The Statement (25 page)

He nodded uncertainly. What was the Prior getting at?

‘Of course you do,’ Dom Olivier said. ‘These Jews, whoever they are, sent one of their number from Canada to kill you. When he killed you, he would leave that leaflet on your body. And when your body was found there would be more publicity than ever before about your disappearance, which would give the Jews a new chance to bring up those old stories of the 1943 round-up in the Vél d’Hiver sports drome, and the deportation trains from Drancy and other places. Once again the charge of a crime against humanity would be made against certain politicians, men of dignity, men who held high positions, who now, in their old age, still face the threat of trial and prosecution. And again, through such trials, our country could be held up to shame in the eyes of the world. A pity that this leaflet was found on the body of the would-be assassin. But you didn’t know about the leaflet, I suppose?’

He stared at this man, half blind, frail, his head nodding in an involuntary dodder, his hand absent-mindedly wiping his chin with that red kerchief. ‘The leaflet, Father?’

Dom Olivier straightened up in his chair as though in pain. ‘My back,’ he said. ‘It’s such a trial at times. Yes, the leaflet. When you shot him, you didn’t know there was a leaflet on his body. Or did you? I’ve been wondering. The man in Salon was a Canadian. Did you find a similar leaflet on his body?’

‘I don’t understand, Father Prior.’

The Prior, for the first time, smiled at him. ‘You know our friend Dom André Vergnes, the Prior of the Prieuré St Christophe in Aix? Of course you do, Pierre. We both know him. He is a member of the Chevaliers. He stands quite high in that organization. I am myself a member of the Chevaliers and Dom André and I have remained friends despite our doctrinal differences. Last week he rang me up and told me he thought you would be visiting us soon. He said he felt it his duty to warn me of his belief that you killed that man in Salon. As I now believe you shot that man yesterday. No, no, don’t look so alarmed, Pierre. In my opinion your defending yourself against an assassin is a wholly commendable action. Especially as the assassin was doing the Devil’s work, I can only say, as I’ve said before, that you are one of us and that I will do my utmost to protect you against our enemies. But I am afraid for you, Pierre. Who is it who knows where to find you? Have you any idea?’

‘No, Father Prior.’

‘Have you thought of going abroad? Of leaving France? I know that in the past you did not want our enemies to force you into exile from the country you love. But now . . . I don’t know. What do you think?’

‘I think it is something I should consider.’

‘Good. Think about it. If you decide to emigrate perhaps we can help you.’

‘That’s very kind of you, Father Prior. In the meantime, I have important lay friends who may have access to a Vatican passport.’

‘I wouldn’t count on any assistance from Rome, if I were you,’ Dom Olivier said. ‘None of us can count on Rome nowadays. The days of Pope Pius, God rest his soul, are history. He knew that the Germans were not the true enemies of religion. The present Pope does not.’

‘Father Prior, my lay friends may have other sources. They know about these things. But if they fail me I will certainly be grateful for any help you can give.’

Dom Olivier rose shakily from his chair and advanced to embrace him. He felt the sick wet skin touch his cheek. ‘We are all in God’s hands,’ Dom Olivier said. ‘And I am sure that God protected you yesterday, as He has in the past. Now, I must say my mass. Would you like to join us in the chapel?’

He bowed his head in humble acquiescence. The call to the Commissaire would have to wait.

35

‘It’s a long shot,’ Roux said. ‘But at the moment it’s all I have.’

Judge Livi looked up from her study of the child’s exercise book which Roux had given her. ‘It’s brilliant,’ she said. ‘And you have the address?’

‘Yes, we turned it up at once. It seems the Fraternité is closely linked with Monsignor Lefebvre’s headquarters in Switzerland. The DST keeps an eye on that prelate and his doings. The house, in which the priory is located, was given to the Fraternité St  Donat by the Mayor of Nice,
against
the advice of the local bishop.’

‘Why would the Mayor do that, I wonder?’

‘Another mystery,’ Roux said. ‘But if Brossard’s hiding out there now, the Prior, one Dom Olivier Villedieu, is a man who will do everything to keep us from finding him.’

‘But you’ll find him,’ Judge Livi said. She moved to a typewriter. ‘I have great faith in you, Colonel. If you’ll give me that address, I’ll make up the search warrant.’

‘Here you are.’

She began to type, then stopped. ‘You know, now is the perfect time to bring Brossard in. With this latest killing the case will be more than political.’

‘What do you mean, Madame?’

‘You know what the media are like. They’re not interested in history. Murder is a much more selling item than old wartime tales. A double murder, two dead assassins, and the stink of Church involvement. If you can bring Brossard in, it will be an international story and that will make it much easier for me to see that the other gentlemen charged with a crime against humanity are no longer protected by my superiors in the Justice Ministry and the Elysée Palace. Their trials will follow inevitably on Brossard’s.’

‘
If
I can find Brossard in time,’ Roux said.

‘What do you mean?’

‘It’s a race I could lose,’ Roux said. ‘Someone else wants to find him and kill him. Someone who knows him and his movements better than we do.’

‘I’ve been thinking,’ Judge Livi said. ‘Why has he been paid a large sum of money regularly by someone in Paris? Someone who doesn’t seem to have anything to do with the Church and the Chevaliers. The Chevaliers’ stipend is 3,000 francs a month. Modest. A charitable donation. But this other payment seems to be a large one. What does that suggest to you?’

‘Someone who’s paying him for services rendered?’ Roux said. ‘Or paying to keep him quiet.’

‘Someone who desperately doesn’t want to see him caught and brought to trial,’ Judge Livi said. ‘And who could that be, do you think?’

‘Some important personage who faces a similar charge?’

‘Exactly,’ Judge Livi said.

36

He knelt in the rear of the Fraternité’s chapel but did not pray. On the altar Dom Olivier was saying mass, the Latin mass as it had once been celebrated in every country on the globe. But all that was ended. Now, the saying of the Latin mass was an act of rebellion against the Papacy and the present. Watching Dom Olivier perform the familiar movements, hearing the remembered Latin phrases, he was transported back through the decades to those days before the war, to that gentle France Charles Trenet sang about, that France now gone for ever. Today, at the end of his life, what was there to keep him in a France run to benefit
beurs
and
noirs
, a France where a presidential pardon could be overturned by some new law brought in by international Jewry?

It was in the course of that mass, here in the safe haven of Dom Olivier’s protection, that he made his final decision. Even if the Commissaire refused to help with a passport, even if they refused to keep sending his payments, he would leave France. As he knelt here, he could reach into the fat money belt he wore at all times and touch part of his life savings, the payments he had thriftily hoarded over the years. With that, and the deposits he had made in a bank in Bern, he had enough to live on for some time.

The mass was ending. He rose with the others, genuflected to the altar and went out into the corridor, looking for Father Rozier, the
père hospitalier
who had promised to let him use the telephone. But when he went into Father Rozier’s office, Father Rozier was not there. A very young priest sat at Father Rozier’s desk.

‘Are you Monsieur Pouliot?’ the young priest asked.

‘Yes, I am.’

‘I didn’t know where to find you,’ the young priest said. ‘I looked in your room.’

‘I was at mass. What is this about?’

‘A gentleman telephoned earlier this morning and asked for you by name. Of course I said we had never heard of you. But he seemed to know you would be here. A Monsieur Saussaies. He wants you to call him. He said you have his number.’

‘Thank you. By the way, Father Rozier told me yesterday that I could use the bindery telephone and that I wouldn’t be disturbed there.’

‘Of course,’ the young priest said. ‘The bindery’s not in use any more.’ He rose from his desk. ‘I’ll show you the way.’

In the bindery on the third floor, the shutters were closed against the sun, leaving the room in almost total darkness. The young priest opened a shutter, showed him where the telephone was, then withdrew, closing him in.

Avignon. He dialled. The Commissaire picked up on the first ring.

‘Monsieur Pierre here, sir.’

‘Where is
here
?’ the Commissaire asked irritably.

‘Nice, sir. I’m at the Prieuré St  Donat. You rang earlier, sir?’

‘Yes, I did. Where the hell have you been? Why didn’t you phone last night?’

‘It was difficult, sir. You know what happened yesterday?’

‘Of course, I do. The whole damn country does.’

‘I know, sir. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.’

‘No, you listen to me,’ the Commissaire said. ‘The other day you mentioned us getting you out of France. I think the time has come for us to do just that.’

He felt a sudden rush of relief, a strange weakness as though he could weep. ‘Sir, that’s just what I was thinking myself. As soon as possible, sir. Would it have to be South America, sir?’

‘South America?’

‘A long time ago, you spoke of Bolivia, sir. I assume we might be helped by the Vatican?’

‘That’s ancient history,’ the Commissaire said. ‘You’ll get no help from Rome nowadays. No, we’ll arrange the passport ourselves. You remember Inspector Pochon?’

‘Pochon? Yes, sir. You sent him to see me once.’

‘That’s right. And I’m sending him again. In fact, he’ll be arriving in Nice later today. I’ve asked him to call you and set up a meeting at a location he’ll pick. The meeting should take place tonight. And I don’t want you to mention it to anyone, not even to your friend Dom Olivier. Is that clear?’

‘Yes, sir. Sir, could I ask, what country are you thinking of sending me to?’

‘Where do you want to go?’

‘I don’t know. Some place that’s not full of
beurs
and
noirs
.’

‘Well, you can discuss that with Pochon. We’ll have to work quickly. I want to get you out of the country within the week. In the meantime, except for your meeting tonight with Pochon, you’re not to go outside the door of the place you’re staying. The newspapers and television have plastered your mug up all over the place. That’s why your meeting should be after dark. When you go out tonight, make sure you’re not followed.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘All right, then. Wait for a call from Pochon. And tell the priests there to put the call through to you as soon as it comes.’

‘Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.’

‘Good luck,’ the Commissaire said. ‘Don’t worry. You’re going to be all right.’

When he heard the Commissaire hang up, he remembered that he had not asked him about the payments. They’ll keep on paying me, won’t they? I’ll ask Pochon about that.

37

Roux arrived in Nice at 3 p.m. and was met in the airport lounge by Daniel Dumesnil. Both officers were in uniform. They shook hands, smiling at each other, then went outside where a uniformed driver and jeep were waiting.

‘I’ve had four men over there since ten o’clock this morning,’ Dumesnil said. ‘I checked with them fifteen minutes ago. So far, no movement of any sort. We’re covering both exits to the priory as well as the front entrance on Avenue Jean Jaurès. I have a plainclothes man out front so as not to advertise ourselves.’

‘Good.’

The jeep left the airport and drove along the Nice promenade. ‘He may not be in the priory at the moment,’ Roux said. ‘He could be in town. But if he’s staying at the priory he’ll probably come back in by suppertime. After all, he’s seventy years old.’

‘But he still shoots straight,’ Dumesnil said, and laughed.

‘So, let’s fix a time,’ Roux said. ‘If your men don’t see any movement before 7 p.m., we’ll assume that he’s in the house. What time do you think they have supper?’

‘Monks rise early,’ Dumesnil said. ‘I’d say they’d eat by seven-thirty, at the latest.’

‘All right. We’ll go in at eight.’

‘And until then, what?’

‘Until then we sweat.’

38

The midday meal was a slice of the priory’s home-baked
gros pain
and a cup of what the priest on his left called fish stew. Grace was said by Dom Olivier himself, but he noticed that no food was placed in front of the Prior.

‘Is the Father Prior on a special diet?’ he asked the priest.