The Unspeakable Crimes of Dr. Petiot

by Thomas Maeder

  A practicing lawyer since 1923, the forty-four-year-old Floriot had handled a number of major criminal cases. In 1936 he defended two youths accused of stealing F20 million in a train robbery and won their acquittal. A week later, evidence appeared proving them guilty. He had defended Mussolini’s mistress, Magda Fontanges, who shot and wounded the French ambassador in Rome, and he got her off with a one-year sentence. After the war he represented the Nazi ambassador to occupied France, Otto Abetz, who was sentenced to twenty years at hard labor rather than a death sentence, and Jean Luchaire, a prominent journalist and collaborator who was ultimately executed. Most recently, he had unsuccessfully defended Henri Lafont, leader of the French Gestapo, basing his case on the dubious contention that Lafont, having been granted honorary German citizenship during the war, was simply an enemy soldier and could not be shot as a traitor. Public sentiment being what it was, no argument could have saved Lafont, who was shot with his aide Pierre Bonny and seven others in December 1944.

  Floriot, a powerful, leonine man with horn-rimmed spectacles, was not married, did not smoke, and drank only before his final oration at a trial, when he had a single glass of champagne to give him the appropriate uplift. His only hobby was pheasant shooting, and he was reputedly one of the best marksmen in Europe. His life was the law, and his law was a logical genius and a calculated dramatic effect untempered by moral considerations. Whenever he received a new dossier, he picked it apart, memorized it, and rebuilt it as best suited his needs. He based his case entirely on the facts, and though he juxtaposed and interpreted them according to his own plan, the facts were always at his command to counter any attack. When the case had been built into a thing of beauty and the trial reached its end, Floriot showed no more interest. He never seemed to care particularly about the outcome.

  Floriot had begun working on the Petiot murder case in March 1944 when Georgette and Maurice retained him as their lawyer. It seemed certain that he had spoken with Petiot at some point during his eight months of flight, and he had subsequently attended his every interrogation. Every morning for several months before the trial, Floriot wheeled out a cart with coffee and the Petiot dossier, which he discussed from every angle with three of his assistants: Paul Cousin, Pierre Jacquet, and Eugène Ayache. Each was assigned a third of the file and spent his full time studying it, pursuing investigations and discussing the results with Floriot. Cousin had recently married, and after a brief honeymoon he told his wife to go stay with her parents, since otherwise she risked being alone until the following April.

  For both prosecution and defense, the task of collecting information was not always easy. The prosecution found it highly suspicious that Petiot so readily forgot some things and just as readily recalled others in detail. He in fact did have a fine but abnormal memory that often forgot names, faces, and places, yet held reams of extraneous information. When Floriot asked about a certain building important in preparing their case, Petiot could not remember anything about its location. But he described its proximity to an elevated métro line, a locksmith on one side, a bakery on the other, the wood molding around the door, and the tile floor of the vestibule. With the help of a map of the métro and several days of walking, the assistant Ayache was able to find it.

  When the day of the trial arrived, Floriot was ready. Elissalde was lumping all twenty-seven cases together; Floriot was taking them one by one. Petiot was in an excellent mood and could hardly wait. He told guards and fellow prisoners at the Santé that this was going to be a wonderful trial, an amusing trial, and that he would make everybody laugh.

  PART THREE

  14

  PETIOT ON TRIAL

  The trial opened at the Palais de Justice on Monday, March 18, 1946.* The evidence, a teetering mountain of trunks, hat-boxes, and suitcases weighing several tons, occupied an entire wall of the wood-paneled courtroom and lent it the atmosphere of a railroad-station baggage office—a decor, as it turned out, not altogether inappropriate for the tone the proceedings would take. At the center of a long desk sat the president of the tribunal, Michel Leser, who would conduct the proceedings and, at least theoretically, maintain order and channel questions from lawyers to witnesses. On either side of him were two magistrates, who, pursuant to the French system, played little part in the trial itself but who, along with the president and the jurors, would ultimately deliberate on the evidence and determine guilt and the penalty. Flanking the scarlet-robed magistrates on each side sat the jurors. Beyond them, to the judges’ far left sat the clerk of the court, and situated to the panel’s far right were Avocats Généraux Elissalde and Dupin. This single long line of people, typical of a French criminal trial, constituted the State.

  In front of and below the official prosecution and jury sat the civil-suit lawyers. In France, victims of a crime or their relatives are entitled to have their own lawyer present their case and, in the case of conviction, to request damages and negotiate their amount. In some situations the civil-suit lawyers are more effective than the State’s attorney, and in the Petiot affair one suspected from the start that this might be true, since they outnumbered Dupin by a dozen to one. There was Maître Jacques Bernays for the Wolffs’ family, Maître Jacques Archevêque for Madame Guschinov, Maître Claude Perlès for Madame Braunberger, Maître Dominique Stéfanaggi for the Piereschi family, Maître Charles Henry for Paulette Grippay’s relatives, Maître André Dunant for those of Adrien le Basque’s mistress Gisèle Rossmy, a Maître Gachkel for the Basch and Anspach families, a Maître Leon-Levy for the Knellers’, and Maître Pierre Véron for the survivors of Madame Khaït and Yvan Dreyfus. Véron was assisted by Dreyfus’s brother-in-law, Maître Pierre Rein; and several others had brought associates to swell the ranks crammed into chairs behind glass cases filled with umbrellas, canes, hardware, and mysterious packages that completed the assortment of evidence.

  Next to the court clerk and at a right angle to the prosecution bench in the French courtroom is the defense: the prisoner’s box, to the clerk’s immediate left, is on a level with the judge and jurors; the defense attorney and his assistants are below it, level with the civil-suit lawyers. Whether by design or curious coincidence, the press is seated immediately to the left of the accused, thus assuring journalists the best seats in the house. Witnesses must stand, or lean, at a small curved railing situated at a focal point between the opposing sides—in front of and facing the president.

  On this first day there were fifty visiting attorneys and magistrates, the eighty witnesses, a hundred journalists and photographers, hordes of police, and more than four hundred spectators. Yellow passes signed by Leser were required for admission, but as the Petiot trial was billed as the second-greatest theatrical event of the year after The Madwoman of Chaillot, enterprising black marketeers, trained under the Occupation, sold counterfeit passes, and sensation seekers packed every available space.

  The trial opened at 1:20 P.M. with the selection of all seven jurors and three alternates out of a larger pool drawn by lot from the voter-registration lists. Until 1941, the French criminal justice system had used twelve jurors (and since 1958 there have been nine). In all cases the jurors deliberate together with the three magistrates and decisions are reached on the basis of a two-thirds majority rather than unanimity. During the Occupation, the number of jurors used had been reduced to six, and a simple majority, even by a one-vote margin, was sufficient for condemnation. During a thirteen-year postwar transition period, an additional juror was added and a six-to-four majority was required for conviction. The alternates, today as then, sit through the entire proceeding, but play an active part only if a juror falls ill or is disqualified, at which point one of the alternates steps in and the trial continues without a break. Only five challenges were permitted, so the selection and swearing-in of the jurors—all men, it turned out—was soon finished.

  At 1:50 Petiot was ushered into the courtroom. He had asked that his handcuffs be removed outside, which was done. He wore a blue-gray suit, purple
bow tie, and a gray overcoat, and carried a small sheaf of papers. Photographers began taking pictures. Petiot at first modestly hid his face, then struck several dramatic poses before politely saying, “I think that’s enough for now, gentlemen.” He took off his overcoat, folded it carefully, looked at it, unfolded it, folded it again, and placed it carefully on the seat behind him. The court watched in silence. He turned to give everyone a pleasant smile, then glanced at President Leser to indicate he was ready.

  The clerk of the court read the lengthy indictment, terminating with twenty-seven repetitions of the accusation that there existed sufficient evidence against Petiot, Marcel André Henri Félix, of having, either in Paris or any other place “on such a day 194[x], in any case within the statute of limitations [ten years for first-degree murder] willfully put to death [X], born at [such and such a place] on [such and such a date], and that this willful homicide was committed with premeditation and malice aforethought, for the purpose of preparing, facilitating, or effecting the fraudulent appropriation of clothing, personal items, identity papers, and a portion of the fortune of the above-mentioned victim.”

  Petiot looked bored and drew caricatures of the prosecution on the back of his notes. The clerk read out the names of the eighty witnesses to make sure everyone was present. Colonel André Dewavrin, de Gaulle’s chief of intelligence, who was supposed to testify on Petiot’s Resistance activity, was found to be away on a mission.

  FLORIOT I wonder how long he’ll be gone?

  DUPIN So do I.

  FLORIOT You have means I lack for finding out.

  DUPIN So I do.

  At 3:15 the preliminaries were over and Leser began to read the summary of Petiot’s past life that the police had pieced together. Petiot listened with bored amusement; from time to time he leaped up to correct a detail while Leser timidly, futilely, tried to maintain some semblance of order. His presentation was intended to be an introduction to the personality of the man they were there to judge, and, indeed, it was.

  LESER [reading] He was a mediocre student—

  PETIOT I only got “very good” on my thesis. I should be modest about these things.

  LESER You were involved in politics in the Yonne, but contrary to your statements you were never in opposition with Flandin.*

  PETIOT I was the Socialist candidate. Do I have to draw you a diagram to show you my position with respect to Flandin?

  LESER You were well thought of as a doctor. Your patients found you quite seductive.

  PETIOT Why, thank you.

  LESER Nonetheless, a woman in the town, Madame Mongin, had several complaints about you, among them that you stole items from her house and replaced an antique stove with a copy.

  PETIOT If that’s how we’re going to begin, this is not going to go very well.

  LESER I’ll begin however I please.

  PETIOT Madame Mongin wanted to sleep with me. I declined this honor. She lied.

  LESER Next you’re going to tell me the whole dossier is false.

  PETIOT No, I wouldn’t say that. Only eight-tenths of it is false.

  Leser mentioned the theft of the cemetery cross.

  PETIOT Why don’t we stop this farce right now? This story was made up by all the bigots and idiots in the country. In fact, this cross disappeared two hundred years ago. There must be a statute of limitations, isn’t there, Monsieur le Président?

  As Petiot launched into a long explanation, Dupin interrupted him.

  PETIOT [shouting] Would you please let me finish my story?

  LESER I forbid you to speak in that tone. Speak softly.

  PETIOT All right. But I don’t care to be treated like a criminal.

  And I beg the gentlemen of the jury, who will be the final arbiters of this fight, to carefully note all the lies in the dossier.

  The theft of electricity started Petiot on another windy tale, and this time it was Leser who interrupted.

  PETIOT Will you please let me continue? I do think I have some rights here. This is my trial.

  Leser threw his arms in the air. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

  PETIOT Don’t throw your arms in the air, Monsieur le Président.

  LESER [impotent with rage] I’ll throw my arms in the air if I want to.

  PETIOT Oh well, if it pleases you. In another minute you’ll have reason to throw them even higher.

  Leser turned to the doctor’s life in Paris and the leaflet he sent out upon his arrival. “This is the prospectus of a quack!” he remarked without thinking.

  PETIOT Thanks for the advertising, but I would appreciate it if you kept your opinions to yourself.

  FLORIOT A court is supposed to be impartial. I demand that you withdraw this characterization of “quack.”

  LESER Forget I ever said anything. You claim to have earned an astronomical salary, yet you declared only twenty-five thousand francs on your tax return.

  PETIOT I earned three hundred thousand to five hundred thousand francs yer year, which is hardly astronomical. When a surgeon earns eight or ten million, he declares a hundred thousand; it’s a medical tradition. I didn’t want to seem like some kind of dope. Besides, it proves that I’m a patriot: the French are notorious for tax evasion.

  Leser asked about the death of his patient Raymonde Hanss.

  PETIOT The autopsy proved that my injection had nothing to do with her death. I even telephoned Dr. Paul at the time to find out the results of his inquest. He told me, “If you start asking questions about everyone who dies, you’re going to be a very busy man.” Dr. Paul loves to joke, you know.

  The subject turned to the theft at the Joseph Gibert bookstore.

  PETIOT I didn’t steal anything. I put the book under my arm by mistake while preoccupied with my invention.

  Leser tried in vain to stop him from going into a complete description of the machine with full anatomical details of its application. “All inventors are thought to be crazy.” Petiot added.

  LESER It was you who pretended to be crazy every time you had troubles with the law.

  PETIOT On the contrary, I always maintained I was quite sane. No one ever knows whether he is crazy or not. One can only be crazy by comparison.

  Leser described the rue Le Sueur house and placed a sinister interpretation on the triangular room.

  PETIOT Look, I planned to put a radiotherapy machine in that room. I installed the false door because I found it decorative and because I ran out of wallpaper. As for the viewer, it was under the wallpaper. Does that suggest anything to you? You can’t see through wallpaper very well, can you? These are all lies told by the German press, so let’s just stop talking about them. Or else, rather than asking me what I did, why don’t you ask me what I didn’t do. Things would move along much more quickly.

  LESER Your arrival at the house was rather strange.

  PETIOT When the police telephoned, I came at once. That proves I was innocent. They say it took me half an hour to arrive. That annoys me. It took me twelve minutes to go from the rue Caumartin to the rue Le Sueur and ten minutes to return. They made up the story of my lateness to justify the fact that they had forced open the door, which I find astonishingly presumptuous.* A heater which is operating scarcely constitutes the beginning of a fire.

  LESER But you said, “I am risking my head.”

  PETIOT I was. And I’m still risking my head here today, even though I am innocent.

  LESER You refused to answer Judge Goletty’s questions.

  PETIOT That’s not altogether true. I told Monsieur Goletty, “Perhaps I will answer you with a pair of slaps.”

  Petiot repeated his story of finding bodies in his house when he returned from Fresnes and told how his Resistance comrades had helped dispose of them.

  DUPIN What comrades? Give us names.

  PETIOT I will not give you my comrades’ names because they are not guilty—no more than I am. Several of them offered to come and testify on my behalf, but I didn’t want them to. They deserve the
Liberation Cross for liquidating thirty krauts, and you would decorate them with handcuffs.

  DUPIN Let them come and I will give them the Cross. You have my word.

  PETIOT No, I will not tell you their names until the purge is complete. Not as long as men who pledged allegiance to Pétain are still free.

  Leser was troubled by Petiot’s assertion that he had joined the Resistance as soon as the Germans arrived. “But there was no Resistance at that time,” the president stated. The audience shouted in protest at the suggestion that France had peacefully let itself be conquered. “No organized Resistance, I mean.” Leser apologized, and hastily went on to ask about Petiot’s secret weapon. It was evident that Leser had already lost control of the trial and would have difficulty wresting it back from the glib and confident Dr. Petiot.

  PETIOT I’m not going to tell you anything. This is certainly not the place to discuss it. It is a short-range weapon, useful primarily for defensive purposes. The only people who would use it now are the Germans, who would love to get rid of the Allied occupying forces and prepare for another war.

  He went on to tell how he had killed a German on horseback in the Bois de Boulogne. Someone in the audience shouted, “Call the horse to the stand!” Petiot spoke vaguely of Rainbow, Fly-Tox, Cumulo, and the Englishman who had taught him Resistance tactics. He mentioned for the first time that his group had blown up German trains in the Chevreuse Valley near Versailles.

  Pierre Véron really was a Resistant, and his credentials as such were so impeccable that he had been asked, for strategic reasons, to codefend Maréchal Pétain (he refused). During the Occupation he was part of a group that helped downed Allied pilots escape from France, concealing them in his apartment for days while carrying on his practice. After the D-Day invasion, he left Paris and blew up, if not trains, bridges all over France, as his group covered the flanks of the two Allied forces converging on Paris from the west and south. Véron began firing questions at Petiot.