The Tortured Detective

by Pirate Irwin

  Lafarge had no earthly idea who his boss was talking to but whoever it was was obviously a superior, one who was heaping praise on his subordinate.

  Eventually Bousquet replaced the receiver after a final 'thank you Karl' and giving Lafarge one of his opaque looks he lit a cigarette and smoked half of it before he addressed him.

  “Well that was the pleasant part of the morning Lafarge. I have received the official thanks on a job well done from Himmler’s representative here Karl Oberg. July 16 and 17 will be days in the years to come that French people will look on with as much pride as July 14, we could make it several days of national holidays starting with Bastille Day,” he said, a self–satisfied smile creasing his features.

  “Yes indeed Bastille Day followed by holidays to remember 'Operation Spring Breeze'. A delightful name don't you think for our well–planned operation over the past two days, when we have liberated our compatriots of an evil as dangerous to their wellbeing as the revolutionaries were to the Bourbon Monarchy.

  “I should really draw up a statement of gratitude to issue to all the men who participated, though, of course I will have it posted in public as well, but I will leave that till later,” he said purring like a cat that had had its stomach tickled.

  Lafarge felt nothing but revulsion for the man opposite him. Disappointment had long faded from his list of feelings towards Bousquet, who had allowed his ambition to override any sense of morality and used his undoubted administrative talent and energy to be directed into aiding and now actively enforcing the crimes of the Nazis.

  However, his self–righteous belief was such that he probably thought he was doing nothing wrong and just helping France to get a better deal from the Germans eventually.

  Whatever the reasons Lafarge knew that he was sitting rather lonely on the other side of this large moral divide and that anything he said to the contrary of what Bousquet believed would only make his situation worse.

  Nevertheless, he wasn’t one now for biting his tongue, things had gone too far on either side for there to be any need of diplomacy. Besides he wasn’t totally helpless as he had evidence that could ruin his superior’s career if he were to be allowed to bring it up.

  Bousquet had helped himself to a drink and returned to his desk. He pushed to one side several files that lay heaped on his desk and placed a decanter of cognac on the now cleared space. He then settled back in his chair, steepling his fingers, and looked intently into Lafarge’s face.

  “So Lafarge I won’t bring up your behaviour from this morning, I think that it is clear how I felt about it, and besides you are not here for that reason,” he said his gaze not leaving Lafarge’s face, though, the detective didn’t flinch and stared straight back at him.

  “So, what I would like to know Lafarge is where is de Chastelain? Unless he has withered into a small enough object for you to carry in your pocket I don’t see any sign of him,” said Bousquet.

  Lafarge simply smiled.

  “Well I would have thought you would be congratulating me Bousquet. I half expected to see him waiting for me in your office, unless of course you are going to click your fingers and he is going to pop out of the cupboard, or is he in the decanter?” said Lafarge, content to see Bousquet's confused look.

  “Why on earth would you have expected to see him here Lafarge? It was you who brought him back from Limoges, and since then he has not been seen,” said Bousquet.

  “Well I wouldn’t have thought that any Parisian policemen would have been looking for anyone other than those with yellow stars on their clothes to be honest, secretary–general,” said Lafarge.

  Bousquet blanched and looked away for a second. Surely not embarrassment thought Lafarge, not from the always so assured head of police.

  “Where the hell is he!” hissed Bousquet.

  “Well I want you to answer that one because I handed him over to two of your men at Austerlitz yesterday morning. They presented their ID, we had a couple of drinks at the bar and then they went off with de Chastelain. Ask the barman, he will confirm it,” said Lafarge settling back into the hard leather chair.

  Bousquet snorted with derision at the response, but then picked up the phone, ordering whoever was at the other end to go to Austerlitz and get confirmation from the barman.

  Lafarge hoped the barman was on duty otherwise he envisaged a long night ahead of him probably in the cell that the murderer Monnet had vacated. Silence descended for a moment as Bousquet pondered what to ask next, whatever it was it would make uncomfortable listening for him.

  “Well as he is not here to tell his story, why don’t you enlighten me Lafarge?” he said.

  Lafarge cleared his throat, took a gulp of cognac and refilled his glass, before he related to Bousquet the story as he had been told it word for word by de Chastelain, who he hoped was already well away from Paris.

  Bousquet listened poker–faced, initially silently but as the details got to involve him more he started making grunting noises, shaking his head vehemently and running one of his fingers across his mouth. Lafarge consoled himself that as yet he hadn’t run his finger across his throat, although, such a thuggish gesture probably wasn’t part of his repartee.

  Lafarge left nothing out, which he had never intended to do anyway, but he could see that by the end Bousquet was starting to look uncomfortable.

  “Perhaps it’s best if he doesn’t turn up then,” he said smiling.

  “However, I hope he does so I can repudiate every single thing he told you.

  “It’s not just a case of my status against that of a discredited lawyer, it’s because it is the truth. I did not murder Marguerite Suchet and furthermore any connection between me and the jewellery burglary is quite ridiculous. What on earth would I be doing getting mixed up in something as tawdry as that?” he said.

  “I don’t know Bousquet. But all I will say is I would never have imagined you, despite my personal animosity towards you, of being responsible for what I have seen take place over the past two days. So yes I believe de Chastelain’s version of events,” said Lafarge.

  Bousquet recoiled at that, a furious look in his eyes, and drummed his fingers on the desk.

  “Lafarge, be careful. You are on precarious territory here, the dossier on you is large enough that you don’t want to push me so far that I take the severest action against you, regardless of your father’s position,” said Bousquet.

  Lafarge sighed and laughed bitterly.

  “What’s so amusing? You seriously thought you could accuse me of murder without any possible consequence. You really are delusional!” said Bousquet.

  “Well it is interesting that you have not even offered an alternative account or an alibi for that night, nor have you even shot down this story, ” said Lafarge.

  “All you have done is utter threats and use your position as defences. Now I know you were never a policeman but this should be obvious to anyone. When confronted with such an accusation, one that I haven’t actually uttered yet, the suspect has a viable account of their movements at the time of the crime,” said Lafarge coolly.

  Bousquet was obviously not prepared for Lafarge refusing to back down and looked flustered as he sought to come back at his subordinate.

  “Please take your time. After all I’m not going anywhere yet, oh, and before you start thinking of disposing of me I have noted down everything and put it in a safe place,” lied Lafarge.

  Bousquet didn’t reply or display any emotion, his intelligent technocratic brain searching outside the narrow confines of imagination that such people possessed for a plausible answer. Lafarge doubted he would come up with one.

  “Listen Lafarge I’m sorry but I’m not prepared to account to you for my whereabouts on that night.

  “I have no compulsion to do so. Indeed I find it reprehensible that you should have the temerity to suspect such a thing of me when in fact you are here to answer serious questions over your own behaviour in the past month,” said Bousquet.

&n
bsp; Lafarge groaned and held his hands up making to get up and leave, for he wasn’t going to endure the risible experience of a murder suspect give him a lecture about observing the law and on morality.

  “Sit down Lafarge, you are going to hear me out and then you can leave,” ordered Bousquet.

  Lafarge smiled grimly and sat back down, but afforded himself one more glass of Bousquet’s excellent cognac to which his superior raised his eyebrows.

  “Perhaps your drinking has got the better of you. I see before me a man who is losing his sense of where his priorities lie, someone who is increasingly intransigent, impudent and also unpredictable.

  “Perhaps you should seek a cure for your attachment to drink,” said Bousquet contemptuously.

  “What now you want me committed? Or you want me to seek a cure at the baths in Vichy? I think they already have a full complement of sick people down there, incurably collaborationist I think they term the illness.

  “I wouldn’t want to catch that, I mean even you don’t spend all your time down there for that reason,” said Lafarge.

  To his surprise Bousquet laughed, for him it appeared to be a genuine one.

  “Anyway Bousquet touched as I am by your concern for my well being, I feel perfectly fine. Yes, I drink a lot, I always have done, the nature of the job incites one to do so, you can’t deal with misery on a daily basis and not become immune to it. So drink rather than other diversions suits me fine thank you,” he said.

  “In any case I am surprised that you haven’t become an alcoholic given the orders you draw up and issue from this office. My you must be a hard man to be able to dismiss all you do so glibly,” said Lafarge.

  “That’s not for you to comment on Lafarge. What you have reacted to so emotionally both in Limoges and here is simply putting into effect laws that have been brought in under the new government. What I am doing is simply executing them,” said Bousquet.

  “Nicely put. Anyway before you cut me off and lecture me further I would just like to put on the record that what you have done is execute laws that no civilized country would ever dream of imposing.

  “I don’t know if you think you are the re–incarnation of St Just but I would remind you that he ended up being guillotined, that’s how far his lust for blood under the pretext of flimsy laws got him.

  “The people will have enough of you as they will have enough of our conquerors. Then there will be nobody to protect you from the vengeful mob. Believe me I got a taste of it today when Monnet shot those boys in cold blood, the crowd were not supportive of his actions at all,” said Lafarge.

  “Maybe, but they did nothing, right? That is the nature of the people, they may not like what they see but they also prefer firm leadership and government. Overall they are getting just that, not the pathetic ineffectual government that led us to humiliating defeat and who directed over nothing but chaos before the war,” said Bousquet.

  Bousquet shrugged and picked up one of the files on his desk, a large one as he had told Lafarge and at least on that score he had not been lying, and opened it.

  “Fine words Lafarge, that I do give you credit for. However, you will find it hard to come up with the right ones for the following misdemeanours, and there I am being unnecessarily generous, that you have committed since you left for Limoges,” said Bousquet with a smug smile.

  “Please I’m all ears.”

  “Preventing the interrogation of a couple of terrorists, one of whom subsequently died before information could be fully extracted from him, as you had had him removed with his accomplice to hospital.

  “Secondly abusing an officer of the Brigades Speciales for carrying out his duty, though, he has decently said that a verbal reprimand would suffice,” said Bousquet his pompous disapproval drifting through the air so densely Lafarge all but ducked to avoid it.

  How kind of de Blaeckere mused Lafarge sarcastically to have just asked for a verbal reprimand, must remember to thank him when I get to see him next.

  “Thirdly having listened to the recorded conversation between yourself and the lawyer Gerland we have strong suspicions that it was a coded warning not to be at the house when the attack took place.

  “However having interviewed Gerland, and given him credit for delivering de Chastelain, regrettably for the moment we are willing to accept that it is indeed linked to your impending divorce with Isabella,” said Bousquet.

  “Well that’s very kind of you to believe that somebody might have other matters to deal with even at a time of war. As you well know Isabella is clinical when it is time to rid herself of an unwanted man,” said Lafarge, reveling in the pain that would have caused Bousquet.

  Bousquet, though, ignored the remark.

  “Where are we? Ah yes, fourthly consorting and sleeping with an enemy of the state, the actress thingy, Aimee. However, again you get the benefit of the doubt because you provided evidence of a terrorist cell and its location and which proved to be both true and extremely rich in information.

  “Before you ask, no, we didn’t get Aimee. She appeared to have scarpered, but it was her brother and sister–in–law who provided the background on your affair. They cursed Aimee for having allowed you to come to the farm house, and no doubt she does too now.

  “As for them they weren't as lucky as she was, they were executed but not till after giving us information on other cells in the area which de Blaeckere acted on and achieved notable success.

  “It was fortunate we got them alive as there were two others hiding in a barn. They were burnt to death as they refused to come out and de Blaeckere was obliged to try and smoke them out.

  “Returning to your actress friend, though, I would warn you to be careful Lafarge as she could turn out to be a more effective enemy than even myself,” said Bousquet a broad grin covering his face.

  Lafarge was pleased in one way that Aimee had escaped. But he could see Bousquet’s point should they meet again it wouldn’t be a cosy nostalgic chat but potentially a lethal encounter.

  “What advice would you give me then Bousquet? You seem to know the most effective manner in dealing with vengeful actresses.

  “Was that what Marguerite was bitter about? Something you had done, probably to do with de Chastelain,” said Lafarge.

  Bousquet’s narrow pallid face went red as he realized he had made an error in commenting on Aimee and her coming after Lafarge.

  “As I said Lafarge we are not here to pepper the air with false accusations, it was merely a humourous aside my remark about the actress.

  “Now let’s move on as time is pressing and I have to meet with my men to get a more in–depth debriefing about how today went. Apart from Monnet’s unjustified detention I don’t know too much else,” he said drily.

  “Well I’m sure the rest of the children went along like little lambs,” said Lafarge.

  Bousquet flashed him a look of such visceral hatred that for once Lafarge thought better of saying anything. Let his conscience, if he has one, eat away at him. That is the best solution.

  “Fifthly and I think finally there is to compound everything the disappearance of de Chastelain, but that is in abeyance until we receive confirmation or not from the barman.

  “Perhaps it will be one time you can congratulate yourself on having stopped for a drink,” said Bousquet.

  Lafarge lit a cigarette and remained silent, save from tapping a leg of the chair with one of his feet. Bousquet stayed in his chair, filled his glass with cognac and unexpectedly poured one for Lafarge.

  However, that apart not a word passed between them. They were like two strangers sat waiting for a train that might never arrive, though, they both wished that it would.

  Lafarge spent most of the time observing Bousquet. He was trying to keep busy by leafing through folders, the fate of the people listed in them a mere signature away from death dependent on the mood of the man wielding the pen.

  Someone no doubt like Arnaud Lescarboura. He could expect little in the way of sa
lvation from one of the men implicated in what he had thought was a get rich quick run of the mill burglary but had evolved into a deadly affair of state corruption.

  Bousquet looked completely at ease with himself, going about his business with a matter of fact air. He showed little emotion, save for calls that came from his good friend Abetz, and one from René de Chambrun, whose parents Lafarge recalled had been in the photo with Marguerite the night of the dinner at Maxim’s.

  Finally the phone rang for a third time and on this occasion Bousquet’s tone took on an official air. He listened intently for a couple of minutes, then thanked the caller and hung up. He looked at Lafarge and smiled.

  “Well Lafarge you are fortunate for the barman supports your version of events. He says that the two men presented themselves and flashed IDs and after some lively conversation, mainly between you and de Chastelain, they departed with him. So again you get the benefit of the doubt,” said Bousquet clearly disappointed.

  Lafarge was hugely relieved, he hadn’t expected the barman to back him so thoroughly and made a note of returning there some time and giving him a huge tip.

  This time he was ready to leave and he sensed Bousquet couldn’t wait for him to be gone so he rose and picked up his hat but was stopped in his tracks.

  “That is not quite all Lafarge. You may not be facing charges, for we don’t have enough cast iron proof to hold you on the most serious offences. But in view of your overall behaviour it is my duty to dismiss you from the police force for good,” said Bousquet his tone clipped.

  Lafarge felt a surge of relief course through his body, for it was the least worst result he could have hoped for once he handed over his gun to the secretary.

  Of course he was angry that he, an honest policeman, should be sacked but as Huariau had said there was no room for them anymore. That being said there were good men like Broglie around but they were able to play the game better than he and Gerland’s man were capable of doing.

  He was exhausted too and there was a grain of truth in what Bousquet had said that his drinking was becoming a problem, no matter that he thought he could control it.