Napoleon's Police

by Michele McGrath

  “Fournier, certainly, but Lefebvre? I realise you usually work together, but are you sure you trust him in an investigation like this?”

  He did not say any more but I knew exactly what he meant. At one time, Lefebvre had been the most famous jewel thief in Paris, nicknamed Mȃitre Chagrin or ‘Master of Grief’ because he had caused so much trouble. I met him when he saved my life, the first evening I arrived in the city, after I had been invalided out of the army. I repaid him by helping him to escape from prison a few weeks later. He became my mouchard or informer and eventually my assistant, following one of our cases. Our success unfortunately brought him to the attention of the minister and his identity had to be revealed. Fouché was a realist and instantly recognised Lefebvre’s value to his organisation. So Fouché employed him and kept his secret. He was one of the few people in the Police who knew about his past. Réal and Fournier were the others. Fouché made use of Lefebvre, respected his skills, but had never been really sure about him. Fouché did not trust anyone too much, but he called on some of us for delicate work, Lefebvre and I included.

  “Lefebvre won’t let me down,” I maintained stoutly, “even in a case like this.”

  “You are leading him into temptation,” the minister pointed out, “with his background and proclivities.”

  “If Lefebvre wanted to go back to his old ways, he wouldn’t start by stealing the Empress’s crown. Who on earth would buy it off him? He’s not a fool. What better man to catch a robber than a former thief? He can go into places and talk to people who would never speak to me. If the crown has been offered for sale anywhere in Paris, he will be sure to hear about it.”

  “Very well. Take him with you then, but I hold you responsible for his conduct. Start at once.”

  Fouché handed me a piece of paper and a packet that had been lying on his desk in solitary splendour. The paper was a warrant that ordered all Police, soldiers and citizens to assist me in the execution of my duties. Fouché had signed it and affixed the wax seal of his office. It was the sort of document which was likely to freeze people’s blood as soon as they saw it, but no one with any sense would disobey his instructions.

  “The packet contains all the information we have to date. I will ensure that anything further is passed on to you immediately.”

  “Thank you, Monseigneur.” I bowed to him and went out of the door. I nodded to Réal and would have walked past him, but he stopped me and said,

  “What can I do to assist you, Duval?”

  This in itself was unusual. Réal was more likely to give me orders than to offer me his help. I wondered if Fouché had informed him of what was going on. Perhaps he was simply reacting to the feeling of urgency and fear which seemed to hang like a fog around the office. He was waiting for an answer so I thought quickly. What did I need?

  “If you would reassign Fournier and Lefebvre to me, please,” I said. “Fournier is already in the building; I saw him just before the minister received me. Lefebvre, as far as I know, is still watching Bonnet, the man we suspect of murdering the moneylender in the Rue du Bac. Would you have Lefebvre sent for and his duties reassigned?”

  “I will.” Réal stood and offered me his hand. I took it with a feeling of complete unreality.

  “You know about this assignment, don’t you?” I guessed and saw the confirmation in his eyes.

  He nodded. “It was necessary, in case something happens to the minister. In an investigation as important as this one, we cannot leave anything to chance. If the minister is not here, you will report your progress to me instead.”

  “Does Laurent know?”

  “No. Keep it that way.”

  “I’ll have to give him some excuse to drop what I’ve been doing and also to take Fournier and Lefebvre away with me.” I could use the minister’s warrant, of course, but that would just rouse suspicions. Laurent would move heaven and earth until he found out what was going on and why I was involved.

  “Then I had better come with you and have a few words with him. I’m aware there is no love lost between you.”

  “That will make my life easier. Laurent has caused me problems before by interfering with investigations.”

  “I remember,” Réal smiled; a rare sight. “Send to me, not him, if you need anything else. I will tell Laurent that you are not to be given any further duties until this matter is cleared up. Bonne chance, Duval.”

  “Thank you. I will need all the luck I can find.”

  We went into my office and Réal called Laurent outside. I never found out what passed between them, but, when Laurent came back, he looked remarkably sour. He glared at me and said,

  “Get going. What are you lounging around here for? You, too, Fournier. You’re to work with Duval for the next few days.”

  Fournier looked startled but did not argue. He shuffled his papers into a pile, stood up and looked at me enquiringly. Petit was in the room, so I didn’t have a chance to tell him what was about to happen. I shrugged and led the way out of the door.

  “What’s up?” Fournier asked when we were in the corridor. “Laurent looks as mad as fire.”

  “Another case. I’ll tell you about it outside. Come on. We need to hurry.”

  We went to a tavern which we often used, called ‘La Rose des Neiges’, Rose of the Snows. A poetic name for an ordinary place, which certainly did not smell of roses. Its merit was that it had private booths where conversations could not be easily overheard. I had told the concierge at the Ministry to send Lefebvre to join us there as soon as he arrived back. I started to explain our task to Fournier before he came.

  “Try not to make a fuss,” I warned Fournier before telling him the story. My warning was wasted.

  “WHAT!” he roared and then clapped his hand over his mouth. “That dirty thieving whore!” he said quickly when he realised everyone in the room had turned to look at him.

  “Forgive my friend,” I cried out to them. “He has just had a bad shock.”

  “It happens,” muttered someone, “damn all women to hell.”

  “You idiot!” I muttered to Fournier when they had all turned away. “I told you not to react.”

  “Couldn’t help it. What a case to drag me into. They’ll murder us if we don’t find the bloody thing in time.”

  “Courage, mon brave. Don’t give up before we’ve even started.”

  I’d brought a lantern over to the table and spread out the contents of Fouché’s package in front of me. There was information on the Empress’s regalia, a few bits and pieces about the jeweller, Margueritte, culled from Police files. The timetable for the coronation itself made me break out in a sweat. Fournier picked this up and gave a low whistle. He swore softly under his breath and the variety of his epithets was impressive. At that moment, I looked up and saw Lefebvre coming towards us.

  “What’s this, drinking in working hours?” He slid onto the bench beside me and reached out for the bottle. “What’s so important that you haul me off the moneylender case? I almost had the culprit nailed,” he complained. “Now Lebrun will get all the credit.”

  “Let him have it. It’ll make a nice change for him to do something right. Wait till I tell you what this is all about,” I said.

  “God Almighty!” Lefebvre choked when I told him. “I heard you were in deep trouble, Soldier, but nothing like this.”

  “Who told you that and what did they say?”

  Lefebvre scratched his head. “It’s odd. Several people really.”

  “Petit one of them by any chance?”

  Lefebvre nodded.

  “What did he tell you?”

  “The word is that you’re onto something big and if you don’t get it right, you’ll be deep in merde.”

  “No more details?”

  “None and that’s what’s so odd. The office usually leaks like a sieve as you know. Petit or Laurent or Garnier should have known more than that and they don’t.”

  “Let’s hope they won’t find out,” I said, wit
h a sigh of relief, “at least until everything is over when they can do no damage. This has to be kept quiet for as long as possible.”

  I told him the full story. Fortunately his reaction was quieter than Fournier’s had been but he looked equally shocked.

  “What do you want me to do?” he asked when I had finished.

  “Go back to your old haunts and the folk you won’t tell any of us about. Find out if anyone is talking about what we’re looking for. If they are, come and find me at once.”

  “Where will you be?”

  “Fournier and I will go to Margueritte’s first. Then I’m going to tell my wife not to expect me for a few days and to fetch some warmer clothes. I didn’t think I would be out on a case. It’s going to be hard work and long hours for all of us. I can’t see anyone going home until the coronation unless we are extremely lucky and the damn thing is found quickly.”

  Chapter 2

  8 Frimaire Year XIII

  (Thursday, 29 November, 1804)

  We left the tavern and parted company. Fournier and I walked to the workshop where the theft had occurred, which was some distance away off the Rue de Rivoli. Margueritte lived in rooms over the working area, on the first and second floors of a tall and spindly building. When we asked for him, one of the apprentices showed us up the stairs to his salon. It was furnished tastefully. Gilt mirrors hung on the wall, dark furniture shone with polish and a fine rug on the floor. It seemed as if Margueritte’s business was doing well, or had been up to this moment.

  Margueritte was a middle-aged man, somewhat stooped from bending over his work bench for many long hours. He wore a coat of mulberry wool and black breeches. Both of his garments looked dusty. I noticed that the linen cuffs of his shirt were full of cobwebs. His face was white and anxious. He was pacing up and down in front of the fire, his feet almost cutting a pathway into the thick pile of the carpet. He barely stood still to greet us before he began pacing again. His wife hovered near him, obviously trying to show him her support. Her hands fluttered nervously and her cheeks were stained with tears.

  “It is inconceivable, Messieurs,” Margueritte moaned, waving his hands about. “I have definitely been robbed, of that there can be no possible doubt. We’ve searched everywhere, but the crown is no longer here. I have been unworthy of the Emperor’s trust.”

  “Calm down,” I said sharply. “If we are to help you, we need to hear your story clearly and without embellishment. I will ask you some questions and my colleague here will note down your replies.”

  Fournier writes more quickly than I do, so in these situations we always work like this. He sat down, took out his notebook and waited for me to begin.

  “Madame,” I said to Margueritte’s wife, “your husband might be better for a glass of brandy.”

  “I have tried to give him one, Monsieur, but he will not drink it.” She pointed to a glass, which stood half full on a side table.

  “Monsieur, you have had a shock. Drink the brandy and think hard. Then perhaps we will be able to retrieve the crown more quickly.”

  Madame Margueritte handed the glass to her husband. He drank it down in one gulp. Then he shook his head, almost as if he was trying to rearrange the thoughts inside.

  “Do you need my wife to be here?”

  “I would like to ask her what she knows, but it would be better if she did not listen to what you have to say. Witnesses sometimes get muddled when they hear someone else’s testimony.” I smiled at them. “I am not setting a trap for either of you, please believe me, but if you would leave us alone for a little while, Madame?”

  “I shall bring you some refreshment,” she said. She looked nervously at her husband and left the room rather hurriedly as if she was glad to be gone for a while. I shut the door after her and then turned to Margueritte.

  “Monsieur, please sit down and attend to me. When precisely was the last time that you saw the crown?” Margueritte dropped into a chair by the fire and put his head into his hands.

  “After I showed it to the Empress this morning,” he groaned.

  “Here, in this room?”

  “No indeed. In the workshop downstairs.”

  “The Empress came into your workshop?” I asked in surprise. We had passed through the working area on our way to the salon. The shop was well run, but it was dusty and rather dark. I could not imagine Joséphine there, in her trailing white draperies. Few people wear white because it is so hard to launder. That wasn’t a consideration for the Empress, of course. She has servants to look after her clothes and enough money to replace them if they become soiled. Nevertheless she seemed to me to be an unlikely visitor.

  “But yes, Monsieur,” the jeweller hastened to assure me. “The Empress is interested in the regalia that we are making for her. She approved the original designs and she has visited us several times during manufacture. She seems fascinated by the process. I don’t suppose she has ever seen anything like it before. Today she even brought the famous coiffeur, Duplan, with her. She wished to try on the crown, so that he could arrange her hair around it. It must be anchored firmly, of course, when it is in place, so that is does not fall off as she moves.”

  “No,” I agreed, “that would not be a good omen to begin her reign.”

  “It would be a catastrophe, but better to fall off her head than never be put on it at all. Oh, my God, what will the Emperor say to me if we don’t find the crown?” Margueritte wailed.

  The man was in a terrible state and I wasn’t surprised. Napoléon would be angry if he ever found out, even if the crown was recovered intact and in time for the ceremony. I shuddered to imagine what would happen if it were not. I would certainly share in his displeasure. I felt again the heaviness of the responsibility which had been so unexpectedly thrust upon me this morning.

  “Tell us what you know and then leave it to us,” I said heartily. I glanced at Fournier who raised his eyebrows at my hopeful words but said nothing and continued writing. I have found, though, over the years, that you discover more by being gentle rather than rough with a witness. This man had been frightened enough already. Better to give him some hope than leave him in despair.

  “At what time did the Empress leave?”

  “About eleven this morning.”

  “And the crown was still here after she had gone?”

  “Yes, I continued to work on it for another hour at least.”

  “Did the hairdresser leave with her?”

  “He left at the same time but he did not get into her carriage. I myself led them out. They parted at the door and he walked down towards the Rue de Rivoli.”

  “Neither of them returned?”

  “No.”

  “What happened next?”

  “We went back to work.”

  “Who are ‘we’?”

  “Myself and my employees.”

  “What are their names?”

  “I have six in total, but only three were with me this morning. Robart, who is my head journeyman, Christophe, who is another journeyman and young Jacques, one of my apprentices.” Fournier scribbled furiously.

  “Where were the others?”

  “Paul had gone to deliver a finished piece to a customer. Benoît and Joseph, the other apprentices, took the cart to fetch some supplies.”

  “They did not return before the theft was discovered?”

  “No.”

  “Then there were only the four of you on the premises?”

  “Four in the workshop. My wife and our two servant girls were in another part of the building.”

  “Did they come into the workshop at all?”

  “Louise, who is one of the servants, brought us some bread and cheese at lunchtime. She put the tray down and left almost at once.”

  “You eat in the working area?”

  “We don’t usually, but we have been working night and day to get everything ready in time. We were given very little notice of the Empress’s coronation as you may know.”

  I no
dded. Paris had been talking about nothing else for weeks. The Emperor’s family did not want Joséphine to be crowned and had fought bitterly against it. Not all of their arguments with the Emperor had taken place in private. There was much speculation in the salons. Bets had been laid for and against whether it would happen.

  “What use is a barren wife?” the Emperor’s family had asked him pointedly. He had not answered as the weeks and months dragged on. All the other preparations for the coronation had been going forward, but no orders had been given about the Empress. In the end, Napoléon had decided to crown her, although he told no one his reasons. Personally, I believed that he had got tired of the arguments and was doing it mainly to annoy his family. Once he made the final decision, there had been little time left to make her regalia. Now her crown was missing, so she could not be crowned after all! They would never be able to manufacture another in time. A crown, by its very nature, is a rare object. If they ever found out about the theft, how the Bonapartes would gloat.

  “What does the crown look like?” I asked. A stupid question really because how many crowns could there possibly be adrift in Paris? I wanted to keep the man talking, though, and I was afraid that the more he thought about his circumstances, the more his fear would make him reticent.

  “It is small but heavy,” he replied. “There are eight branches set with diamonds, under a gold globe surmounted by a cross. Four branches are shaped like the leaves of a palm tree, four resemble myrtle leaves. Around the rim is a ribbon, inlaid with eight emeralds. The frontlet is encrusted with amethysts.” For a few minutes, the man’s voice was full of his professional pride.

  “Distinctive,” I said, dryly.

  “It was almost finished,” he lamented. “Only the final banding at the rim was left to be adjusted. It had been giving trouble and took longer than I expected, but I hoped it would be completed today. I promised the Empress that I would deliver the regalia to her on the day after tomorrow.”