A nurse entered with a huge bouquet of red roses.
“Ah! More flowers! And him again…”
“I thought I should bring them,” the nurse said. “Mademoiselle told me…”
“It’s true,” Edwige interrupted her. “It’s… him again, as you know, Robert. It touches me and I asked that they bring all the flowers in here.”
The nurse put them in a vase.
“If you accept all the flowers sent by your admirers…” the baron grumbled. “For three days at your home, at mine, here in the hospital, it’s an avalanche. Bouquets and bouquets, always more flowers, bunches and basketfuls… Oh, you are loved, Edwige!”
She held out her pretty hand that was a little thin and weakened by the past few weird days.
“Don’t be jealous, dear. You’re the only one… Really, Robert…”
When the nurse left, the baron ran to the door and shouted after her:
“Please don’t disturb us. Especially no journalists. Except for Mademoiselle Mellion. But she won’t be here until this afternoon.”
Edwige looked at the red roses with melancholy. Maybe more than mere melancholy, and Teddy Verano was startled.
“These roses… Excuse me, I’m being indiscreet, but it’s my job.”
“Oh, you have the right to know. We should tell you everything,” the baron spurted out.
“But Mademoiselle Hossegor should first explain the reason for sending her letter without anyone knowing, if I understand correctly. Not you, Baron, not her aunt, not Eva Mellion and not Isabelle.”
The two men turned to Edwige, questioning but silent. She was obviously uncomfortable but ended up saying:
“I’ll tell you about these flowers after telling you why I’m so touched and troubled by them. No, Robert, don’t go imagining things. You know very well that I don’t know who’s sending them…”
“Yes, I know.”
“And don’t sulk, my love. He wrote that he’s hopelessly in love with me, and he’s 20 years old, that’s all I know. Do you think I’m the kind of woman who would choose a boy over you? That would be unworthy of Edwige Hossegor…”
“Let’s get back to the letter,” Teddy Verano said, trying to stay on track and stay away from the baron’s petty jealousies.
“I called on you, Monsieur Verano,” Edwige Hossegor said, “because I was scared.”
There was silence. Tragny looked worried.
“A threat?” Teddy Verano pressed on gently.
“Yes.”
“Someone wanted to hurt you? Someone in the movie industry?”
“No. Absolutely not. I can say that I’ve got nothing but friends. A lot of friends. But there must be some people who… well, who are a little bothered by my success.”
“So, jealous rivalry?”
“No,” she smiled sadly. “No colleague ever threatened violence toward me because I got a role they thought should be theirs…”
Tragny was getting upset.
“Edwige, you’re keeping us waiting. What happened? What did you think you had to keep to yourself and tell no one about?”
“Not even you, isn’t that right, my love?”
She broke into tears as Tragny became frantic.
Teddy Verano let the crisis pass and then, with his own kind of gentleness, a strong and persuasive but mellow voice that could be very charming, he asked:
“This threat… it seemed shameful to you?”
Edwige nodded her head. Tragny thought he understood and cried out:
“Blackmail then? About me? Someone wants to extort money by threatening you… to reveal to me some past… or imaginary escapade and…”
“No, no… Listen to me, Robert. And you too, Monsieur Verano. I told you, I’m going crazy. The threat… it really exists… but it’s not from the outside. Nobody wrote to me, spoke to me, or called me. It’s inside of me that everything happened… inside… inside me…”
Suddenly, she dropped back onto her pillows, biting her lip so she would not start sobbing again. The baron stood up to look for the bell to call someone, but Teddy Verano stopped him.
“One moment please. Mademoiselle Hossegor, you’re worn out. Isn’t it normal in your line of work? And the kind of roles you play…”
Edwige suddenly stopped looking nervous. She sat up and grabbed the detective’s hand.
“Oh, I knew you’d understand. My roles… the characters I play… The vampires… Mephista… Yes, I think so. Everything comes from that. But I don’t want to any more, I don’t want to play criminals, evil women… That’s what’s disturbing me.”
“Have you told your doctors about this?” Teddy Verano asked.
“Yes, of course.”
“They said nothing to me about it,” the baron snarled. “They just said something about a little depression…”
“First of all, they kept their professional confidence,” Teddy Verano observed. “And Mademoiselle Hossegor must have asked them not to tell you.”
Edwige nodded.
“It’s all very well and good,” Teddy Verano continued, “but they were still unable to understand the fainting fit that lasted for hours and during which… a lot of things happened.”
Edwige looked at him with surprise and anxiety.
“Yes, you have to know. We’ll tell you about it afterward. For three days, we’ve purposely kept you away from everything. Tragic events took place… which were obviously connected to your condition.”
Edwige was deeply moved.
“Let’s get back to the facts” the detective went on. “This threat… from within. Did you find an enemy inside you somehow?”
“Yes. I was scared… for a while… scared of my dreams… scared of my thoughts. The role… this diabolical role… after so many other roles of same kind. I felt like I was Mephista all day long every day lately… and I was scared of…”
“Yes, finish what you want to say.”
She fell back onto the pillows.
“I couldn’t go on. I was worn out. I dreamed that I killed... yes, that I did evil things, that I was a demon incarnate… like… the other night, Robert… I dreamed that I was going to kill you… I told you…”
“Yes, my love, I know.”
“This has happened to more than one actor,” Teddy Verano commented. “Professional conscience, an actor’s high sensitivity, the fact that they embody the characters they play so completely that they can’t tell where reality ends and the fiction begins.”
“Also,” Edwige spoke sadly, “if I understand correctly, the doctors were thinking of neurosis… Oh, I remember the case of Duquesne in Madame Sans-Gêne, playing Napoleon and ending up really thinking he was the Emperor for a while.”4
“Mephista is obviously something different. But it’s only a role. Not reality.”
“Then why am I so scared? Scared of being Mephista? And all the monsters along with her, all the witches that I played?”
Tragny was dying to tell Edwige what had happened in his house the previous night, but he let Teddy Verano lead the conversation. He was taking it step by step.
“And these roses? Why are you so nervous when you get them, even though you let them in, but not all the baskets that friends and unknown admirers have been sending you since… we got so worried about you?”
“Since you thought I was dead, you mean?”
Teddy nodded.
“Well, along with all the people who say they adore me, I receive these roses… and letters… kind of naïve and clumsy… A young man who says he’s 20 years old and in love with me…”
“Like so many others,” the baron said.
“Yes, you jealous, naughty man. But he’s touching. I laughed a little about it with Robert. He sulked on principle because he knows very well that it’s not serious. This kid is young enough to be my son, you realize that…Except his silent admiration is a breath of freshness, though of course it’s hopeless, so that I feel like it’s a protection for me, a kind of good luck charm�
� Excuse me, I don’t want to sound vain, but in my work, a woman is exposed to love… I mean to all kinds of compliments, sometimes very inappropriate, but often very touching. That’s why out of the hundred, the thousands of flowers, I accepted his… and Robert’s of course… and sometimes,” she added simply, “those of another friend of ours, very discreet, but also certainly in love with me. His name is Jacques Lemoulin and…”
The two men turned pale.
“My God, what’s wrong? What happened?”
They looked at each other. Teddy Verano, in a slightly different voice, said:
“We mentioned a tragedy… during your mysterious slumber… You have to know everything now since you have to tell us everything… Be strong…”
Edwige listened without saying a word. She too turned pale on hearing of the death of Lemoulin, murdered in his apartment in front of the photo signed by Edwige Hossegor. When it was all told, when she knew the truth and that Chief Farnese had showed them that the bloody fingerprint from the smashed television was from her own hand, she cried out in a fit of horror:
“He accused Mephista! He’s right… it’s her… she killed him. Me… me, Mephista… like I want to kill Robert… like I want to kill that poor boy who sends me red roses… kill them, kill them… all my admirers… everyone who loves me… because they are love… because I am hate… because I am evil... I am death…”
An hour later Edwige was resting, pumped full of tranquilizers. Doctor Sorbier spoke to Tragny and Verano.
“Typical neurosis, Messieurs. Mademoiselle Hossegor thinks she’s the character she’s playing. Overwork. Rest. Nothing else.”
Tragny plainly wanted to believe the doctor. Teddy Verano was telling himself that it was not by talking about neurosis that they would explain the murder of Jacques Lemoulin or the apparition in the middle of the night of a second Edwige in Baron Tragny’s house, just a few feet from the bed where the real Edwige was lying in apparent death.
CHAPTER VI
“Thursday, 3 p.m., at 116bis Avenue des Champs-Elysées.”
“OK, Mademoiselle Eva,” replied Teddy Verano. “I’ll make a note of it. And… how did the rest of the shooting go?”
“Very well. Maybe it’s hard to believe. We were all scared: the baron, the director, the technicians and me, of course. Unnecessary fears. Now back home, Edwige is back to herself. And we can finish the last episode of The Vampires of Paris, which has been on hold since… well, since the day she fainted.”
“But this isn’t the episode we’re going to see?”
On the telephone Teddy Verano heard Eva Mellon’s little laugh.
“Oh no! I see you’re no technician, Monsieur Verano. The film has to be developed and edited, synchronized with the sound and the music that’s been composed separately, add in the credits… it takes weeks. But don’t worry, when we show the finished film you’ll be invited at the premiere.”
“I don’t doubt it, Mademoiselle, since you’re in charge of invitations, right?”
“Exactly. So, Thursday at 3 p.m.”
“OK. As long as Mademoiselle Hossegor doesn’t need anything from me in the meantime.”
“Let’s hope not,” sighed Eva. “And you…”
“Nothing yet. Anyway, I’ll keep you up to date.”
After hanging up, Teddy Verano flopped into the armchair in his small office on Rue d’Enghien and calmly lit a cigarette.
While pursuing the usual leads: suspicious husbands, unfaithful wives, parents kidnapping their own children from separated spouses, disappearances that might or not be elopements, he had made two things his priority.
First, he was training his stepson, Gerard, Yvonne’s son, despite some argument from his wife. Secondly, to get Gerard “on the prowl,” since he was getting more and more interested in the detective business, he gave him the Edwige Hossegor case to study, patiently and thoroughly. For the moment, young Gerard was “doing” the florists, trying to find a clue that might lead them to the young stranger in love with Edwige. He was still bombarding her with extravagant bouquets and sweet notes of tenderness that were getting on Robert Tragny’s nerves.
Teddy wrote in his notepad: Thursday 3 p.m. Paris studio. Showing of the first part of The Vampires of Paris.
He thought of Eva Mellion. A charming girl, dynamic, very pretty at twenty years old, slender with blond hair cut like a tomboy and clear, kind eyes that expressed a strong character that was not at all unattractive to a man like Teddy Verano.
Being absent on the day Edwige had her first crisis, she had arrived the next day, coming from Berlin where she had been dealing with a publicity contract for her boss. She had always had a lot of affection for and devotion to Edwige, and Tragny seemed to be very fond of her, just like Isabelle who was also very loyal.
Teddy was thinking about all this. He saw a clear difference between the real Edwige, the adorable woman who could connect with those around her, who was appreciated on the set where she had none of the tantrums or animosity of sophisticated stars, who could so kindly receive her admirers while keeping a distance (like with Jacques Lemoulin), and the monster Mephista, the fictional creature spawned not only from her latest role, but also from all the more or less diabolical characters whom she had played so far and who had made her famous.
Who could have it in for her? he thought.
He got sent over the file of letters from admirers and requests for autographs. He went through them but a lot of them looked the same, some courteous and considerate, others more passionate, most of them naïve and clumsy. A few (it was rare) were bitter. And, as often happened in letters to famous people, there was no lack of obscenities and threats.
Teddy Verano, who had some experience in what a pen could reveal, found in these rivals, as scathing as they might be, no sign of aggressiveness that could lead to hypnotizing or bewitching Edwige.
The comedienne had learned everything now, that an unknown woman who looked exactly like her had entered the Tragny house at night. There was, therefore, another Edwige Hossegor, another Mephista.
“A woman who imitates you and who might commit crimes…”
Edwige had shuddered in thinking that the woman who had murdered Lemoulin (if it really was a woman) must have looked like her. She wept over this friend whose feelings she was aware of.
“Stabbed… and thinking that it was me…”
Tragny would have preferred to keep the truth from her but Teddy had insisted on telling Edwige everything.
“She has the right to know. Besides, it’ll shock her into fighting her neurosis. She would end up believing she’s guilty, identifying with Mephista. That’s what Gelor and Sorbier are afraid of. But now, knowing that there’s an impostor who acts and looks like her, she’ll break free, understanding that she has nothing to do with it.”
Tragny gave in and the two doctors agreed: Yes, they supported such a method.
Edwige, in fact, was a little calmer and admitted that her fears could have been imaginary, a result of overwork. It was no less true that the fainting fit on the one hand, and the presence of a false Edwige on the other, remained hard to explain and defied all logic. As for the death of Lemoulin…
The investigation was going nowhere. They had found absolutely nothing to help the police. Chief Farnese, in spite of the too blatant bloody fingerprint, was courteous enough not to harass Edwige, and was satisfied with going through his friend Teddy Verano to let her and Tragny know that he would inform them of any new developments.
“A police chief who finds a bloody fingerprint, who knows the victim pronounced his murderer’s name before dying, and who still doesn’t incriminate the person in question, pointed at twice, that’s what’s funny. Farnese really does see how silly it is. How can he accuse Edwige Hossegor who was in a coma at the time and among I don’t know how many people… including me?”
Teddy Verano scratched his chin.
“Yes, but… what about the other one?”
An idea, still
vague, was forming in his mind.
Edwige unmoving, Edwige cataleptic, Edwige dead. Seen and confirmed by dozens of witnesses including police officers, nurses and doctors, not to mention all the technicians from the O.R.T.F.
And Edwige as Mephista (even while under watch in that incomprehensible coma) had gone to kill poor Jacques Lemoulin, then that night had visited Tragny’s house.
Teddy Verano had worked on too many occult cases to make the decision that the rationalist Farnese had to make: there is a woman who is playing the role of Edwige Hossegor and committing crimes as her.
“No, there’s something else… but what?”
Edwige was doing much better. She had finally finished shooting her television series. Dr. Sorbier was following her case closely and found her normal. Two or three times, she had met Teddy Verano, but he had to admit that, in spite of everything, she was not calm. The nightmare was coming back, hazy, in the distance, but troubling.
“Mephista won’t let me go,” she said. “After the premiere, I’m going to leave Paris. Tragny is taking me on a cruise. It’ll be our honeymoon.”
Teddy Verano wondered, would everything go back to normal? Without knowing why, he was sure of the contrary.
With Gerard’s help, he was looking for the young man of the red roses, but he apparently changed florists every time, which stalled the investigation. His letters were also mailed in an untraceable manner. Real shyness? Cleverness?
Teddy Verano was itching, even just out of personal curiosity, to solve this mystery, a minor event in the drama looming over Edwige/Mephista.
Farnese was still ignorant of the truth about the nocturnal visit of Edwige number two. Eva Mellion, too. Tragny and Verano had only told Edwige in the interests of her mental health.
On Thursday at 3 p.m., Teddy Verano was right on time for the appointment. There were only around ten people there: Edwige, Tragny, Eva, the director, Jean-Pierre Max, Edwige’s co-star, three technicians of both sexes without any artistic claims, but who are usually found at these events where they have nothing to do. No journalists. A showing must have been scheduled for them later, when the last episodes would be wrapped up.
Mephista Page 4
