well aware is under threat from many quarters.”

  He went on to outline the much-publicised increase in violent crimes and murder in both urban and rural areas and the constant threat of political violence from anarchists and extreme left-wing radicals. The gang terrorism on the streets of Paris and Marseilles could not and would not be tolerated.

  Hennion gave an analysis of the situation which he considered serious enough to merit setting up a dozen mobile brigades to respond to serious crime in a quick and effective manner. All present would be derelict in their duty not to recognise the worsening trends that posed great risk, both to the citizens of the country but also to the state itself. In addition to all their best efforts to deal with criminals, it was his opinion that effective deterrents must always be central to a successful policing policy.

  “We are privileged to have a reformed and highly motivated force which day by day on a national level is coming under the control of the Súreté. The mobile brigades will reach every corner of France and destroy the hegemony of the armed gangs and thieves. In Professor Lacassagne and Dr Locard of Lyons we have the two greatest forensic experts, not just in this country, but in the world. Lacassagne is also an accomplished criminologist with a number of important studies completed into the criminal mind and the genesis of criminal behaviour. He is, to be absolutely clear, implacably opposed to the abolition of capital punishment. In surveys he has carried out, in prisons housing the most dangerous and persistent recidivists, he has found a surprisingly high proportion without any remorse or regret for their actions, including murderers who have avoided execution due to extenuating circumstances. In these and many other cases, to remove the deterrent of capital punishment would be an absolute folly. There are irredeemable criminals, who show no regret for the victims of their crimes.”

  Hennion went on to state that he was a policeman, not a moralist, just as the professor from Lyons was a scientist not a preacher. But both also had broader interests in the arts, music and literature in particular. He mentioned this because all those who shared such interests, including the Prime Minister and much of his Cabinet, would recognise copious reference in literature to the matter of conscience.

  “It is supposed to be one of the most powerful agents in human behaviour. Writers tell of the pangs that assail the wicked and vividly express the torture and anguish of a stricken conscience; poisoning all pleasure, inducing nightmares and repeated memory of the event. Punishment by all accounts comes as a welcome relief. This may be largely true but, in my experience and that of others on the front line, there are killers and criminals who have no conscience or remorse and the only pity they possess is for themselves for being caught.”

  Most of those, he added, would commit the crimes all over again. Determinists without knowing it, they seemed to view the crime as ordained by fate, something over which they had no control. Certainly by all means abolish capital punishment, throw the citizens to the wolves of crime and their parliamentary representatives to the bombers and assassins. The consequences would, in his view, be catastrophic for France.

  It was a view that would gain a lot of both parliamentary and popular support and ultimately defeat the efforts of the abolitionists.

  Hennion was glad to get back to his office in the Sûreté. He was not entirely comfortable in the company of politicians, but had responded to Clemenceau’s entreaty as his boss. It was a small concession for the support his mentor and friend gave him in regard to the operation of the Sûreté.

  Some hours later he received a call from Dupin of Marseilles about the discovery that morning of a dismembered body at Gare Saint-Charles.

  “It will be all over the newspapers tomorrow, so I just wanted to forewarn you,” said Dupin.

  “I appreciate your call very much,” said Hennion. “It is very timely for a reason that I won’t go into – let us say politics – which I know, with respect, will not be of any concern to you. And I agree this will cause a sensation just like the Gouffé case. The newspapers are particularly fond of murder within the higher classes, where it is not supposed to happen. But the method would have attracted considerable attention all the same. It is a tide there will be no point in resisting. Better not leave too much to their imagination. But needless to say there will be details they publish which will surprise us all, whatever the basis in fact. Such is the doubtful, at times, privilege of the press. Concentrate, no matter, on your investigation. There is nothing covered that shall not be revealed; and hid, that shall not be known.”

  Dupin recognised the last statement from the Gospel of Matthew. Nothing, he thought, has changed since it was written.

  “Bonne guerre,” concluded Hennion.

  Dupin could not believe his luck.

  There was help if he wanted it but the case was his and he should get on with it; and without betraying confidences or prejudicing the trial, there should be reasonable co-operation with the newspapers.

  He was back at the Saint-Charles station at eleven that evening to catch the overnight train to Monte Carlo. He got a compartment on his own and settled down to get some much-needed sleep.

  10

  RENDEZ-VOUS

  MONTE CARLO, AUGUST 1907

  The detective woke just once in the darkened compartment, prompted into wakefulness by a dream of confused signals and forking paths of thought translated into image. Nothing unusual, just part of the subconscious stress that came with his position. Very rarely there was a revealing nugget released by his subconscious in dream form that could be of value. The web of his dream unfolded, and he recalled every detail.

  This was a strange one, but on reflection there would certainly prove to be connections with the case.

  In his dream he had stopped to look into the waters of a river. Dark shadows of fish moved through the submerged reeds. They parted like the curtains on the stage of the theatre and revealed a kaleidoscope of colour and in the middle a basket with a baby in swaddling clothes.

  The baby boy’s eyes were wide open and the face began to move to the surface of the water. From its eyes tears mingled with the moving river. There was a most lonely and lost look on his face and his hands emerged from the surface in a pleading embrace.

  He was transfixed with fear. If he yielded to the embrace he would be drawn to a watery grave. To limbo with the baby.

  He turned away and with leaden legs ran towards a bridge which straddled the rushing, gushing waters of the river. His heart was pounding along with the river current.

  His attention was drawn to a clock above the bakery shop No numbers but hands still moved across the face. There wasn’t a soul on the street, not a dog, cat or human.

  He began to cross the bridge, aware of a deathly silence.

  The river made no sound though the waters moved in gigantic flood towards the open sea. His eyes took in the small harbour on the right-hand side of the river where at low tide the swans would eat from the hands of their admirers. Beyond he could see the expanse of the bay, not a ship, a small boat or a seagull in sight. The silence was broken by the toll of the church bell just down from the harbour.

  From the direction of the city centre a funeral procession appeared. The hearse was drawn by a pair of white horses with black plumes sticking upright from their heads. The cortege approached, followed by a number of women in black dresses with shawls drawn over their heads so that their faces could not be seen. The undertaker sat on his seat above the horses’ rumps. Under his tall black hat he wore dark glasses and in his right hand he held
a white stick. He wore a butcher’s apron, covered in blood.

  As the hearse approached, the detective saw the coffin which like the windows of the hearse was made of transparent glass. In the distance he could see the corpse was a young woman with long dark hair. As the hearse drew abreast, the woman’s eyes opened and she turned toward him, her arms rising, beckoning. It was Emma Levin. He recoiled in shock.

  Splashes of blood from the undertaker’s apron dripped on his hands.

  He was dragged into a darkening void, an eternal tunnel. He felt his breath taken from his throat, making a sound like a rattle. With all his strength he resisted. The church bell rang louder and louder and he felt the ice-cold grip of the corpse’s hands.

  That had been enough to jolt him out of the nightmare. Nothing much in the subconscious could match the horrors of reality. There were parts of such dreamy rumination where it would be quite pleasant to halt an event or image for more pleasure or thought. But dreams do not work that way. The images follow one another like the waves coming in to the shore, they allow no pause for contemplation. More’s the pity, he often thought to himself.

  A shaft of sunlight penetrated the slit in the blinds and Dupin raised them, with the broken webs of the dream still clinging to his mind. Sunlight flooded the compartment. He briefly considered some logical interpretation of his dream. The victim looking for help and justice? That much was clear. But the rest?

  Certainly this woman would get justice, but he still needed to know more about her and in particular her relation with the Goolds.

  In particular the wife – Marie. Dr Dufour’s assessment of Goold had given him much pause for thought. The man was a physical and mental wreck, incapable of planning and carrying out the crime on his own. On the other hand there was little doubt, he knew from experience, that a drink-and-drug-fuelled rage can produce extraordinary violence. But the man that he had seen, he suspected, did not fit that category. Then again evil often gets weak men to do its bidding.