The Statement (15 page)

‘Feet against the wall,’ he ordered.

The squad lined the dead men up in a row, their feet touching the wall. ‘Tie on the name tags,’ he ordered. The tags were tied around the men’s necks. One of the corpses gave some sort of final convulsion and the name card twisted under him, hidden from view.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said. ‘Let’s go.’

‘Will you stop it?’ Nicole said. ‘Twitching like that, you’ll pitch me out of the bed.’

He came up from the dream. ‘I wasn’t twitching,’ he said. ‘It was a dead Yid.’

15

‘But why me?’ Valentin asked Professor Proulx, who was climbing the great stone staircase of the archbishopric, one step ahead of him. Professor Proulx, who was old and stout, did not answer, preserving his breath until they reached the top. He then paused and said, ‘Gorchakov. He’s on the list of your interviewees, isn’t he?’

‘Yes, but I haven’t talked to him, as yet.’

‘Well, the Cardinal told me it’s to do with Gorchakov. So I thought you should be present.’

Professor Proulx was the chairman of the Cardinal’s commission and the author of a definitive book on the history of modern France. Valentin was somewhat in awe of him. He wondered who else would attend this special meeting. He remembered reading the dossier: Dom Vladimir Gorchakov, Carmelite monk, Abbot of the Abbaye de St Cros, a graduate of
Normale Sup
, an aide to Maréchal Pétain in the first years of Vichy before leaving to join the Carmelite Order, a White Russian aristocrat, his mother a Georgian princess, murdered by the Soviets, a religious conservative, hostile to the Cardinal’s liberal views. The very portrait of a cleric who might shelter Brossard.

The Cardinal stood, his back to a large window that gave on to the Place de la Fourvíre. On his right was a priest, who had been introduced as Father Thiers of the Society of Jesus. On the Cardinal’s left, at ease on a sofa, was Monsignor Flandin, Secretary of the Episcopal Committee on Relations with Judaism. The Cardinal, tall, stooped, bowed his head slightly in welcome and asked Proulx and Valentin to be seated. He himself remained standing, absent-mindedly pulling on his long nose with his forefinger and thumb.

‘Gentlemen, this is something that directly concerns you as members of our commission. But I would ask you to keep it in the strictest confidence. Remember, we are not policemen. It’s not our business to deliver Brossard into the hands of the law. I say this because of something that has happened in the past few days. Dom Vladimir Gorchakov, of the Abbey of St Cros, near Salon, telephoned me on Monday night to tell me that Brossard has been staying for the past month as his guest in the monastery and that he left, abruptly, some days ago. On the day after Brossard left the police arrived at the monastery and told the Abbot that a foreign tourist had been murdered and his car dumped in a ravine a few miles from St Cros. The police asked if Dom Vladimir or one of the other monks was expecting a visitor. They were not. There were no papers on the dead man and his wallet was missing, but he was identified as a Canadian through a record of the driver’s licence he presented when he rented the car from a company in Marseille. The name on the licence registration was, Dom Vladimir noticed, a Jewish one. As we know, at least two Jewish groups are trying to find Brossard and bring him to justice. Later the police returned to tell Dom Vladimir that the dead man’s Canadian driver’s licence had proved to be false. Dom Vladimir did not, of course, tell the police anything about Brossard and his abrupt departure on the day of the murder. But he called Dom André Vergnes, principal of a Cistercian school in Aix, and an old friend of his, where Brossard sometimes lodged on leaving Salon, and warned him of what had happened. Two days later he received a call from Dom André, saying that, indeed, Brossard had turned up there, asking to be taken in as a guest. Dom André, who had in the past lodged Brossard and helped him financially, believing him to be a victim of long-standing persecution, now, for the first time, became suspicious of him and sent him away. These two clerics then decided that, because of the possibility that Brossard might be linked to this murder, it was their duty to inform me that they had sheltered him. Dom Vladimir, in particular, worries that if the dead man
was
a Jew who was on the point of tracking down Brossard, Brossard might have killed him, taken his papers and wallet and tried to make it look like a robbery. I’ve called you here today because if, indeed, Brossard is mixed up in this terrible affair and it’s discovered that the Church is still sheltering him, I will be hounded by the media for an explanation. Of course I won’t deny the facts, but I think it’s now extremely urgent that the commission furnish me with some answers.’

‘What sort of answers?’ Professor Proulx asked.

‘A preliminary report would be very helpful,’ the Cardinal said. ‘It will show that we are honestly trying to track down the Church’s involvement with Brossard. We should also, if possible, provide some tentative explanation for the help he has received from many clerics over the past years.’

Monsignor Flandin held up his hand. ‘Gentlemen, there is also the tricky question of the Jewish community’s reaction, if we admit that we are still sheltering Brossard. I have assured the Grand Rabbi that we are not.’

‘But we
are
sheltering him,’ the Jesuit said. ‘And despite Your Eminence’s instructions, there are clerics who will continue to shelter him. So we’ve got to find out who they are. I’ve been looking into this matter and there’s obviously a pattern. Brossard seems to have certain routes that he travels each year, certain monasteries and convents that he visits regularly and which provide him with food, lodging and, sometimes, employment of sorts.’

He turned to Professor Proulx. ‘The preliminary findings of the commission bear me out on that, don’t they, sir?’

‘They do,’ Proulx said. ‘But the circle of his support is now considerably narrower than in the past. Professor Valentin tells me that the new charge against him of a crime against humanity, and the national publicity it has received, has changed many priests’ minds about his innocence.’

‘I wouldn’t count on it,’ the Jesuit said, and gave a nervous giggle. ‘In the Church, very often, devotion replaces intelligence.’

‘Eminence, have you talked again to Dom Vladimir or Dom André?’ Proulx asked. ‘If they’ve changed their minds about Brossard, perhaps they may be able to help us?’

‘I’ve talked to them both. I told them we want above all to avoid any further publicity in this matter and therefore we have no intention of finding Brossard in order to hand him over to the police. But when I asked Dom Vladimir where we might look for Brossard he said only that, in the past, Brossard told him that he sometimes went from Aix to stay with clerical friends in Nice.’

‘What friends, sir?’ Valentin asked.

The Cardinal gave him a cold, sidelong glance, then turned to look out of the window. The sun had begun to set on the Place de la Fourvíre. ‘Professor, I repeat, I haven’t asked you and Professor Proulx to come here this morning to act as detectives. It’s our job, I mean Father Thiers’ and mine, to find out who these people are and to put a stop to it. When we do, I will, of course, give you all the information in our possession.’

Professor Proulx said politely, ‘Eminence, I’m sure Professor Valentin wasn’t trying to pry.’

‘Of course not,’ the Cardinal said, turning back from the window with a thin, polite smile. ‘We all have much work to do. Poor Monsignor Flandin here will have, perhaps, the most difficult task of all, if he is forced to explain this almost unexplainable situation to the Jewish community. In the meantime, gentlemen, I would be very grateful if you would consult with the other members of the commission to see if it is possible for you to issue some sort of a preliminary report, something that will indicate that we are, indeed, involved in a thorough investigation of these events. But remember, if you tell the others about this latest development, you must warn them to keep it in strictest confidence. As you can see I’m in a very difficult position, at present.’

Proulx stood up and glanced at Valentin indicating that they should leave. ‘Eminence, I’ll be frank. Our task, as outlined by you, is to prepare a full and comprehensive report on these events. It must be impartial and it must not be hurried. So, for the moment, I can’t assure you that my fellow historians and I will agree to issue a preliminary report before we have all the facts. But I will be guided by our consensus on this matter.’

‘That’s all I ask,’ the Cardinal said. ‘And thank you very much for coming. You’ll let me know, of course?’

‘Yes, Your Eminence. We will.’

Minutes later, as they descended the great stone staircase, Proulx said, ‘I told him the truth, didn’t I?’

‘What do you mean, sir?’

‘A preliminary report is just damage-control. That’s what he wants. We’d simply be seen as Church apologists if we do as he suggests. Those weren’t the terms of our instruction.’

‘Not only that,’ Valentin said. ‘But that colonel of gendarmerie I spoke to should be told about this. By keeping it from him, we’re assisting in the obstruction of justice.’

‘I wouldn’t go that far, Professor. It’s not our place to inform the police. That’s a matter for the Cardinal’s conscience. I think we must leave that decision up to him.’

Must we? Valentin thought. But he held his tongue.

16

‘Who’s calling, please?’

‘Tell him it’s Monsieur Pierre.’

When Rosa heard the name she felt her heart jump. Henri had told her, ‘If he calls and I’m not here, make sure you get an address or, at least, a telephone number. Tell him I said it’s urgent that we get in touch.’

‘Monsieur Pierre,’ she said. ‘Good. The Commissaire is expecting to hear from you. Don’t hang up, please. I’ll see if I can find him.’

‘Thank you, Madame.’

She went through the kitchen and into the garden. She wasn’t sure if Henri had left yet. He’d said he might drive over to the vineyard before lunch. ‘Henri?’ she called. ‘Henri?’

‘What?’ An irritated voice came from the potting shed at the bottom of the garden. He came out, slapping his hands together to get rid of the dirt.

‘Telephone. It’s him.’

He nodded and, walking more quickly than usual, went into the house. When she followed him into the kitchen she saw his left leg begin to jiggle as he picked up the phone in the front hall. So something was wrong, very wrong.

‘Vionnet here.’

‘Monsieur Pierre, sir. Sir, do you have any news for me?’

‘News about what? Where are you?’

‘Remember, last time we talked, sir, you said you’d check on the passport I gave you. And you’d try to find out about that group.’

‘Don’t you read the newspapers?’ the Commissaire asked angrily. ‘The Salon police found the number of the driver’s licence to be a fraud. So the passport is probably false.’

‘I’m sorry, sir. I missed that. I’ve been moving around, as you know.’

‘Where are you? Aix?’

‘That’s why I’m calling, sir. This group, whoever they are, knew where I was going to be in Aix. They had someone waiting for me outside the St  Christophe priory yesterday morning. Luckily, I gave him the slip.’

‘So where are you, now? Dammit, man, I must know where to find you.’

‘Of course, sir. That’s why I called. I spent last night in a motel outside Aix. I’m on my way to Nice, now.’

‘To the address you gave me? Friends of the ex-Archbishop of Dakar?’

‘Sir, that’s why I’m calling. If this group has tracked me twice, in each case because I went to the usual place on my list, then perhaps they’ll track me there.’

‘You could be right,’ the Commissaire said. ‘Do you have an alternative?’

‘I have a great friend, the almoner of the Carmelite abbey at Villefranche. The Abbot there is a member of the Chevaliers and knows me well. I haven’t been there in the past two years. But I’m sure they will receive me.’

‘You’ll arrive when?’

‘Tomorrow, sir. But I wanted to check with you. Have you any news at all for me?’

‘News about what?’

‘About this group. You’ll admit it’s very worrying.’

‘When I have news for you, I’ll give it to you. What’s the address and telephone number of the abbey?’

‘The abbey is on the Haute Corniche just outside Villefranche, sir. There is no street number but it’s four kilometres past a resort hotel called the Bristol. The abbey’s telephone number is 93 65 32 97.’

‘Good. Phone me tomorrow. Without fail, do you hear? You’re sure they’ll take you in?’

‘Yes, sir. But if anything goes wrong, I’ll let you know.’

‘Do that.’

Commissaire Vionnet put down the phone. As he did, Rosa called out from the kitchen, ‘
Chéri
, I’ve made sausage with lentils for lunch. Are you ready to eat?’

‘In a moment. First, I must make a phone call.’

17

History is an echo, Valentin thought as he walked the stone paths of the Tuileries gardens beside his interlocutor. Today’s echo is of de Gaulle’s victory march down the Champs-Elysées forty-four years ago. To historians every year is an anniversary. To ordinary people the past is entombed. He looked through the ornate Tuileries railings at the Hôtel Meurice on the adjoining Rue de Rivoli. Who among these shoppers passing its windows knows or cares that in the years of Occupation it was the seat of the German Kommandatura in Paris?