In the end, he didn’t think she entirely bought it, but he did his best.
Gilles took down the details of her home address. She lived with an elderly aunt and uncle in a small flat about six kilometres away across the city. A plain girl with a distinct black hairiness to her forearms and side-burn areas, he had little reason to suspect any romantic attachments on the part of Theo Duval, and she was such an innocent kind of person he didn’t inquire further. It would only embarrass her and interfere with future conversations.
His interview with the driver wasn’t very enlightening and had about the same result. In spite of their stated reverence for their employer, perhaps even some personal liking on his part, Frederic was terrified when he realized there might not be much need for his services any longer.
Although he insisted that he drove Madame Fontaine and Alexis everywhere on their household errands, and that there was some small possibility that Alain might employ him if he took over the house, his heart wasn’t in it and his attention seemed elsewhere. Gilles gravely noted that he ate lunch in the kitchen and took his breaks there as well. His movements could be accounted for at least, for his daily routine was a thing of comfort and guidance to one such as Frederic. He had a wife and two daughters, and lived in a small flat on an upper floor about ten blocks away. Gilles knew the neighbourhood, nodding at this bit of information.
It was almost a relief to get rid of the man, and yet such a familiar type to Gilles.
Jules Charpentier had managed the local plant for six and a half years, and was assistant manager before that. He had started with the company at about the age of twenty-five, and was in his early forties. Like the new arrival Babineaux, whom Gilles had briefly met, and who was now awaiting his own questioning, he was balding. In his case, it was simply buzzed short and ignored. This was also a kind of vanity, realized Gilles, the vanity of one who wants the world to know that he simply doesn’t care. It was all business. It was a genteel stoicism, rather than a ruthless repression of emotion.
He seemed to know a lot about the inner workings of the corporate side of things. The local plant was the largest one they had, and he was naturally consulted on many aspects of policy-making, especially additions to the product line, some portion or component of which might be built or assembled in his plant.
“Monsieur Babineaux should have been a vice-president at the very least. We’ve been sort of expecting it any day now.” Jules had plenty of observations on the business, not too many on Theo, and virtually none regarding the household staff other than Alexis.
“A good man.” That was his impression of the bodyguard. “And Theodore was lucky to have him. A lot of these fellows can’t type or spell. But he was in some ways a professional friend, the sort of person that a man like Theo can never really have. Theo enjoyed having him around.”
“What do you mean?” Gilles had found that himself over the course of time.
Police work did that to you.
“Think about it. Who were his peers? In some ways the inventive all know each other, but they are also very competitive. Some of them are a little bit unbalanced and some are real back-biters, and emotions can run very high. We have been sued for patent infringement, for example, although it was later dropped. It was a proper nuisance at the time, as you can well imagine. As a matter of fact, Theo was furious.”
“Do you think there’s a grudge there, with the other party?” Even as he asked, it didn’t seem too likely as a motive for murder.
The proper marchand, businessman, moved on to greener pastures.
“Oh, probably.” Charpentier took it with a grain of salt. “It was a nuisance lawsuit, without much merit, and Theo bought him off, essentially. What is there for them to be angry about? We’re the ones who ought to be angry, and the fellow is still alive and kicking somewhere about town.”
“So tell me about Babineaux.” Gilles made a face. “He seems like a very high-powered personality, and yet like a well-polished sword, he remains sheathed.”
“He’s a prodigy. He’ll be running the whole place someday.” The statement was a recital of fact, nothing more than the truth as Charpentier saw it. “He’s brought in efficiencies and found all sorts of economies. He has generated fresh sources of investment capital for the firm. It grew out of cash holdings held at high interest, in savings. To Theo, this was so much better than borrowing at even the most favourable rate.”
Gilles saved the prodigy Babineaux for last. Finally the man sat before him as he took a moment to compose his thoughts. He had many questions, some of which could and should wait.
“Your arrival has thrown Madame Fontaine into consternation.”
Eduard Babineaux was in his early fifties, with a pugnacious, bulbous nose, a heavily-dimpled chin, and fleshy round ears. His hairline went up and over the back of his head. The strands of black hair combed sideways across his baldness did little to hide the glare of the small light fixture above. He had combed his hair that way since day one and would never change. It said everything and exactly nothing about him. With a face like that, the man might have appeared the fool, if not for the subdued yet expensive and very conservative business suit. It was the sort of brown suit that looked equally good at a business luncheon, a wedding, or a funeral. He could have made a speech in that suit, and yet the man apparently had spent a lifetime eradicating all outstanding traces of personality. This man would take everything, not just seriously, but literally, and himself most of all. The man projected confidence, as upset as he was. He was in total control of his demeanor.
He was an accountant, financial comptroller for the firm’s worldwide ‘obligations,’ a manner of speaking Maintenon had never heard before. Without the suit, he would have felt naked.
“I was expected, of course, but she has obviously forgotten all about it. Naturally I understand. This is a terrible tragedy.”
Gilles nodded absently as he put the man’s name, title and home address down into his notebook in good form. Bad notes meant bad errors when typing it up, and both prosecutors and attorneys for the accused read them very thoroughly. They looked for problems from both sides of the fence.
“And where is your office?”
“I have a suite and several assistants. Head office is only two kilometres away from this very spot. There are accounts offices in every plant. We have a major production facility on the outskirts of town.” The gentleman provided details which Gilles duly noted. “That’s where Jules has an office as well.”
It was out on the east side, a conflux of industry, rail and canals, close to a large working population, and easier to supply with their own specialized raw materials than some of the establishments that smudged the southern horizon, right in the heart of the city, with their stink and their smoke.
“It has been a very great shock to her, and quite often there is a kind of affection among members of a household.”
“Hmn.” This man was a professional at communicating—or not.
“This is a terrible thing.”
“Yes, Inspector. While I am not a demonstrative man, Theodore will be sorely missed, and of course this will cause quite a crisis within the firm.”
“What do you mean?” Gilles listened intently to the tone as much as the words. “Incidentally, are you married, and do you have children?”
The gentleman provided details of his family, including a wife, and two sons, one of whom had taken vows at a Benedictine abbey, and one who was employed at an accounting firm across town. Maintenon played the bait-and-switch, asking an innocuous question and then alternating with a tougher one, just to see how the subjects responded.
“As for the company, day to day operations will continue, of course. The stock will probably fall, at least in the short term, but it’s nothing to be alarmed about. The firm is solvent and Theodore had a kind of approach that allowed executives to hold considerable power of decision. The company will go on, we must have no doubts about that.”
“I se
e.” Gilles went through a list of questions in his head, but asked none of them.
“This is a great shock to us all.” Babineaux sat straight in his chair, with his hands folded in his lap.
“Suicide requires some compelling reasons.” Gilles struck a chord, he saw it resonate within Monsieur Babineaux.
“Yes, absolutely.” He took a deep breath, pursing his lips together as if trying very hard. “If so, Theo never shared it with me. Or with anyone, I’ll bet.”
“So far, you are right.” Gilles regarded the man for a moment.
Patient, yet sincere, his emotions were under control. It’s not that he didn’t look stricken. Of course he did. It’s not that he hadn’t seen or heard similar things before, but Gilles was interested in the subconscious attitudes of anyone connected to Duval. With a little prodding, Gilles hoped to get him to open up ever so slightly. Babineaux would have little choice but to provide something tangible under questioning, no matter how reluctant he might be to discuss business matters or his employer’s personal life with the police. He seemed practiced in the art of putting people off of his true emotions. It was a necessary trait, when playing the game at his level.
If he read him right, Babineaux should have been screaming inside, to leap out of his chair and go tearing off to his lair at head office and start the damage control immediately.
“I hope that we don’t have to waste too much of your time, Monsieur Babineaux.”
“Every company needs direction, not just in business affairs, but also philosophical. Theodore was good at that, possibly the best. But it’s more than that. There will be share-holders and the Board of Directors to appease, there will be problems getting short-term credit for day to day operations, including payroll. This will throw everything into a tizzy, no doubt about it. But I was aware of nothing bothering Theo, far from it.”
“And you have no idea of why he might wish to take his own life? There was nothing else going on, no big problems, no un-resolvable issues?”
“None whatsoever, Inspector Maintenon, in fact suicide would be quite foreign to his nature. While I know nothing of his personal life, he was a very strong and quite frankly, a persistent man. I can think of nothing that would be sufficiently traumatic, to make him give up on life, let alone commit suicide. If anything, he would only try harder, fight harder. The man was a force.”
It seemed to be a consensus, and while not based on any discernable facts, fit with what Gilles knew of what he always referred to as the archetypes of human nature. Duval was used to getting his own way. So far, no one had a bad thing to say about him, and there were no suggestions of problems in his life.
“So you came for a business meeting?” Gilles threw down the pen and leaned back, putting his hands on the back of his head in a familiar and relaxing pose. “Tell me about the young lady.”
“Oh, well, Inspector.” The implication was that this would not be seemly. “I couldn’t really comment.”
Gilles knew that much before he asked the question, but it was always worth a try.
“How long have they known each other?”
Babineaux sighed. He would try to accommodate the police, against his better judgment and more civilized manners. It was just a whiff of arrogance. He couldn’t conceal it after all.
“I think maybe a few months. Six months, maybe a little longer.”
“What does Duval Industries do best? What is the company about?” This was a matter of some pride, and of public record.
It was easy bait. Gilles waited to see what came out.
“The firm specializes in taking Monsieur Duval’s drawings and prototypes, and bringing them into production, sometimes by way of licensing agreements, sometimes in partnership with other firms as well as suppliers and stock holders—”
Gilles grinned in spite of himself, and the gentleman coloured, a faint blush in his cheeks. The brightest blue eyes he had seen in some years gazed back at him with a surprising familiarity.
“Yes, but what do you do? What do you make, exactly?” Gilles was more succinct, more specific as to the question.
A small touch of humour, even humanity, might go a long way.
“Ah! I’m sorry. Of course. We produce household, er, forgive me, but I always call them gadgets, for the kitchen. We make sporting goods, tools for work and home, often with a great improvement in design, or convenience, or even just weight. All kinds of things for the farm, and just handy little things made more efficient. We hold numerous patents in the automotive accessory field, for example.”
“Weight?”
“Yes, weight. To make something lighter is to often make it more useful, I’ve heard Theodore say that many times.” Those bright blue eyes glowed with something now. “Theodore loved making things more efficient.”
Gilles had underestimated him a little. It was possible for a man like Babineaux to like his work, perhaps even to love the company. He wasn’t completely cynical, a misjudgment on the part of Gilles.
“You know, my job is a lot like yours.” Gilles settled into the seat, leaning forward to make notes if necessary, if any little thing came up. “It is about detail. It is about being meticulous, and not making one single assumption about anything.”
“Yes, Inspector, and I agree with you. If there is anything you want, or anything you need, just let me know. And all of our staff members will cooperate fully with the police. I can assure you of that. Theodore was extremely well-liked by all of his people, myself included.”
Gilles nodded in approval, as he could think of no other response.
“So you’re up from Lyons?” The other man nodded. “What’s down there?”
“One of our major plants, a subsidiary. I was there for a week. We’re bringing in a new product line. I visit the various production centres to assist in training high-level executives, and of course Theo was always interested in what was going on. Off the record, the cooking’s not bad here, either. Our discussions often came over lunch.”
Seemingly uncalculated, it was an admission of a little humanity of his own.
“Oh, really.” Gilles thought for a moment.
Unprompted, Babineaux went on.
“The company has acquired assets, other small firms that might have run into trouble, or simply been offered for sale. Sometimes the owner wants to move on, or the firm might be acquired from an estate. Otherwise, we would probably concentrate all production in one location.”
This was exactly the sort of relationship he was after.
“How so?”
“In other words, if it was an opportunity, and a good fit for us, we often made an offer. I was very much involved in those deals.”
“So, as an accountant, you would look over their financial situation?”
“Yes, among other things, and of course others would be involved as well.”
Now was not the time to ask. First a little softening up.
“What other sorts of things did the company do?
“Well, Theo was working on a prototype for a better mousetrap, if you can believe it. It’s not that the present ones don’t work, but the average housemaid or the woman of the house doesn’t like the sight of a dead mouse, let alone the thought of touching one for disposal, and of course they have to be removed from the trap.”
“And?”
“Monsieur Duval had some drawings which showed real promise. It was a flat-bottomed half-cylinder, containing what is essentially a similar mechanism. The thing is loaded with bait, and then when you shove the mechanism in again, the door locks open, and only closes when the trap is tripped by an unsuspecting mouse. Or a rat, even. The person with the duty of disposing of the dead mouse only has to check and see if the door is closed. There is a little red flag, stamped out of metal. It pops up when sprung. Then they push a button on the other end, and the thing pops open, and the mouse goes right into the dustbin.”
“Ah, I see. Build a better mousetrap, and the world will beat a path to your door.”
“That’s how we all saw it, Inspector. But Theo was truly a genius at that nuts and bolts visualization. Honestly, my explanation is murky at best. It doesn’t cover the half of it, really.”
“But you had full confidence that it would work?”
“Oh, yes. His prototypes sometimes didn’t work very well, and that’s where his genius for problem-solving in the mechanical sense came in.”
Gilles duly noted it down.
“What if Monsieur Duval came up short? What if he ran dry? How would that affect him?” Gilles wondered if such a thing would be enough to drive a man to suicide.
It seemed unlikely, and Babineaux agreed as Gilles figured he would. Suicides were about love, and honour, and shame. Suicide was about atonement, or punishment, or guilt, or sheer loss of hope. Suicide was about ending the suffering. Gilles wondered when it would dawn on Babineaux that if it wasn’t suicide, then it had to be something else.
“Oh, no. Monsieur Duval had many, many years of ideas ahead of him. The truth is, he would never come to the end of work that he wanted to do, and there were never enough hours in the day when he really sank his teeth into something. I don’t think he ever really abandoned a project, although he might set it aside when higher priorities intruded.”
“Yes, he impresses me the same way, although I’ve never actually met him.” Gilles regarded Babineaux from a few feet away, such a small distance but a gulf which seemed insurmountable sometimes.
If only he could get inside of the man’s head for a few minutes. He was sure it would be a revelation. There were too many things that would be hidden, and have to be hidden, in the eyes of a man like Babineaux. The world of business could be cut-throat at times, yet it was also a polite world where there was much that could never be talked about openly. The death of Duval might have opened up an opportunity for someone else like him. Even now, it was not the time to ask, or perhaps Babineaux was not the right one to ask. He’d have to think on it.
The Art of Murder Page 4
