“It’s his mania,” the shop owner concluded. “That and his bees.”
“Besides,” the owner’s common-sensed wife added, “he’s not hurting anyone. He’s even helping out the kids.”
Teddy left the café a little dazed accompanied by the two young men who would not leave him before giving specific directions to Verrier’s house.
The DS took off down a sunny road winding between two ponds. He drove slowly, looking for his way, not very comfortable in this pleasant but sometimes dangerous country.
He looked at the incredible abundance of wild flowers. The meadowsweets and buttercups, marjoram and daisies, brooms and reeds, all enveloped in a humming cloud. And bees, bees everywhere.
One of them flew in through his open window and buzzed around his face. He shooed it away, thinking of other things.
On the other side of the pond were some little woods that hid the house of the beekeeper/film buff. Teddy Verano parked the car so that it could not be seen, got out and took a few steps smoking a cigarette, concerned, trying to organize his thoughts.
It was too good to be true. If it really was.
Get to know the guy as soon as possible, he thought.
He hesitated. Was he going to be found out? Even playing to the hilt the role of Theo Verdier, salesman for a company that was eager to buy the most delicious honey directly from savory source?
The sun beat down; the ponds sparkled with light. Teddy Verano’s head felt heavy in spite of the pure air.
How far he was from Mephista and Edwige Hossegor, from all the inexplicable crimes and the strange wax creature who had melted into a shapeless heap from a spark that came out of nowhere.
Nature, here, was so cheerful, so charming…
And the bees…
He watched them for a moment as they alit on the wild snapdragons, dipped into the calyx that swallowed them up like a weird throat, then reappeared and left, laden with pollen… Was the solution here?
He made up his mind, walked around the woods and towards the gate described by the considerate young men who had every reason in the world to be nice to a visitor to the local benefactor.
Teddy rang. Nobody answered. Jules Verrier must have been out.
He noticed that not even a dog was running around the yard enclosed by a low, ivy-covered wall that surrounded over two acres of land. Through the greenery, he could see what they pompously called the manor.
Second Empire style, a little hybrid, dilapidated. Just one story. But three television antennas. Quite large.
These could obviously be explained by Verrier’s passion. He had to receive broadcasts from far away, and this, thanks to certain methods that the boys had implied were, if not invented but at least perfected by him, to make the most of them. The antennas were attached to some of the huge oak trees that surrounded the house. Thus no storm could knock them over even though they were each around 50 feet high.
“Yeah… yeah… yeah…” Teddy mumbled. A world of thoughts bombarded him.
He walked around the property. All of a sudden an idea came to him. Say… I don’t see any beehives.
He made up his mind. As agile as a young man, in spite of the ungainly appearance he gave to Theo Verdier, he scaled the wall and jumped into the yard. He walked to the manor, looking for beehives but still could not find any. However, he did note the presence of countless bees.
Close to the house, he kept near the bushes, trying to approach it with more caution. Verrier might be home.
Then, coming from the ponds, was the sound of a motor. A small van. A Citroën 2 CV.
A moment later the vehicle (but not the engine) stopped in front of the gate. Someone got out, opened it, brought in the van, closed it, and finally arrived before the tiny manor. A van on which was painted a pretty sign: a dazzling golden beehive and the business name of the philanthropist/film buff of Cerisiers: Jules Verrier - Beekeeper.
Jules Verrier, a short, thin, frisky man with white hair jumped out without seeming to suspect that anyone was on his property, because Teddy Verano had remained out of sight.
CHAPTER XIV
It was not the first time that Teddy Verano had to sneak around in the dark. His career had already got him used to night vision.
Of course, he had no supernatural powers, as opposed to the monsters he sometimes had to confront, but he had trained himself for a long time to feel his way around, to trust his instincts, to maneuver in tight spots without any light at all and develop enough finesse so that he was not handicapped by the dark. Once again, he was grateful for that training, which he sometimes forced on Gerard.
On hearing Jules Verrier’s van, the so-called Theo Verdier had not stayed long in the park. He wanted to spy on the residents of the manor. He had quickly scrambled over a railing onto a kind of small terrace that had attracted his attention, because it was there that he could see the three huge antennas that looked too big, even for receiving long-distance transmissions.
While the van was almost in sight, the detective had finally found what he was looking for: a way in. At the base of the antennas, firmly tied down, were the cables connecting them to their appropriate equipment, which must have been either on the ground floor, or, more likely, in the basement that Verano had just spotted.
A cellar window (whose lock he forced a little) was his way in, so that the beekeeper/ radio ham could not suspect the presence of an intruder. Teddy Verano, therefore, slipped into the unknown and the very dark basement. It was pretty big and, he vaguely realized, stretched out behind the house through some rather long shacks that he had noticed looked very recently built.
It was dark. It was cold.
Teddy Verano could not see a thing, but he moved forward following the metal cables from the huge installation, which was so unusual in such a place.
Two things struck him as weird and piqued his curiosity. First of all, the strong odor in the dark air. Not a foul smell, but very fragrant, sometimes sweet, even too sweet, but mixed with a more offensive staleness. Secondly, there seemed to be a background sound in this kind of underground passage. A muffled hum, a constant purring…
He had slid through the window so fast that it had closed behind him and he was now a little lost. He had a hard time getting his bearings and figuring out exactly what could be surrounding him.
He heard, very faintly, the sound of the van that the beekeeper must have been parking in the garage. And he thought that the whole space must be soundproofed, that this weird man had really built something bizarre down here.
The farther he advanced, the louder the muffled humming became. And, little by little, his eyes got used to the dark. He found metal objects, cables and electrodes, film reels and a camera that, for an amateur, was quite an investment, both in money and time.
In this workshop the kids from town go and work whenever they want… They take classes… improve their skills… but if they told me that good old Jules Verrier gets something out of this work, that he gets done for free, I wouldn’t be at all surprised.
A door. It was open. And it was even darker in the room before him.
He listened. Still the constant humming. But not a sound from the lord of the manor.
Teddy took a chance and groped around for a light switch. He turned it on and, to no surprise discovered the room of the tiny film club. A dozen seats, more or less. Walls hung with black velvet. A small but respectably sized screen at the back. Next to him was the projector. Teddy took a minute to look at everything.
The Cerisiers film club… that follows the training where they work all together, or almost, on everything dealing with the film industry… Great, but…
He had a strange smile on his face.
I guess I’m only finding out what anybody can find out. What everybody in Cerisiers already knows. What Jules Verrier wants to show everybody.
He grinned.
I’d really like to find out more than Monsieur Everybody is allowed to see… like, maybe, Jules Verrier
’s secret.
He jumped, alarmed by a noise in the distance. He quickly switched off the light and stood in the dark. He did not want to use his small flashlight instead of coping with the dark. He did not move for a minute. No, Verrier was not coming down, at least for the moment.
To be on the safe side, Teddy Verano did not turn the light back on. He groped along the wall until he found another door hidden behind the black drapes.
The mystery starts here… Too bad Gerard isn’t with me… This is where it really gets interesting…
While talking to himself, he took out his lock tools, the ones that he got Gerard to use, and the padlock did not last long. He went through the door into a third part of the basement. Then he stopped and kept silent.
Still the humming. But it seemed louder. And the smell, even stronger and more pungent from the sweetness, more nauseating too. Suddenly, he thought he understood.
The source of the first was the source of the second. Except that around him, he thought he felt something moving.
Or someone?
In the dark, very dark, in this room, probably also lined with velvet, but more mysterious, more secret, reserved for the initiated or who knows? For Jules Verrier alone? Were there… human shapes?
This premonition was becoming annoying. He could have sworn that he was not alone in this part of the basement. And yet, he did not really know if there was a living thing—or things—around him.
Oh well… I’ll chance the lights…
This time, listening in case Verrier decided to show up, he turned on the flashlight. And the circle of light started to roam through the black space.
He saw Edwige. Edwige Hossegor.
A photo. A magnificent poster. A well-known picture, already widespread in the trade.
Edwige—or Mephista—was all over the walls. One. Three. Ten. Twenty. He looked in vain for other stars, other faces. It only took a few seconds for him to be sure that in this room, there were nothing but images of Edwige Hossegor.
So, he was not mistaken. He was at the heart of the problem. But what was the solution? The unthinkable solution?
He threw caution to the wind and searched everywhere. He found more and more photos of Edwige in all her roles, in all attitudes, with that indiscretion, that kind of indecency that belongs to women who are in the public eye and who, since they are everywhere on the small screen, seem to be part of everyone’s home.
Shelves with round, metal cases whose contents were obvious. Plus, these cases were marked. With no surprise, Teddy Verano read the titles of Edwige Hossegor’s films, for both the big and small screen: Lucifer’s Daughter. The Witch of Paris. Infernal Passion…
And naturally, a brand new reel was lying in the last case, shiny, polished: The Vampires of Paris.
The first episode. The reel stolen from the projection room on the Champs-Elysées… for which Daniel was murdered.
He was startled to find a bunch of photo plates neatly classified and arranged on wooden stands.
Enlargements… Hands…
He figured that the slender, delicate hands must belong to Edwige too.
So this is what he used to create his Mephista. Farnese got these fingerprints off the T.V. set of Jacques Lemoulin, stained with blood… and they were also on the knife that I found in Patrick Florent’s apartment.
Edwige haunted the strange Monsieur Verrier. But this was still not a solution.
Thinking he heard a footstep, he turned off the flashlight and was again plunged in darkness, even darker after the light had disappeared. He listened. It seemed to him that, this time, Verrier was rummaging around, not too far from him. Probably in the first room of the basement where the workshop had been set up.
Better to get out of here before running into this guy. I’ll have plenty of time to come back later.
Teddy Verano moved away, but bumped into something. It felt hard and cold, but with pleasant curves. His hands examined it and glided over an unquestionably feminine chest.
A mannequin.
The fragrance was heady. He turned on the flashlight, risking everything, knowing that Verrier might, at any time, come into the film club room.
This time, he was disappointed. He could have sworn he was about to see the face of the mannequin, and this face would be the marvelously recreated beauty of Baron Tragny’s beloved. But there was nothing.
The head of the mannequin was totally blank. It was just a shape with the nose, eyes and mouth barely formed, without the slightest identity. But the feel of it and the smell…
Wax. A subtle, hard wax of incredible delicacy. Wax from a beehive. That pure, marvelous wax that bees make. The same wax that had been used for centuries for spells and for crafting the human dolls of their future victims. A wax doll, yes. But life-sized. An Edwige Hossegor fantasy. And Verrier could only be a staunch enemy of Edwige, or one of her secret admirers turned even more dangerous.
Teddy Verano had handled a few occult cases where sorcery had played a major role, so this was not the first wax doll he had run into. Still, he had never seen one of this size or this quality.
With his little light, he examined the mannequin. It was only sketched out, but so finely that the form of the star was undeniable. However, he searched in vain for the legendary signs that cursed occultists put on their statues to “baptize” them in fiendish ways. No pricks in the heart. There was no trace of blood, or nails, or hair.
Well, this is a rather odd kind of magic...
In spite of himself, he was thinking of magic. He was reaching the point where the ghost detective, the spiritualist fighting against the evil forces from beyond, and the rational man from the 20th century, had joined forces to search for a synthesis of the various elements, to connect the dots, to piece together the mysterious puzzle that had come out of both the visible and the tangible and the invisible and the intangible.
Magic or physics… But magic came before physics. It’s an unexplored branch of physics, that’s all.
He shuddered. There were footsteps next door. Now Verrier had unquestionably entered the projection room. Teddy Verano thought he heard him coming to the door.
He’s going to see the padlock opened, the door ajar…
He pointed his circle of light all over, saw hundreds of Edwige’s different expressions flash by, until he finally found what he was looking for. There was another exit behind a huge poster of Edwige in the role of Mephista.
Teddy Verano jumped on it, pushed and felt no resistance. The door was not even locked. No doubt Verrier felt safe in this area that he kept secret from his appreciative volunteers. The detective went in, and shut the door behind him.
He found himself in the dark again, suddenly gasping for air. He had just seen, or rather glimpsed, a brighter basement that opened onto the outside, not with windows but only with a bunch of slits cut into the whitewashed wall. In front of him were at least 30 beehives in two rows on either side of the room.
And the bees ruled this place. It was their home. They were buzzing, causing the hum that he had stupidly not recognized before, being preoccupied as he was with all the other problems. Bees everywhere. Two swarms buzzing around and with him being without any special protection, he would not last long in their company.
Moreover, Teddy Verano had seen that the bee room had no exit. No other door, but the one to the room full Edwige/Mephista pictures.
The insects left and came back with their load of pollen through the slits. Here, they were totally protected from bad weather and accidents. Verrier could take care of his “ guests,” collect the honey for his business, and the wax for his weird hobby, completely safe and secure. But it would probably be better not to venture further into the beekeeping zone without the suit, gloves and helmet that friends of the royal jelly always wear.
Teddy Verano was almost scared. He was panting in the dark and heard one or two bees buzzing around him. Apparently, during the brief time that the door had been open, they had flown through an
d were now lost in the darkness, flying around, searching in vain for a way out.
For a very short minute, Teddy Verano wondered what he should do.
Then, behind him, the door to the projection room opened up.
CHAPTER XV
Because the absurdity of the situation, Teddy Verano wondered for a split second if he was going to tremble in fear or break out laughing.
He was in the dark after turning off his flashlight and the shape that entered was cut out of the bright backlight coming from the film club in such a way that he saw a fat, grotesque monster with a swollen head, the color of burnt sienna, something like a diver’s suit to explain the obesity of the little man blown up like an advertisement for a tire company.
And this strange little man stopped, looked at him in plain sight, because the light shone on the detective, and he mumbled:
“I knew there was someone here. They told me… They were disturbed, naturally.”
He flipped the light switch. The room lit up and, from every inch of it, Edwige Hossegor smiled, leered and kept watch from her beautiful, expressive, incredibly fascinating face. Teddy Verano was more affected by not analyzing them, but he was struck by the arrangement of the posters, carefully classified, not random, so that everywhere in the room, the observer was dominated by Edwige’s personality emanating from the pictures.
“Who are you? What are you doing in my house?”
Jules Verrier—since it was him, of course—was in no hurry to talk. Thus, he gave Teddy Verano some time, very little to be sure, but enough so that the detective could pull himself together a little.
“Go on, answer me. And don’t try to run away. They told me you were here. They helped me out. They’re strong allies and they can defend me… attack you if necessary.”
“Who are you talking about, Monsieur? Your bees, I guess?”
Verrier did not have time to answer. Teddy Verano continued right away:
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