The Tortured Detective Page 4

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Mathilde Langlois was an attractive woman, somewhere in her forties guessed Lafarge, with well brushed short black hair, a shapely figure with large breasts its most marked feature, and also somewhat surprisingly for a maid her hands were well manicured and didn’t appear to have endured too much manual labour.

  Obviously someone who looks after themselves and perhaps not the most ardent of workers, Lafarge surmised.

  He prayed that she was rather better at noticing things. She had preferred to meet with him in her former employer’s apartment, explaining that her small flat was not ideal for conducting the interview.

  Lafarge had agreed, though, he half–regretted doing so as he would have liked to have seen her place if only to confirm that she lived alone and had no one of interest, de Chastelain for example, hiding there.

  But he dismissed that as unlikely and hence they were now sitting in the kitchen, her with a coffee and him with more of the vodka he had taken such a liking to on his first visit.

  “So Mathilde, when was the last time you saw Madamoiselle Suchet?”

  “Around nine o’clock last night, Inspector.”

  “Anything you noticed in particular about her that seemed different?” asked Lafarge.

  Langlois eyed him carefully for a moment before replying.

  “She appeared to be her usual self, sir” she answered, though her eyes betrayed the fact she was thinking the opposite.

  Lafarge decided to play along for the moment, thinking in his most charitable fashion that perhaps he had misread her eye gesture.

  “And what would that be, Mathilde? What was her usual manner?”

  Lafarge’s tactic worked because thinking she had got away with the lie, if indeed it was one, she relaxed, sitting back in the wooden chair and loosening one of the buttons on her red coat.

  “Well, Madame was usually gay, rather carefree, always courteous but not in a high handed manner, and very funny,” she replied with a smile to add impact to the veracity of the statement.

  “Hm! Sounds like the employer made in heaven. One we all dream of having!” Lafarge said with a smile of his own, which he hoped was a winning one.

  Langlois nodded her assent, but didn’t feel it necessary to add any more to her comments. Lafarge took a deep breath and thought to himself, this is going to be more difficult than I thought, she is a wall. Indeed the very essence of what an employer looking for a ladies maid would desire, discreet and loyal.

  But with her employer dead, there was no point her remaining loyal, so was there somebody else that she was protecting?

  Why jump to that conclusion so early, thought Lafarge, the interview has been but ten minutes and is three questions old and already you are thinking that she is stonewalling you?

  Not everyone is a liar for God’s sake, and loyalty is still a quality that exists even in France, he reminded himself.

  Trouble is, as in the case of Langlois, there are two parties vying for loyalty, and choosing one over the other could be very bad for one’s health depending on the outcome of the war.

  “Right Mathilde, last night, was Ms Suchet expecting anyone? Did she ask you to prepare anything for a guest?” asked Lafarge as if he was going through the motions.

  He hoped by doing that, she would slip–up or at the very least let her guard down.

  “Yes, she was expecting someone, a gentleman. Colonel von Dirlinger. But then you probably know that already, don’t you, sir?”

  “Her lover. Why, yes of course that would be normal. Did you see him? Did you wait to let him in and serve them dinner?” he asked quickly, to try and hurry her along, let her lose her train of thought.

  “Erm. No. Madame told me that would not be necessary, that they would just be having a light dinner and retiring to bed early. Therefore I said goodnight and went to my room upstairs,” she replied.

  “Ah yes of course, a light dinner of caviar and vodka. Nice to see how the term light carries different meanings these days,” said Lafarge caustically.

  “I don’t know what you mean sir. Madame deserved everything that she got as reward for her success in the cinema, so I find your remark out of place and disrespectful.

  “Quite apart from the fact you appear to be profiting from the vodka yourself,” remarked Langlois giving him a look of disapproval.

  Lafarge thought more of her type in the frontline in 1940 and the Germans would have had a far tougher time, the sort to seduce by her good looks and then plunge a dagger between the ribs just as you lay there expecting a pleasurable moment with her.

  He shuddered at the thought. He didn’t usually place people in pigeonholes, but this woman did not fit the image of a ladies maid. Either she had fallen like many on hard times and had taken a job that suited her in terms of lodging and a certain standing, or she had been placed there deliberately to keep an eye more on her employer than to serve her.

  “How long have you been in the employ of Ms Suchet, Mathilde?”

  “A year, sir.”

  “And would you say that having worked for her for a year, you would have gained enough trust that she could feel confident in confiding in you if she was worried by something?

  “Obviously not a trivial matter, but something grave? I mean that if you have been with someone for a year, regardless of the nature of the relationship whether it be man and wife or employer and employee there has to be a measure of trust. Being a personal maid places you in a very specific category.

  “So I imagine there were moments when she felt impelled to talk to you like perhaps she wouldn’t to her make–up artist or dresser at the film company. No? “ he asked putting on one of his more reassuring smiles.

  “Yes, she did confide in me from time to time. But I am not of the mind to tell you what these confidences were,” she replied sternly.

  “I would remind you Ms Langlois, that you are part of a murder enquiry, in fact you are a key part of it. Your employer being the victim, firstly any confidence she shared with you would be of interest to the investigation and secondly there will be serious consequences for you if I discover later that you have withheld information pertinent to it.

  “Do you understand me?” he said in an exasperated tone, deciding to dispense with the softly softly approach and adopt a more aggressive style.

  She looked annoyed by the change in tack, raised her eyes to the ceiling, swallowed deeply, got up and picked up a tumbler, filling it halfway with vodka. Lafarge waited patiently to see if the tactic was her trying to buy time, think of something she could give him and hope that it was enough.

  “Madame was despite her public appearance, a private person,” said Langlois.

  “I don’t think she shared her inner thoughts easily. I’m not saying she was a simple person, not given to thinking too deeply about the consequences of her actions, but she was a little too carefree sometimes, and I am not referring to her relationship with the Colonel.

  “However, if she confided in you then she believed she had that person’s loyalty and trust forever.

  “She did allude to me that something recently had shaken her faith in one of the few people she trusted.

  “Whether it was Colonel von Dirlinger, I do not know, but something happened a few days ago, something she was asked to do that provoked this unease in her. That much she did tell me, without telling me names or anything that could be of material interest to you,” she replied, before taking a gulp of the vodka.

  Lafarge was not satisfied. She may feel she has given me something to think about, a lead of some sort to take to the next stage, but it was too general and frankly didn’t wash that Marguerite had been so vague in her unburdening herself to her maid.

  “Did it revolve around her late night visit to the lawyer, de Chastelain?”

  Her eyes widened at that question, obviously not expecting the police to be privy to such information.

  “You know about that then?” she asked in a rhetorical fashion, her tone n
ot as sure as it had been.

  Lafarge nodded and by implication encouraged her to go on. She sipped some more vodka, Lafarge without being invited to filled both their glasses, offered her a cigarette, which she took and lit them both. She inhaled and as she exhaled, she appeared to have experienced a Damascene conversion.

  “Yes, it was from that moment she appeared to be concerned about something. Not so much about being called in by the French authorities, for she said she had been asked by a higher one, the Colonel I imagine, to warn M. de Chastelain, but from something else that was affected by his disappearance.

  “She was agitated too that while she risked nothing from the Germans, she was afraid that should her part in it come to light, she could have problems with M. Bousquet.”

  Ah and so René Bousquet’s name comes up again, mused Lafarge, only her fear was understandable, given she had interfered with and prevented a high profile arrest by the preening master of police and, judging from what Massu had said, impeded his chances of replacing Laval or Pétain at the very top of the Vichy Government.

  Not a very wise move, Marguerite.

  “Did M. Bousquet ever visit Ms Suchet? asked Lafarge.

  “Yes, he came here on several occasions,” replied Langlois, visibly more relaxed and, with the aid of the vodka, more willing to reveal these confidences.

  “Alone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Would he stay long?”

  Here Langlois hesitated before replying. Lafarge tried to encourage her by saying soothingly: “It’s alright Mathilde, no–one need know apart from us. I don’t think I need bring your name up should I have to talk to M. Bousquet, it could always have come from her diary.”

  He cursed himself for giving such an assurance as he had yet to find a diary, but hey how was Bousquet to know she didn’t keep one.

  “He stayed the night on a couple of occasions, but that was a while ago. I mean I think it was when I first started here and before the Colonel and Madame became romantically involved.”

  “Don’t worry Mathilde, infidelity is far from being a crime, even more so these days. Besides one can only perhaps question her choice of man, but then that would be disloyal of me given I work for him!” he said laughing bitterly.

  She smiled for the first time, it lit up her face and transformed it from a cold and wary look to one of great warmth and rather sexy and alluring.

  “Some employers are more enjoyable company than others!” she said jokingly.

  Lafarge didn’t respond, for he was very much on his guard with this lady, lord knows where she had come from or by whose influence she had been placed with Marguerite. He would have to probe deeper into her background, for there was much more behind her story than was possible to ascertain now.

  However, more of concern to him was that aside from Colonel von Dirlinger and having Massu backing him up on the interview, was the thought he might have to convince his superior that their overall chief was a person of interest in the case.

  He could not, for the life of him, imagine Massu allowing such an interview given his already nervous disposition that Bousquet wanted to take complete control of the service and the case.

  Of course, to Lafarge it was logical why Bousquet should be so keen, but without Massu’s co–operation there was no way he could dig any deeper.

  He could go behind Massu’s back, and, albeit reluctantly, seek his father’s help. However, he did not wish to go down that road, but if he deemed it necessary he would do so. It was not his dislike of Bousquet, he tried to convince himself, but his consummate professionalism that egged him on.

  “We’re nearly finished Mathilde. Not just the bottle but also the interview,” he said smiling.

  “Did you see M; de Chastelain in the past few days, and secondly is there anything else you can recall that could be of help to the investigation?”

  She shook her head.

  “M. de Chastelain would have been a fool to show his face here. Madame may have saved him from arrest, but her feelings for him were more of a nostalgic nature. She would do anything to prevent him being harmed but for her, the romantic side of their relationship was over.

  “I don’t think he would have come here anyway because hopefully, he knew that it would endanger her more.

  “Also being a wanted man, her place might be the one of those the police would search first, especially given as you told me, they knew she had visited him on the eve of his disappearance.

  “However, sir, there is one other thing that may interest you, and which you appear to have forgotten, with your sudden interest in M. Bousquet.

  “When I said she was more worried about something that was directly affected by the disappearance of M. de Chastelain, it was not to do with any damage it might have done to Bousquet’s reputation with the Germans. It was more what happened to Arnaud Lescarboura.”

  Lafarge was stunned by this last piece of information. Lescarboura, the gentleman’s jewel thief, which despite the complimentary adjective did not really make him any different to the run of the mill thief, and Marguerite?

  “Why would she be worried about his welfare? I find it hard to believe them being associated. Forgive my skepticism, Mathilde. Perhaps you can enlighten me?”

  With that he poured the remnants of the vodka in equal measures into their respective glasses, while waiting for her clarification on her previous response.

  “She and Arnaud were old friends from the Lot, he was like an older brother to her and remained so. M. de Chastelain met him through her when they were together, and I think that is how he came to be his lawyer at the trial because they too had remained on good terms.

  “Arnaud would often come round here, and no, he would not stay the night, or if he did, he would be in the spare bedroom. If Madame had a real confidant then it was him.

  “Thus you can imagine her anxiety when she realized that by saving her former lover she was also condemning her closest friend to a prison term of greater magnitude than he would have got if he had been ably defended. If one could use the term, perhaps it is inappropriate but Madame and René were as thick as thieves together, chief inspector”.

  And with that astonishing revelation Mathilde Langlois, the faux and enigmatic maid to Lafarge’s mind, smiled knowingly at him, and downed her vodka.

  “That is an interesting turn of phrase Mathilde. Both seem to have paid for their link with de Chastelain. One is dead, shortly after warning de Chastelain of his imminent arrest, and the other got 10 years for stealing Countess de Marchand’s jewels after his lawyer failed to turn up. What are we to make of that?” sighed Lafarge.

  Mathilde looked at him with a quizzical look on her face.

  “Oh don’t worry Mathilde, I have a habit of thinking to myself out loud. That will be all then, and thank you for being ultimately so helpful,” he said with a smile. Mathilde held him in a steady gaze, not returning the smile.

  “Well Chief Inspector, as that is all I will take my leave of you. If you could, erm, let me know when it is possible for me to restore order to the apartment, or at least Madame’s bedroom, I would appreciate that,” she said.

  Lafarge nodded and rose to say goodbye, extending his hand which she took in a firm grip. As she departed the kitchen, she said over her shoulder: “You needn’t give me the usual garbage of don’t leave town etc Chief Inspector. I’m not going anywhere, and you know where to find me. I’m sure we will see each other again. It’s been a pleasure.”

  Lafarge nodded, looked at his empty glass, regretted the vodka bottle was as dead as Marguerite and stared vacantly into space.

  Lafarge sat in the kitchen for a while, the day was turning to night by the time he rose from the chair, as he had tried to piece together the various bits of information that Mathilde had furnished him with.

  Marguerite and Lescarboura, Lescarboura and de Chastelain, where, apart from being the victim’s lover did Colonel von Dirlinger fit into the puzzle. Could he have warned Marguerit
e about de Chastelain’s arrest or had he unwittingly imparted it to her.

  Then there was Bousquet and his connection, but Lafarge groaned inwardly he was virtually untouchable and he didn’t even want to think of Massu’s reaction were he to hint at questioning him.

  Then there was Mathilde, the witness to all these comings and goings, a person definitely of interest and also perhaps in danger herself. Lafarge also was quietly happy that he would have the chance of seeing her again, digging deeper into her background would be a fascinating exercise he thought, because there was more to her than just being a maid to a film star.

  He reproached himself immediately at even thinking of a romantic liaison with her, for Isabella remained not only his wife but despite her glacial attitude to him since their enforced separation, he still loved her very much.

  Lafarge, who was by now through a mix of no sleep and the vodka feeling exhausted and light–headed, decided to give the apartment one more sweep before heading home. He looked in at the drawing room and searched under the sofa, and looked in the fireplace, though, it was clear it had not been used for a long time, and came up with nothing.

  He padded down the elegant chairs either side of the sofa where Marguerite had been laid out, and there he did discover something, a silver cigarette case, embossed with the initials, the ones he really didn’t want to find, of RB.

  Christ! He opened the case gingerly and saw that the brand of cigarette was the same as the ones he had found in the ashtray.

  Now there was no option but to cross paths again with René Bousquet. For quite apart from the fact he was probably missing his cigarette case, which he saw had also the dedication of ‘To René, a man of Teutonic ideals and values, with great affection. Otto A,’ Otto Abetz, no doubt, thought Lafarge, he was now placed squarely at the scene of the crime.

  What fun I’m going to have, he said to himself darkly. The thing was, could he just keep it to himself? Or could he approach Bousquet on his own, show him the cigarette case and thereby let him know that he knew the victim and had been there in the apartment? That was a dangerous risk to run as Bousquet could do him much harm without having recourse to due process.