The Compromised Detective

by Pirate Irwin

  Lafarge had let Hubert be because he wanted him to be almost grateful when he was arrested, believing he was safer in the hands of the police than at liberty and prone at any moment to suffer at the hands of ‘Arthur’ and his influential friends. There was little doubt in Lafarge’s mind that the Courneuves would be confident of striking a deal with him and he was willing to play along with them, but he had no intention of letting them escape the guillotine.

  ****

  He was now on his way back to Paris, on the road nicknamed ‘the Blue Road’ or ‘the holiday road’ because in peacetime every August the N7 would be victim to huge traffic jams as Parisians made their way on the long journey from the City of Light to the Cote d’Azur, and his appointment with the two Jeans.

  Prior to returning he had phoned Levau from a café in Fontainebleau and ordered him to make up some procedural excuse and have Marianne Courneuve held overnight. Levau had told him that wouldn’t be a problem as while she had delivered the passports she had not brought the documents of proof of sale for the apartment and therefore could not prove the purchase had been legal.

  Lafarge had laughed and revealed to his partner that he had them on him, without going into the details of the conversation he had overheard, and then added Levau was to try and commandeer a car from the police garage, which would not be easy as their resources were stretched to the limit. He was to wait for Hubert to return and then inform him that his wife was being held overnight but her release could be facilitated if he would give them the papers.

  Levau had chuckled and said it would be fun to see his reaction and his excuse for not having them, and asked Lafarge whether he should also take him in. Lafarge said that under no circumstances was he to be arrested, that it was all part of the plan. He asked if Pinault had been nosing around but, to his relief, Levau replied in the negative as the commissaire had been called out because there had been a potential lead in tracking down Petiot.

  Lafarge was now stuck in what passed for a traffic jam on his way into Paris, but it gave him time to reflect on part of the conversation which had intrigued him the most between ‘Arthur’ and Courneuve. That had been the reference to pointing the finger at Maurras and his fanatical followers, which meant the far right Action Française group.

  That Courneuve and his wife were members wasn’t a surprise; they were probably members of all the various extremist groups that had affiliated themselves with either Vichy or the Nazis during the Occupation. The best thing that could be said about Charles Maurras and his Action Française was that it had been anti-Nazi, at least at the outset. However, its virulent anti-semitism matched that of any of the groups. Where it differed was that it attracted a disparate group of people, some even pro-de Gaulle, but its main ideology was in supporting the return of the monarchy.

  That to Lafarge made it the Don Quixote of movements; to think that they could benefit from the arrival of the Nazis and achieve their ultimate goal of re-establishing the Bourbons through Henri d’Orléans, the Comte de Paris, was too fantastical to imagine. However, Maurras, a writer and intellectual of note who had been elected to France’s elite Académie Française in 1938, had a devoted and influential following, although they had split into different camps during the war.

  Lafarge doubted that the ageing Maurras would have orchestrated plots such as the one that ‘Arthur’ and Courneuve were discussing but he certainly would not have been against anything that could have done damage to de Gaulle, whose loyalists he had openly called on to be executed when they were caught as he said they were provoking a civil war in his beloved France.

  Lafarge was not concerned by Maurras – he was no longer significant and was bound to be on the list of those who were to be arrested because of his anti-semitic and pro-Vichy stance – but that there were, it seemed, senior military officers purporting to be pro-de Gaulle but actually only so they could act against him was a serious matter.

  This had allowed them to pinpoint members of his entourage who could be susceptible to blackmail and to either exposing a dark secret about de Gaulle or, as seemed to be the case with de Boinville, in making one up. In the end it didn’t really matter, for any inkling of scandal surrounding him could prove fatal and affect the future of how and by whom France was run.

  He could sense that the way this case was developing was not going to please Pinault, for it looked very much like the ends to it had been very much political and little likelihood it had been simply a sordid liaison gone terribly wrong. Well, there had been a sordid liaison, but it had been at the beginning between Courneuve and the Count and subsequently with the poor little Algerian boy.

  However, Pinault would, if he had been able to organise it, permit him to see Palewski, which would be useful for Lafarge lacked any contacts within the military or inside de Gaulle’s circle. Someone like Palewski would at least be able to, if he wished, give him background on any old adherents to Maurras and Action Française.

  Regardless of their sworn fealty to de Gaulle they would be of interest for their old ties and whether in fact they were long-term plants, who had joined him early on but with the goal of undermining him once the time was deemed opportune – and that was when the Nazis would have been swept from Paris.

  That time had obviously arrived but thankfully, according to what he had heard ‘Arthur’ say, the murder of de Boinville and the bungling of the Courneuves had forced a postponement of the plot. This gave Lafarge time to unravel it further through his investigation and hopefully cause such chaos that it would never succeed. Palewski’s loyalty to de Gaulle was beyond reproach, so Lafarge had heard, and thus he did not have to be guarded about what he knew, and he hoped by being open that would mean the former airman being a useful fount of information.

  Ironic, Lafarge mused, that here was he the son of a diehard Petainist plunged into trying to destroy a plot to bring down the Marshal’s opponent, something which his father cooped up with Petain in Germany probably still prayed for morning and night, and yet he felt nothing.

  Petain had given him the chance to return and destroy Bousquet but it didn’t mean he bought his loyalty because of that gesture. Far from it, for Lafarge loathed what Petain and his subordinates had done to France, bringing shame and disgrace to one of the great countries of the world, and god knows what damage that would do in the long term not only to its relations with its allies once the dust had settled but also to its power over the colonies such as Indochina and the Levant, not to mention North Africa.

  They had perhaps fatally weakened France’s hold over them and it required a strong-minded person with the forces of good on his side to, at the very least, try and restore the country’s prestige and honour.

  To Lafarge’s mind there was only one person and it certainly wasn’t Petain, who wouldn’t be acceptable anyway after what had taken place under his leadership, nor a restored monarchy under the Comte de Paris, who nobody had ever heard of outside of his narrow circle. No, the one person, Lafarge felt, sure to extricate France from its morass was de Gaulle.

  Besides which, quite apart from anything else, Lafarge’s principles had always been the same once he became a policeman and that was to uphold the law and where necessary to enforce it. He justified his actions in disobeying it, and in the process murdering three people, as being at a time when the rule of law as he knew it had been completely hijacked and used for its own evil purposes by the state, namely Vichy.

  He could justify the murder of two women and an Abwehr officer as being in the best interests of France, the one that had for the moment triumphed and looked all but likely, given the Germans had failed to launch a counter-attack since surrendering Paris, was here to stay.

  To his mind, too, he had paid a heavy price for his ‘crimes’ with the deaths of his wife and daughter and in all probability his son as well. He pondered whether his way of justifying his actions was similar to those who were wreaking revenge on the former collaborators.

  No, he had suffered enough
already and for the first time really since the sinking his eyes welled up with tears as the loss of his nearest and dearest hit him. The worst thing, too, was that he had only just got to know his young children before they were torn away from him, and as for his wife Isabella, well she had been, when he reflected on it even in his darkest days under Bousquet, his shining light.

  He wiped away his tears and his feeling sorry for himself when he realised that he had just reached the top of Avenue de l’Opéra – my how that had changed in a matter of days having been a mass of signposts in Gothic script with directions to various Nazi headquarters from the Navy to the Wehrmacht – and he was just a few minutes from the residence of Cocteau and Marais.

  It was at times like this that Lafarge loved his job because it meant he could banish uncomfortable and upsetting matters such as what he had been thinking about to the back of his mind and focus on other people’s unhappiness. Better to be a sadist than a masochist.

  ****

  Cocteau’s apartment – for it was his and not jointly-owned with Marais – Lafarge conceded was stunning.

  While the interior decoration was attractive to the eye it was principally the view that gave out over the Palais Royale which was the main feature. He was fortunate, having been let in by the butler, that he caught it in the dying vestiges of the evening sunlight, the leaves gleaming off the thin trees that lined the sides.

  Cocteau deserved to have such a place, given how much he had enriched French literary history with his writing, as the Palais Royale was steeped in history itself.

  Ironic given the monarchist links to his present case that it was from a café in the then gardens of the Duc d’Orléans, a cousin to King Louis XVI, that Camille Desmoulins’ impassioned speech had launched the march on the Bastille.

  He unfortunately had been indisposed in putting words into actions as he had slipped and fallen from the table where he had spoken and knocked himself out.

  The Duc acting as an example to the present day monarchists and indeed his descendant – in their case ridding themselves of de Gaulle, and viewing himself as the future head of state – had voted for the execution of the King which had been carried by one vote.

  Who needs enemies when you have family such as that, thought Lafarge grimly, though given his own one it didn’t appear they had learnt anything from history.

  “Chief Inspector Lafarge?” said a gentle voice from behind him.

  Lafarge turned and saw the tallish, angular-featured Cocteau. He looked a bit like a benign hawk to the Chief Inspector, while beside him stood the broader more muscular and much younger Marais.

  “Please sit, Chief Inspector. Would you like a glass of champagne? We are celebrating as Jean has joined up with Leclerc’s Army. I hope this won’t take too long as I have reserved a table at the Ritz to give him a suitably lavish farewell,” said Cocteau smiling.

  “I am so fond of the place, it is like a second home, as I have experienced some of my most pleasant moments there. I am speaking, of course, of non-theatrical ones. Even in the darkest days of two wars and now all this nastiness as people settle personal accounts – why I was almost shot the other day by some over enthusiastic sniper – it has been a haven for me,” added Cocteau, who appeared to go into a trance of ecstasy as he recounted his love of the hotel.

  “That is very patriotic of you, Monsieur Marais,” said Lafarge pointedly, ignoring Cocteau’s remark about the Ritz.

  Marais flashed a satisfied grin as he flopped down on the puffed up, full-bodied cushions of the sofa.

  “Well, hopefully it will allow me to take care of some of those awful Vichy people at the same time. I owe them personally after what they did to me over ‘Renaud and Armide’,” said Marais bitterly.

  Lafarge nodded as he had done his homework – theatre not being his favoured artistic pursuit -- and learned the collaborationist arts press had forced the early demise that year of the play because Marais was in it.

  It had been revenge for his having punched one of their number, Alain Lambreaux, after he made a disparaging and bitchy remark effectively saying the actor’s career had only advanced because of his sexual relationship with Cocteau.

  “Indeed, well thankfully Brasillach and Lambreaux are a thing of the past now. You no doubt have heard the wags have renamed their publication ‘Je suis partout’ as ‘Je suis parti’,” said Lafarge laughing.

  Both Cocteau and Marais laughed, though the former’s lacked conviction and was more of a nervous titter.

  Lafarge waited till the butler had served them excellent Roederer Cristal champagne, and left the drawing room, before he turned to the reason for his presence.

  “Obviously you have heard that Count de Boinville was murdered shortly after he returned home from having had dinner with you,” said Lafarge.

  Both nodded sadly.

  “Yes, it is simply dreadful, Chief Inspector. The Count was a very good friend of ours from before the war and all this awful nonsense since,” said Cocteau.

  Lafarge wasn’t too impressed at how one of France’s finest literary talents had described the Occupation, but then Cocteau’s sympathies had never been very clear and he had actively written for another collaborationist publication ‘La Gerbe’, and on top of that made a laughing stock of himself in the gushing praise he addressed to Hitler’s favoured sculptor Arno Breker when he put on a lavish exhibition in Paris.

  However, Lafarge let the remark slide.

  “I was wondering if you could give me a sense of how he was that evening. Was he tense or relaxed and enjoying the fact he had returned home?” asked Lafarge, who aside from wishing to help them finish the bottle didn’t see them being late for their table.

  Marais glanced at Cocteau as if he was asking permission to answer.

  “Well, he was relaxed to start with as he was delighted to see us both again and there were a couple of other old friends here, but I don’t think they would be of interest to you, Chief Inspector.

  “However, as the evening progressed and he drank more he made some remarks that were of concern to us,” said Marais sweeping his hand elegantly through his fair hair without dislodging the ash from his cigarette.

  Lafarge remained silent, simply raising his eyebrows to indicate to Marais he was free to continue.

  “He spoke about difficulties he had had in Algiers, that having been appointed de Gaulle’s special diplomatic envoy to liaise with Duff Cooper who was Churchill’s man with the General, he was delighted at first to come across some familiar faces.”

  “Ah that, I take it, were his neighbours the Courneuves,” asked Lafarge.

  “Yes, the Courneuves. However, he told us that the relationship soon turned sour over a relationship he had and that they were putting pressure on him,” said Marais.

  “What sort of pressure? Was he being blackmailed?”

  Marais nodded, although Lafarge noticed that Cocteau had tensed and a stony expression descended over his birdlike features.

  “The Count said that it had been hell for him since he returned as they had shadowed him everywhere. He didn’t say what their goal was, whether it was money or his artworks, but he hinted he was at the end of his tether and he was going to do something about it,” said Marais, clearly proud of his late friend as he was a man of action too and not just on film as he was about to show by joining Leclerc.

  “It seems he wasn’t allowed to, though,” said Cocteau shaking his head mournfully.

  “No, his murderer prevented him from making his meeting which is I assume where he was going to expose the Courneuves,” said Lafarge.

  “Courneuve was always an arriviste and social climber of the worst sort,” said Cocteau disdainfully.

  “Oh really, you knew him?” asked both Lafarge and Marais at the same time.

  “Yes, he used to hang around the theatres where my plays were put on. He was always trying to ingratiate himself with me and my circle. It wasn’t clear how he could be of any interest to us as he had
no artistic talent and his interest in the arts seemed very basic.

  “Rumour had it that he had accrued a certain amount of wealth through sordid assignations with gentlemen in the pissoirs round Paris. Having met him on several occasions I fully believe them. Though I never fell for his charm despite his good looks,” said Cocteau.

  “Glad to hear that, Jean,” said Marais somewhat relieved, although from what Cocteau had said Courneuve had been on the scene well before the two Jean’s became a couple in 1937.

  “So you could say Hubert Courneuve proved himself to be a public convenience,” interjected Lafarge, which provoked a howl of laughter from Marais and a smile from Cocteau who probably considered such humour to be beneath him, a celebrated man of the arts.

  “What about his wife Marianne? Did either of you meet her?” asked Lafarge thinking it best to move on quickly.

  Marais shook his head but Cocteau once again nodded.

  “Yes, she is ideally suited to Courneuve. She is from an old family that had gradually through poor investments and the depression lost all its money. She was at first what she would have considered to be a courtesan, though the men she consorted with were not of the highest rank, but did have money,” said Cocteau.

  “However, she soon discovered there was more money to be made through blackmailing her consorts, and she became a very effective one. I heard she fell upon Courneuve thinking she could do him over, but soon learnt that he was better to have as a partner than as a victim.

  “Their marriage is nothing more than another lie. They are married but it is simply for convenience sake. However I would warn you, Chief Inspector, that if it is they who murdered Count de Boinville then I would be extremely prudent about how you approach dealing with them,” said Cocteau.

  Lafarge smiled and said he appreciated his words of warning and put to Cocteau, as he seemed to be a wise old owl in judging characters, whether they would ditch each other if there was trouble.

  Cocteau laughed uproariously at the question.

  “Oh, I don’t think so, Chief Inspector. They see each other as like Bonny and Clyde or in their giddier moments like Robin des Bois and Maid Marian. They are tied to each other for better or for worse. Sadly for the human race it is largely the latter, though. I wish you the best in delivering them to justice,” said Cocteau.