by Pirate Irwin
CHAPTER NINE
Lafarge left the two Jeans’ apartment delighted with all the background he had accrued on the Courneuves but feeling exhausted, though he wagered a lot less peeved and tired than Hubert would have felt after he had to replace his front tyre.
However, he decided that rather than check in on Berenice he could do with a good night’s sleep – he also wanted to ring Pinault in case he had an update on his rendezvous with Palewski – and so he would go straight home.
He tramped slowly up his stairwell – after having dropped off a bouquet of flowers which he had bought in Fontainebleau as a way of thanking Madame Grondon only to be told off for doing so as she had said it was only normal to tell the truth, to which he had replied: “If only all my suspects were as honest as you Madame …” – and was turning the key in the battered old door, whose paint was peeling off, when he heard a noise behind him.
The bulb had gone out so he couldn’t make out who it was, but he doubted it was a neighbour as they were not of the type to sneak around in the late evening.
“Who’s there?” asked Lafarge, slipping his hand inside his breast pocket and feeling the reassuring form of his service revolver.
“Ssh! Gaston … no need to be afraid,” came the reply.
“My god, Drieu, it’s you!” said Lafarge.
Lafarge flicked the switch to his light in the drawing room and out of the darkness stepped his old friend Drieu La Rochelle. Normally Lafarge would have been delighted to have the company of a friend; he did not possess many and those he did were either dead, still in prisoner of war camps or in the military.
Drieu did not fit into any of those categories, quite the opposite, for he was now one of the most sought-after and hated men for his collaborationist activities and his anti-semitic writings during the Occupation. His literary talent, which had seen him praised before the war, was now but a vague memory.
Lafarge felt angry because now he was being put into a very delicate position, as ordinarily he should arrest Drieu and ring and get the uniforms to come and pick him up. He cursed Drieu for imposing himself on him because having earned his recent reprieve he did not need to once again have his loyalty called into question.
“What the hell are you doing here, Drieu?” asked Lafarge having ushered him into his apartment rather than conduct a public discussion out in the passageway.
“Well I thought the Café de Flore might be a bit too public at the moment,” replied Drieu trying to sound relaxed as he referred to the café on the Boulevard St Germain where they had last seen each other over a year ago.
“Yes, I don’t imagine the waiters would recognise you now. They wouldn’t be so willing to take your money – the fickleness of life, Drieu,” said Lafarge gesturing for him to sit down.
Drieu looked awful: his face was drawn; his hair had receded even more; and he didn’t look as if he had changed his clothes for a while. In the spirit of their old friendship Lafarge poured him a glass of cognac and helped himself to one too.
“Yes, Gaston, life on the run is not much fun. I now feel a bit like what Pierre-Yves must have done when I left him in Limoges,” said Drieu taking a large gulp of the cognac.
Lafarge thought: “Well at least you are not feeling what Pierre-Yves de Chastelain must have felt once Doctor Petiot gave him his magical cure; having promised an escape route he delivered quite another type to his victims.” Lafarge preferred not to divulge any of those details to Drieu, who had helped his old friend de Chastelain to escape from Paris by taking him to Limoges before he had gone after him as he was a suspect in a murder enquiry and persuaded him to return.
“So where have you been hiding?” asked Lafarge.
Drieu smiled and tapped his nose.
“I think it is best you know the least amount possible, Gaston in case you are taken in for questioning; knowing you as I do you wouldn’t be able to lie for me,” said Drieu.
Lafarge nodded, though he thought that if only Drieu knew how well he could lie he would have no hesitation in confiding in him. Still he wasn’t sure how far he would go to lie for Drieu, because despite their friendship he had found his anti-semitism and his overt collaboration beyond the pale, and while even known resistants such as André Malraux had remained friends with him, there was a limit for Lafarge.
“So why have you come to see me then, Drieu?” Lafarge asked returning to his original question.
“Well, Gaston, aside from liking you, my circle of friends – I have often wondered why do they term it that why not a square as that sounds far more solid; rather Wellingtonian don’t you think? – has shrunk rapidly since the recent dramatic turn of events.
“Hence I thought why not call upon my friend the policeman for he might know something about whether I am high on the wanted list, and also because this is one of the last places they would come looking for me,“ he said.
Lafarge laughed sarcastically at Drieu’s remarks.
“Oh, Drieu, really your judgment is well off the mark these days as well! If there is one policeman they will be keeping a close eye on then it is me. I have only just managed to persuade them that I was neither a dyed-in-the-wool Vichyite nor a collaborator and on that basis they returned me to duty for now.
“However, I am very much on probation and whether I keep my job long term is not certain. I wouldn’t be surprised if they haven’t got men stationed discreetly outside my building seeing who comes and goes,” said Lafarge.
Drieu’s complexion became even paler before Lafarge laughed and added: “Only that our resources in terms of personnel are so meagre at the moment, given that huge swathes of my former colleagues have either disappeared or been rounded up, that they couldn’t spare the men.”
Drieu smiled thinly at Lafarge’s wind-up and was about to make a comment when the phone rang. Lafarge raised his finger to his lips and lifted the receiver.
“Good evening, Chief Inspector, it’s Pinault.”
Lafarge breathed in deeply and replied hoping his voice didn’t reveal the tension he was feeling at having his boss on one end of the phone and one of the most wanted men in France sitting opposite him in his apartment.
Pinault didn’t appear to have noticed.
“I am sorry to ring you at home but you have been a hard person to track down today, as elusive as this blasted Petiot fellow,” said Pinault, which passed for a joke for him.
Lafarge smiled grimly and thought: “If you only knew the truth Commissaire you wouldn’t be quite so light-hearted, though my body count is sizeably less than the good doctor’s.”
“Anyway I wanted to inform you that I spoke to Palewski and he confided in me that the General is due to embark on a tour of liberated France and he is due to accompany him,” said Pinault.
“Damn it!” said Lafarge a little bit too vehemently.
“However, after I insisted that it was not about a trivial matter he said he was prepared to stay behind and see you in his suite at the Hotel Crillon at 10 tomorrow morning,” said Pinault an air of triumph in his voice.
“That is terrific, sir, many thanks for arranging it. Shall I meet you outside the hotel so I can brief you on what I intend to ask him?”
“No, Lafarge that won’t be necessary. I will allow you some freedom on this for apart from having to pour all my energy into following up every lead or apparent sighting of Petiot I think so far you are doing a very fine job,” said Pinault.
“Levau filled me in on what you had been up to today. Deflating Courneuve’s tyre made me laugh, and having met his wife I applaud your decision to keep her in overnight because I think she is a very bad piece of work and we are, or rather you are, on the right track,” added Pinault.
Lafarge was pleasantly surprised at his superior’s compliments.
“If you think that about her wait till you meet the husband,” said Lafarge, preferring to keep his comment short as he didn’t want Drieu to know too much.
For even if he was on the run there was
still the possibility that his showing up at his apartment was not by chance and that he had been sent specifically to learn what the police knew about the plot.
Besides, desperate people like Drieu would be looking at all options that could prevent them from the inevitability of a trial and almost certain death, and if he helped those who had liberated Paris, but were bent on bringing down de Gaulle, then he might see a glimmer of hope.
“Yes, I hear he is a pompous and supercilious little man, typical of the breed that profited from the Occupation, but he will find the new order rather less understanding or pliable to his modus operandi,” said Pinault.
“However, Lafarge, one piece of advice is don’t wait too long before you arrest him. See what Palewski says, though I doubt he will be able to add much to what you have already learned. If he is unable to give us any names of potential snakes in the grass then we will have to make do with the Courneuves and just hope later something occurs that helps us extend the investigation.”
Lafarge sighed but he knew that had to be the case because the original brief had been to solve the murder of the Count, and the fact it was part of a plot against the General could not be proven unless he was able to find ‘Arthur’ which was probably even beyond him.
“I understand, sir. However, I take note that even though the original intention was not to dig too deep if there was a political element to the murder that has now been dispensed with,” said Lafarge.
“Yes, Chief Inspector. Thanks to your unorthodox and cunning methods, now that we have learned there is a plot against the General we cannot glibly say it is not our business. However, the caveat is that we have to act as well and Courneuve cannot be allowed to be at liberty for too much longer.
“Besides, poor Levau needs some rest. So I would like you to go straight from the meeting with Palewski, relieve Levau and arrest Courneuve,” said Pinault.
Drieu looked askance at Lafarge once he had come off the phone, but his host shook his head.
“Sorry, Drieu, I can’t talk to you about the case. Let’s talk about you and what you are going to do,” said Lafarge as he poured them both another drink.
Drieu nodded but he looked hurt and disappointed.
“Well, I was rather hoping you would put me up for a bit. Seeing that we are old friends and I am in a bit of a tight spot,” said Drieu.
Lafarge had pretty much known that Drieu would ask this favour of him but had hoped that he would not dare.
“Drieu, I am afraid that there is no question of me being able to give you a safe haven. As I told you I am on probation and if they came to find you here it wouldn’t just be you up on trial but me as well. I just can’t let that happen I’m afraid. I’m truly sorry,” said Lafarge and he had to admit he was, for despite his appalling opinions which he clearly did not share his friendship ran deep with Drieu.
A flash of anger passed over Drieu’s face as he helped himself to another drink.
“So what happened that night at Marguerite Suchet’s apartment?” asked Drieu, his tone altogether different changing from plaintive to aggressive.
Lafarge was shocked and also angry at the sudden brutal change of subject, and he was not in the mood to discuss the case that had almost brought him down twice.
“I don’t think it is any of your business, Drieu. I would like you to leave now,” said Lafarge standing up and moving towards the door.
“Oh, but it is my business when I have very few cards left to play, Gaston. All I know is there were three people in that apartment and only one, as in you, came out alive. Strange, no?” said Drieu looking at Lafarge with a malevolent glint in his eyes.
Lafarge’s anger had now moved up a level to blind fury. He stormed the few steps across the drawing room floor and lifted Drieu up off the armchair and dragged him to the door.
Drieu shook himself free of Lafarge’s grasp and held up his hands.
“My, my … you do have a temper, Gaston. Is that what happened that night? You lost control and took care of the maid and von Dirlinger and then covered it up? You wouldn’t have been the first policeman to have done that during that period. The Nazis taught us many things, most of them in the dark arts,” said Drieu.
Lafarge didn’t say anything. He simply opened the door and pushed Drieu outside into the common stairwell. Drieu smiled – and it wasn’t a warm one.
“Gaston, it is funny how most of those involved in that case are not around anymore, except you. I would watch your step if I were you for while. I may be a wanted man, I think I know what happened that night, and I aim to drag you down with me. If there is one characteristic I despise it is hypocrisy, and you are so full of it that makes me want to retch.
“You may well regret not having arrested me tonight. Because now you are going to be looking over your shoulder, wherever you go, and every minute of your day you will be worrying whether I am going to deliver the irrefutable evidence that you, Chief Inspector Lafarge, are nothing more than a cold-blooded murderer.”
Lafarge slammed the door and leant on it, breathing deeply as he listened to Drieu descend the stairs, his hopes of a new page having been turned on the nightmare of his past torn to shreds.
****
Lafarge didn’t sleep at all well following the departure of Drieu and he was in a grumpy mood as he was ushered into the splendid suite at the Crillon to see Palewski. He took advantage of Palewski getting dressed in the bedroom to wander over to the window overlooking the Place de la Concorde and then across the bridge the Parliament building for the lower house, the Assemblée Nationale, which had lain idle for the past four years and most of whose members had not covered themselves in glory during the intervening period.
His hands shook slightly through fear as he recalled the magnificent Place, which had one of Napoleon’s monuments stolen from his foolhardy Egyptian caper – the Needle – dominating it, had been the destination for many an aristocrat and other innocents to be guillotined during the Revolution.
That fate awaited him, too, should Drieu come up with the evidence, although Lafarge was puzzled at how he could manage that when he was on the run and short of friends, the list even shorter now after their contretemps the night before. Besides, as Drieu had said, there weren’t exactly a large number of people still around who had been involved in the case – they were either dead or fled like Bousquet.
“A centime for your thoughts, Chief Inspector?” said a baritone voice startling Lafarge.
He turned round and saw a smartly-dressed, black-haired man with piercing eyes and a neat moustache smiling at him.
“Gaston Palewski,” he said as a means of confirming who he was and stuck out his hand which Lafarge, who was mildly taken aback at the warmth of the greeting, reciprocated by shaking.
“I flew with your brother in the early part of the war,” said Palewski by way of explanation.
“I’m impressed. You have done your homework, sir. I haven’t heard any news from him for obvious reasons in the past few years,” said Lafarge.
“Yes, well that has been the case for a lot of families here in France. However, I have good news on that front. The last I heard he was flying sorties against the enemy during D-Day. So I wouldn’t bet against a reunion, provided of course he gets some leave soon,” said Palewski.
Lafarge was delighted to hear that – he had always been close to his brother as he had been with his sister, Vanessa, until she went completely off the range and conducted an affair with Bonny and he had not heard any news about her or from her since her lover had fled – and thanked Palewski.
“Right, let’s order some coffee before we start our chat. Pinault will have told you that I can’t be too long as I have to join the General on his tour of the other major cities which have been liberated,” said Palewski.
Lafarge nodded and Palewski lifted the phone and ordered them coffee.
“Okay, good. Now before we go any further, Chief Inspector, I just wanted to clear the air as regards you. I am awar
e about your father and his closeness to Petain as I am also that you worked under the former regime which is regrettable,’ he said.
“However, I also know you were not a zealot and if anything the opposite and made life extremely tough for Bousquet and that can only gain you favour with me. Plus of course you fought with distinction under appalling conditions in 1940 and did your time in a camp.”
The coffee had arrived by this time and it gave Lafarge a moment to marvel at the in-depth research Palewski had done before meeting with him.
“Oh, I wouldn’t look so impressed, Chief Inspector! It wasn’t me who did the intelligence-gathering on you,” said Palewski with a twinkle in his eye.
There came a knock at the door and then it opened, although Lafarge couldn’t see who it was as he was seated in one of the ornate low-armed chairs facing away from the door and opposite Palewski who was on the sofa.
“This is the reason I know so much about you,” said Palewski.
“Good morning, sir. I’m sorry I’m a little late. I was just stuck waiting for someone to turn up and look after my wife Berenice.”
Lafarge froze not because of the mention of the name Berenice – it was a pretty common name – but the voice for it belonged to his mystery man ‘Arthur’. He didn’t know quite how he could react, but he had to try and suppress his emotions. Certainly now he would have to be very circumspect of what he said to Palewski if ‘Arthur’ was going to sit with them throughout the meeting.
However, he preferred to make himself look foolish rather than alert ‘Arthur’ that he knew all about the monarchists and the plot.
“Chief Inspector, this is Colonel Antoine de Cambedessus of Military Intelligence. I believed it would be useful to have him sit in on our discussion as he may have information pertinent to it,” said Palewski.
