The Phantom of Rue Royale (35 page)

‘Where are you taking us with this, Commissioner?’ asked Sartine. ‘It’s like something out of a novel!’

‘To the festivities, Monsieur, to the festivities. Nothing makes sense without several persons being involved. Miette is dressed up in yellow satin, complete with bodice and corset. Élodie is dressed up in Miette’s clothes. Camille – or Charlotte – lures the poor girl into a barn belonging to the convent of the Daughters of the Conception. I have two eye-witnesses who can vouch for that: two French Guards. Once in the barn, she is strangled. Miette is now on her own, Marie Chaffoureau having left. She goes to the barn as previously arranged, which, by the way, establishes premeditation. Now, consider this sordid scene. Miette takes off Élodie’s clothes, removes her own from the corpse, and one of the Galaine sisters, whichever it is, dresses the poor lifeless remains. An obsidian pearl is placed in the victim’s hand. Everyone goes home. A witness sees two Nagandas, which both confuses things and confirms my later suspicions. Then
something
unpredictable happens.’

‘I have a question for you, Commissioner,’ said the Criminal
Lieutenant. ‘In your memorandum, there is an account of how the cook spent her day, and I observe—’

‘That account is correct. She leaves the house with Miette, but she soon parts from her, comes back to Rue Saint-Honoré and runs off to play
bouillotte
with her friends, although she doesn’t stay long.’

‘I see.’

‘The something unpredictable to which I referred is the disaster in Place Louis XV. The Convent of the Conception is not far from Rue Royale. Miette has already left. The sister,
whichever
she is, goes out and discovers what has been happening. She sees the lifeless bodies being laid out along the Garde-Meuble, but it probably doesn’t occur to her immediately that she might be able to use this event. She returns home. There, she is told by the cook that Naganda has woken up and has probably gone out. It won’t be so easy now to pin the blame for the murder on him as they had planned to do, claiming he acted out of jealousy. What has he done and what is he going to do? It’s too dangerous. Early in the morning, before it gets light, the murderer and Marie Chaffoureau leave the house to retrieve Élodie’s body. Luckily for them, the area around the convent is deserted. They carry the body by way of Rue Saint-Honoré to the Garde-Meuble. No one is surprised, no one even notices, there’s so much panic in the area. The body is thrown on a heap of victims, and is later collected and taken to La Madeleine cemetery, where Charles and Jean Galaine will later go to identify it. But the night doesn’t end there for you, Camille, or for you, Charlotte. You have to get rid of Naganda’s clothes since you can’t put them back in the attic. It’s a terrible situation! What to do? To go out is to risk questions
being asked. Louis Dorsacq arrives, for the reason he has told this court. The culprit or culprits, who know his secret, immediately use it and blackmail him into going to the second-hand clothes dealer in Rue du Faubourg-du-Temple.’

‘Evidence, evidence!’ cried Sartine impatiently.

‘I’m getting to that, Monsieur. I haven’t used all my weapons yet. In that fatal barn, apart from the hay found on Élodie’s body, I picked up a handkerchief from the mud.’

Nicolas took it from among the exhibits and brandished it in front of everyone.

‘The initials CG, finely embroidered. CG can stand for many things. Claude Galaine, Élodie’s father, in which case the object might belong to his daughter. Charles Galaine. Charlotte or Camille Galaine. Who among those present recognises his or her handkerchief?’

He waved the little square of cloth. Charles Galaine stated that he did not own a handkerchief. At a sign from Nicolas, a police officer confirmed this statement. Charlotte took hers out: it was made of silk and did not bear any initials. Camille Galaine, in turn, held out hers. It seemed absolutely identical to the one discovered on the floor of the barn, the same kind, the same initials.

‘Mademoiselle, how do you account for the presence of your handkerchief in that barn?’

‘I can’t.’

Monsieur de Sartine made a sign to Nicolas, who hastened to approach.

‘That’s quite a tall tale, Nicolas! First the strips of cloth under the bed, and now this. You seem to be constantly finding clues
under your feet, like mushrooms after autumn rain. Don’t you find that suspicious?’

‘Indeed I do, Monsieur. These clues did not get there by themselves, they were put there to be found, as you will realise at the end of my demonstration.’

He went back to his place.

‘I ask you, Camille Galaine, to come here.’

Camille stood up, throwing a terrified glance at her sister, who looked right through her. Bourdeau approached the two dummies. He removed the Indian’s clothes, carefully opened the packet wrapped in silk paper, and took out two corsets, which he placed on the dummies.

‘Observe these two corsets,’ Nicolas said. ‘They are worn over the shift, and cover the trunk from the shoulders to the hips. They are identical, with one exception to the corset found on Élodie Galaine’s body. Gentlemen, I should like to ask Camille and Charlotte Galaine to come forward and lace up these garments.’

Camille took the two ends of the lace and calmly tied the first corset, then went back to the bench. Her elder sister stood up.

‘I protest against this farce, which is unworthy of the memory of our poor niece!’

‘Protest all you want,’ said Monsieur de Sartine, who appeared increasingly intrigued by the turn this hearing was taking, ‘but I strongly advise you to do as you are asked.’

Charlotte Galaine approached the second dummy and, after several unsuccessful attempts, tied the lace. Then she ran back to her seat. Almost respectfully, Nicolas picked up Élodie’s corset.

‘When we came to open up the body, I found this corset to be very tightly knotted, so tight that the laces had to be cut with a
scalpel. I assumed that had been done in order to squeeze the breasts and extract milk. But now I understand how it was that the corset on Élodie’s body could have been pulled so tight. It’s because when it was tied, she was no longer breathing.’

At this terrible image, a sigh of horror went through the room. The two magistrates left their chairs at Nicolas’s invitation and approached the two dummies.

‘See for yourselves, Monsieur, whether the knots are similar or different. This is Camille’s: it isn’t identical to the original. Whereas Charlotte’s is an exact copy.’

‘I don’t follow your argument, Commissioner,’ said Sartine. ‘What bearing does this have on the case?’

‘I understand your perplexity,’ replied Nicolas. ‘It so happens that one of the witnesses, Marie Chaffoureau, who we now know to have been an accomplice, told me a great many things, certain that I would never suspect her. One of the things she told me was that for a long time Charlotte Galaine was unable to tie a knot.’

‘And?’

‘When she finally managed to tie this knot, it was upside down. There is only one conclusion I can draw. Charlotte Galaine, I have the sad privilege of accusing you of the murder by strangulation of your niece, Élodie Galaine.’

Charlotte stood up with a fierce look on her face.

‘You who brought the devil into our house, don’t you see it was my sister Camille who did it?’

Nicolas smiled. ‘These words merely confirm my accusation. In trying to prove too much, you prove nothing. Getting the laudanum from the apothecary was Camille’s idea. The ticket
from the second-hand clothes dealer was found under Camille’s bed. Whenever things look bad for Charlotte, it’s always Camille who did it. I’ve just remembered something, a tiny detail from early in my investigation. When I first questioned you, Charlotte Galaine, you mentioned white Venetian masks. Unfortunately for you, your sister Camille didn’t remember them and looked puzzled. If the two of you had been accomplices, you would never have contradicted her. I don’t claim that Camille Galaine bears no share of the blame for this tragedy, but there is no evidence that she was your accomplice in the murder.’

Camille had started weeping.

‘Why does my sister accuse me?’ she asked with a sob. ‘She assured me the poor child was still-born, that we had to bury it secretly, for fear of scandal. That was all.’

‘We’re getting off the point,’ said Sartine. ‘Please conclude!’

‘Gentlemen,’ said Nicolas, ‘as a final proof, I recall that on the morning after the disaster in Place Louis XV, during my first visit to the Galaines, I found Camille fully dressed, whereas her sister had apparently not had the time to get ready. Of course, it had been a long and difficult night, lots of moving about, dressing and carrying a corpse … But what of the motives? you will ask. One, of course, is financial gain. Charlotte loves her brother, she’s ready to do anything to help him out of a difficult situation. Élodie Galaine is a dangerous obstacle that has to be removed. But there’s a second motive: revenge. The murderer has long harboured a desire for revenge, and this is her opportunity to finally take it. That same witness, whose loose tongue led her to come out with a great many compromising truths, told me that in their youth the two sisters were rivals in love. Their rivalry was
so fierce that the suitor made his escape, rather than being forced to choose between them. Although Camille enjoys being a spinster, Charlotte has never become reconciled to it. She is the murderer of Élodie and her child, with the complicity of Miette and Marie Chaffoureau; it is she who planned the whole thing to the last detail. I should add that the cook not only helped Charlotte in the execution of the crime I have just mentioned, but is also the person responsible for the attempted murder of Naganda. On reflection, it seems clear that she was the only person with access to the Indian’s room, and she went up there while we were involved with another matter of which you are aware … To her, Naganda was the evil genius who had brought disgrace on the Galaine house. His murder was also intended to again cast suspicion on Jean Galaine and Louis Dorsacq, who might be thought to have acted out of jealousy. At the same time, we need to ask ourselves about the role played by Charles Galaine. Is he not an unwitting culprit, an unwitting accomplice, an unwitting contributor to his niece’s terrible fate? The law will have to decide.’

Silence fell on the courtroom, disturbed only by Camille Galaine’s weeping and Charlotte’s incoherent muttering. Marie Chaffoureau was smiling, as if she did not understand what was happening. After a sign of assent from Monsieur de Sartine, the Criminal Lieutenant stood up.

‘I thank Commissioner Le Floch for his masterly
demonstration
, supported by sufficient evidence and necessary assumptions. At the end of this extraordinary hearing, I order, in the name of
the King, that Charlotte Galaine and Marie Chaffoureau, both presumed guilty, and Charles Galaine, pending further inquiries, be incarcerated in the royal prison of the Châtelet. The normal procedure will run its course. I order that the girl Ermeline Godeau, known as Miette, be placed in a house of correction. If she ever regains her reason, she will have to answer for her actions. The other witnesses remain at the disposal of the law, but are free to go.’

Naganda was the only one to come and thank Nicolas. Madame Galaine seemed on the point of speaking to him, then changed her mind and smiled weakly by way of farewell. Père Raccard approached and put his hand on Nicolas’s shoulder.

‘Monsieur Le Floch, you have brought him down for the second time.’

‘Who, Father?’

‘He whose name is legion.’

Prepared the previous evening during a very alcoholic supper at Ramponneau’s, in the hamlet of Les Percherons, paid for by Bourdeau, the arrest of Major Langlumé took place as planned. Dawn had just broken when a cab and four horsemen stopped outside a tall, opulent-looking house in the area around
Saint-Gervais
, in the Hôtel de Ville district of Paris. While a water carrier and a boy delivering a tray of
bavaroises
and
oublies
looked on in surprise, Nicolas, dressed in his commissioner’s robes, walked in through the entrance archway with Bourdeau. On the first floor, they knocked at a heavy oak door decorated with brass
nails. An old woman in a mantilla and a woollen shawl opened. She introduced herself as the major’s mother, asked the
newcomers
the reason for their visit and told them that her son was still asleep, but that she would wake him. Nicolas, who was more of a horseman than a magistrate, kept shaking the wide sleeves of his costume, which hindered his movements. Shuffling footsteps were heard and the major appeared, looking haggard, his
nightshirt
only partly hidden by a white piqué housecoat. He jumped when he saw Nicolas.

‘You? You dare to disturb me at this hour! What are you after?’

Nicolas waved a paper. ‘Are you Major Langlumé of the City Guards?’

‘Yes, and I’m going to make you pay for this!’

‘That would be a pointless effort, Monsieur. By order of the King, we are here to take you to the Bastille. You can look at the
lettre de cachet
, if you want to.’

‘A coward’s revenge!’ said Langlumé. ‘And what is the charge?’

Nicolas took out one of the tags. ‘Do you recognise this?’

‘Yes, Monsieur, a very innocent practical joke played on a bastard whippersnapper of a police commissioner.’

‘Please note,’ Nicolas said to Bourdeau impassively, ‘that the defendant has insulted a commissioner from the Châtelet in the exercise of his duties.’

‘That’s absurd.’

‘Not at all, Monsieur, and you will answer for it. And, while we’re about it, what can you tell me about this other tag?’

‘Nothing. There are thousands like it in Paris.’

‘Only a few of them were made by Master Vachon, tailor
and supplier to Major Langlumé. So we’d be grateful if you’d show us your uniform. Do not attempt to resist. We need it as evidence.’

Nicolas and Bourdeau followed the major into his bedroom, where he opened a chest. Bourdeau jostled him to hurry him up, and a fight nearly broke out between the two men. But, in the end, the inspector brandished the garment like a trophy, and Nicolas went closer to check the aiguillettes. Two tags identical to those in his possession were missing.