Flykiller

‘Mademoiselle,’ said Herr Kohler, having received the curtest of nods from his partner and friend – and how was it, please, that these two could be friends even if St-Cyr was, as Monsieur Olivier had confided, a patriot and Kohler the arch-doubter of Germanic invincibility and Nazi dogma? Like brothers? she had asked Olivier. Not quite, he’d replied, but be careful. The two are birds of a feather. A feather!

‘Mademoiselle,’ Herr Kohler continued, ‘your father and this one’s.’ He indicated Blanche. ‘Was Olivier forced to give the order after the Battle of Chemin des Dames and the mutinies of May-June 1917? Did Petain order him to do it?’

She must give the faintest possible answer as if stricken, thought Ines, and then … then must divert their attention to Blanche. ‘I … I can’t believe it possible, Inspectors, but have no way of knowing. Mademoiselle Blanche, I … I thought your name was Varollier?’

‘It is!’ came the harsh retort from one who knew only too well that she and her brother had been using Edith Pascal to get them repeatedly into that house of their father’s when he was absent from it. Olivier had been adamant about this, though he hadn’t yet confronted Mademoiselle Pascal. I’ll wait, he had said, until I know more.

‘Then perhaps you can enlighten the inspectors?’ said Ines.

You bitch! – everything in Mademoiselle Varollier-Olivier’s expression registered the thought.

‘A knife,’ said the Chief Inspector and, taking it out, laid Noelle Olivier’s little legacy open on the table as Albert returned.

The Laguiole was gone, Albert’s shriek of anguish at the sight of it still reverberating. He had snatched it away as the tins and butcher’s knife had fallen from his hands. No one had been prepared for his reaction, thought Ines, sickened by what had happened. No one. It’s blade had gleamed, for it had been lying on the table pointing straight at her. At her!

‘Inspectors,’ cautioned Hebert grimly as he turned to pick up one of the tins. ‘Let him be. I’ll get the knife back.’

‘My bag. My papers,’ cried Ines. ‘I wouldn’t have killed Celine. How could I have done such a thing?’

‘Louis, I’ll go.’

‘Et moi?’ she shrilled, frantic now, for Albert had also taken her handbag and lost papers were all but impossible to replace and would cause extreme trouble, especially since she was not in her designated area of residence!

Though the reaction had been a shock, deliberately pointing the knife at the sculptress had done its work. ‘Hermann, take her along. Mademoiselle Varollier, please show them the way.’

‘Try the chapel first, and then the cellars, Herr Kohler,’ shot Hebert and, when they’d left the kitchen, ‘Let us hope Albert behaves himself. That boy can be a master of deceit and trickery. Certainly he worshipped each of those murdered girls but was also most distressed to find them participating – “doing filthy things”, he called them – things that mother of his constantly condemns in the sight of God while the boy is on his knees with her.’

‘And Blanche, monsieur. Did she “participate”?’

Sandrine Richard had paused while lighting herself another cigarette, noted Hebert. The slut was still listening intently, but had everything now suddenly gone her way? ‘Blanche didn’t join in, Inspector. She and her brother are very close – too close, perhaps. One never knows with twins, does one, especially when of the opposite sex and living alone? They remained indifferent – aloof perhaps – or so I had thought until she betrayed us so that this one could then drown Marie-Jacqueline and hide her guilt behind others.’

A sweet little smile would be best, thought Sandrine. ‘And did Julienne Deschambeault smother Lucie Trudel? Did her madness allow for that, monsieur, and the hiding of the corpse in an armoire? Did Elisabeth de Fleury, that most gentle of women, drive that knife into Celine Dupuis after first smoking a cigar, something Elisabeth would never do since she can’t stand the smell of them and vomits every time!’

Ah nom de Dieu, had it been said deliberately? wondered St-Cyr. And what of the armoire? Had Albert done it, madame?

‘Madame de Fleury would have nothing if Honore deserted her, Inspector,’ said Hebert. ‘A woman with two young boys and a teenaged daughter? The jealous wives hired an assassin. If enough is paid – and this one must have paid Blanche Olivier to inform on us; please let us not forget that last name – an assassin can be found even in Vichy with the Garde Mobile on the alert twenty-four hours a day!’

‘But not, monsieur, when Celine was to offer herself to the Marechal,’ countered Sandrine swiftly.

Hebert tossed his head back as if struck and gestured with both hands. ‘It was perfect, wasn’t it, madame? Henri-Claude Ferbrave and his boys are given the night off – you would have known of this. Admit it!’