The lost symphony, p.18
The Lost Symphony, page 18
‘Can you imagine what will happen now? All hell will break loose! That’s what. And that could be a big problem for us.’
‘Perhaps,’ replied Zuzanna calmly. ‘But that depends …’
‘On what?’ said Malenkova curtly.
‘On how well Emile and Anielka covered their tracks, and from what I’ve heard so far, they’ve done a remarkable job.’
‘Oh? Tell me.’
‘Anielka couldn’t drug Aubert in the safe. The promised champagne didn’t arrive. That only left her with one choice: abort the entire plan, or do something about this. She chose the latter.’
‘So, she just killed him by cutting his throat?’
‘Exactly. Then she rang me and told me all was ready for Emile.’
‘Did she tell you about ...?’
‘No. She sounded calm and in control and told me there were no CCTV cameras in the corridor downstairs leading to the safe. So, I sent Emile on his way.’
‘And?’
‘You know he’s a pro. He was in disguise. Wearing a dinner suit and wig, he blended in perfectly.’
‘And the body in the safe?’
‘Didn’t seem to bother him too much. He went to work immediately and opened the box within minutes. After that he said he “cleaned up”.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘He wiped all the surfaces that could have been touched by Anielka. No fingerprints that way. He was wearing gloves, of course. He then removed the blue box, put it into his briefcase and left. He didn’t spend more than twenty minutes inside the hotel. As I said, he’s a pro and acted like one.’
‘And Anielka?’
‘She followed a few minutes later. As you can imagine, they didn’t want to be seen together. I waited at the prearranged spot. They got into my car and we drove away. Simple as that.’
‘How was Anielka?’
‘Calm, but excited. She believes she did an excellent job. By killing Aubert, she has removed a big problem, she said. No witnesses who could identify her, or in any way help the police ... We did ask her to improvise, and she did just that.’ Zuzanna pointed to the spectacular Fabergé egg on the table. ‘A little extreme, perhaps, but without her and what she has done, we wouldn’t have this.’
‘What about the letters?’ asked Malenkova.
Zuzanna had expected the question and was ready. ‘Left behind in the rush, I’m afraid,’ she said. ‘The pressure, the dead body, confusion.’
‘What? I thought we made it clear the letters were all part of it!’
Zuzanna shrugged. ‘Shit happens.’
Instead of the violent outburst Zuzanna had expected, Malenkova nodded calmly. She was already a step ahead, trying to work out how to solve the problem. After careful analysis of the letter found in the music box, she was certain that the letters in box thirty-three held important clues about something big, perhaps even bigger than the Imperial Fabergé egg on the table in front of her. Unfortunately, those letters now appeared beyond reach, unless ...
‘We have to move quickly,’ said Malenkova.
‘In what way?’
‘I’m not worried about Emile. He knows how to go to ground and disappear for a while. We’ve seen him do it many times. It’s a different story with Anielka.’
‘What’s on your mind?’
‘We should do two things straight away. First, change her appearance, and then take her out of Paris.’
‘I agree.’
‘Change her hair; it’s one of her most striking and recognisable features. You know, colour, length and so on. And then take her to my ski lodge in Grenoble and stay there for a while, and keep an eye on her. Destroy all the clothes she wore on all the occasions connecting her to the Ritz and liquidate her accommodation. Do it tonight; right now. If we are lucky and act quickly, you’ll be out of town even before the body is discovered.’
‘Excellent suggestion. I’ll get onto it straight away,’ said Zuzanna, surprised to be getting off so lightly. ‘But I think we should praise Anielka for what she has done, don’t you think? That way, we can use her again in the future.’
‘Yes, you’re right. We should do that. She’s quite exceptional. We’ve never worked with someone quite like this before. I’ll give her a call.’
‘That would certainly do it. She’s like a finely honed weapon. Handled correctly, she’s capable of extraordinary things,’ said Zuzanna.
‘I agree. All of you have done an outstanding job. As for those letters left behind, the only one who knows what is contained in them is our Mr Rogan. According to Mademoiselle Darrieux, he has photographed all the pages, remember?’
‘Correct. And in due course he may well receive the originals, but not the Fabergé egg,’ added Zuzanna, smiling.
‘But those letters could be even more important than the egg,’ mused Malenkova, sensing another challenge.
Zuzanna looked at her, surprised. ‘In what way?’
‘Later. For now, we should use our Darrieux connection to find out as much as we can about those letters. I’ll prepare a number of questions I want you to put to her in that regard. We must strike while fear will make her do all we ask. Who knows? This may change with the murder. A high-profile murder like this in the Paris Ritz of all places, will be a sensation Paris hasn’t seen for a while. If we handle this correctly, it could even work in our favour.’
Malenkova turned to face Zuzanna. ‘I’m very proud of you,’ she said. ‘Now go and call me when you get to Grenoble.’
‘Will do,’ replied Zuzanna, relieved.
Malenkova watched Zuzanna walk up the stairs. Then she turned up the volume and continued to listen to Bruckner while she caressed the Imperial Easter egg on the table next to her like a lover, and looked forward to exploring the surprise inside at the end of the symphony.
31
Prefecture de Police de Paris: 7 February 2017
A cleaner discovered Aubert’s naked body at six-thirty am and reported the matter to the duty manager. The duty manager rang the police immediately and closed off access to the basement. The police arrived twenty minutes later and took over. The officer in charge rang the Prefect of Police at home and reported the incident. Realising the enormity of the matter and its far-reaching consequences, not only for France but internationally, he personally took charge and appointed Marcel Lapointe, a senior commissaire of the Paris Brigade Criminelle, to head the investigation.
On his way to work half an hour later, the Prefect remembered his conversation with Dupree a few days earlier and the cold case file he had given to him. As he entered the prefecture, a large building in the Place Louis-Lépine on the Île de la Cité, he called Dupree.
‘How are you, Claude?’ asked the Prefect.
‘Quite well, considering. Thank you,’ said Dupree, surprised to hear from his illustrious friend. ‘Countess Kuragin has been very generous. She let me use a cottage here at her chateau. I’m being well looked after.’
‘Excellent. I need your help.’
‘In what way?’
‘We had an incident with potentially far-reaching implications.’
‘Oh? What kind of incident?’
The Prefect then gave Dupree a brief outline of what had happened at the Ritz. ‘That’s all I know at the moment. I would like you to join the team. Interested?’
‘Are you serious? In my condition?’
‘It’s your brain and experience I’m after ...’
‘I’m in! Echoes of Le Fantôme and the Black Widow, you think?’
‘Could be. Nothing happens in a vacuum and without a reason you used to tell us, remember? You always had some of the best instincts in the force when it came to matters like this.’
‘Thank you! My recovery has just taken a giant leap forward.’
‘I will send Lapointe to see you and keep you informed. Another former pupil of yours who’s done well. Anything else you need, just call me. You have my number. We desperately need results here, and quickly!’
‘I understand. I can’t tell you what this means to me,’ said Dupree, but the Prefect had already hung up.
32
Kuragin chateau: 7 February 2017
Jack was working in the conservatory as he did most mornings, when Countess Kuragin walked in with a pot of tea. ‘Still working on those letters, I see,’ she said. ‘Tea?’
‘Yes, please. They are absolutely fascinating.’
‘In what way?’
‘They are written in some kind of code. I’m sure of it.’
‘Oh? What makes you say that?’
‘Just listen to this: “I am so glad you made it safely to France and took N’s gift with you. Just as well, as our rooms were searched again yesterday. Very humiliating. Imagine if they had found it among my things? Instead of helping us, our friend would have done the opposite. I would have been condemned for standing next to him, separated only by the cross. N, too, would have been in trouble and pilloried for having arranged it all.” Strange, don’t you think?’
‘You think so? It’s a personal letter between two close friends. They understand each other and know what is meant by references that may appear strange, perhaps even mysterious to an outsider, but make perfect sense to them because they refer to shared experiences.’
‘Perhaps, but this is only the first letter. The others are even stranger and more complicated until it is almost impossible to work out exactly what is being said. It’s all innuendo. If the former tsarina did in fact write these letters while she and her family were under house arrest in the Alexander Palace in 1917, then these letters are of great historical significance.’
‘Never a dull moment in your life, that’s for sure.’
‘The weirdest letter by far is the last one, sent from Yekaterinburg in July 1918. The one we found in the music box.’
‘Written the day before the Imperial family was murdered?’ said the countess.
‘Yes. The closer you look at it, the stranger it becomes, and quite desperate. There’s a certain urgency in the language. It’s like a final farewell.’
‘Hardly surprising when you consider what happened.’
‘True, but I believe there’s a significant message buried in that letter, and it is in some way connected to the Fabergé egg.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘I’m still working on it,’ said Jack, sidestepping the question. ‘But I sense that something really big is involved here. Some kind of far-reaching secret Alexandra wanted to protect, but at the same time share with her friend. It’s absolutely fascinating!’
‘You and your secrets! Following those breadcrumbs of destiny again?’ said the countess, smiling.
‘Something like that.’ Jack sat back and looked intently at the countess. ‘I have to ask myself, what could possibly have been so important, especially during those desperate times? By now, the Imperial family had been in captivity in Yekaterinburg for over two months. Cut off from the outside world and living in difficult, cramped conditions, watched over by guards. This is the day before the entire Romanov family is brutally murdered, perhaps by the very same guards.’
Jack shook his head. ‘I think Alexandra had to get something off her chest before it was too late, and she did that by putting it all in this letter. This is no social chitchat between friends. This is something far more important, and it’s all right here,’ said Jack and pointed to the letter in front of him.
‘You may be right.’
‘And let’s not forget, somehow this letter made it all the way to France.’ Jack held up the letter like a trophy. ‘From faraway Siberia during those turbulent times. This could not have been easy to arrange.’
‘By the way, Claude just rang from the cottage,’ said the countess. ‘He would like to see us. He said it was important.’
Jack put down the letter and looked at the countess. ‘He’s an interesting man. Very good of you to put him up.’
‘It’s the least we can do, don’t you think?’
‘Still. Did he say what it was about?’
‘No, but he did say it would be better if we heard it from him first, rather than read it in the papers.’
‘How intriguing. Let’s go and see him.’
Jack and the countess walked across to the Gatekeeper’s Cottage on the other side of the moat. As they crossed the bridge and turned the corner, they could see a police car parked in front of the cottage.
‘Interesting, don’t you think?’ said Jack and pointed to the uniformed officer standing at the front door. ‘Do you think we’re harbouring a criminal?’
‘I hope not. Let’s find out.’
‘You are expected,’ said the officer and opened the door after the countess had told him who she was.
Dupree and another man in his fifties sat at the kitchen table. ‘Good morning, Countess, thank you for coming,’ said Dupree. He nodded to Jack and stood up. The other man stood up as well. ‘This is Detective Chief Superintendent Lapointe,’ continued Dupree, making the introductions.
Jack looked at the man in front of him with interest. Shortish, powerfully built and wearing a heavy overcoat, he reminded Jack of Maigret, the legendary fictional Paris detective who featured in more than seventy novels by Georges Simenon, and became an iconic character and the subject of countless films and TV dramas. But most striking of all was the man’s face. Radiating intelligence but also sadness and compassion, the eyes had seen a little too much brutality and violence, and the deep lines around the mouth and prominent chin suggested a determination to do something about it. The only thing missing is the bowler hat and the pipe, thought Jack. Then he saw the slouch hat and the pipe on the table, and smiled.
The countess extended her hand. ‘To what do we owe the pleasure, Chief Superintendent, and so early in the morning? Is Claude under arrest?’
‘Far from it, Countess, he just joined my team and will help us in the investigation.’
‘Investigation?’ said Jack. ‘What kind of investigation?’
‘We are investigating a murder.’
‘Oh? Can you tell us about it?’
‘Monsieur Aubert, the general manager of the Ritz, was found in the Amber Safe this morning with his throat cut,’ said Lapointe calmly and reached for his pipe. ‘Do you mind?’
Speechless, the countess just shook her head in disbelief and shock.
‘Are you serious?’ said Jack. ‘What happened?’
‘Forensics are at the scene right now, but it looks like a robbery—’
‘Robbery?’ interrupted Jack. ‘What kind of robbery?’
‘Strong box thirty-three has been broken into; professional job,’ replied Dupree.
‘And the contents?’ asked Jack, feeling rather ill.
‘Removed, I’m afraid, except for the letters,’ said Lapointe.
‘How could this have happened? In the Ritz of all places? There must have been hundreds of people in the hotel at the time.’
‘We are working on it,’ said Lapointe. ‘I understand you have some photographs of the Fabergé egg, Mr Rogan, and a key to the box; is that correct?’
‘Yes.’
‘If I could have those that would be most helpful.’
‘Of course. This is unbelievable.’
‘The publicity surrounding this will be huge and it would be best if you could stay in the background, Mr Rogan. A prominent man like you could easily become the subject of innuendo and speculation, and therefore a distraction. Your involvement in this matter is unlikely to reach the press, and we should try to keep it that way. Better for all parties, don’t you think? Claude here will keep you informed. That’s all for the moment, thank you.’
Lapointe lit his pipe, signifying that the meeting was over. ‘My officer outside will go with you and collect the key and the photographs. Now, if you would excuse us, Claude and I have a lot to discuss. It has been a pleasure meeting you both,’ said Lapointe. ‘Of course, we’ll need statements. Not only from you, but also from Mademoiselle Darrieux.’
‘Understood,’ said the countess.
‘We can do this here rather than in Paris. Less publicity that way.’
‘That would be appreciated,’ said Jack and followed the countess to the door.
33
La Closerie des Lilas, Paris: 7 February 2017
Mademoiselle Darrieux followed the maître d’ confidently to her usual table like a true celebrity, and nodded to several regulars enjoying their morning coffee and croissants. Breakfast at La Closerie des Lilas twice a week was part of her routine, and she looked forward to being fussed over by the staff and, most importantly, being seen. To a woman living on her own who loved the limelight, these occasions were the lifeblood of her social life and the way she made sure of being noticed and talked about.
Her deliberately outrageous outfits turned heads and invited comment, albeit not all of them flattering. That didn’t seem to matter because being talked about was the oxygen that sustained a socialite who craved attention. The painful alternative was to be ignored, and that was tantamount to social death. It had taken Mademoiselle Darrieux many years to climb the fickle and often unforgiving Paris social ladder and create a persona that was both respected and liked, despite her many eccentricities and very public foibles.
The thought of losing this or having her carefully cultivated reputation in any way tarnished, filled her with terror. Nightmares had haunted her restless sleep since that fateful encounter with the mysterious woman at Shakespeare and Company a few days earlier, and her heart filled with dread every time her phone rang. Despite having answered all the questions put to her by Zuzanna and providing all the requested information to the best of her ability, she felt vulnerable and unsafe. Fear of exposure dominated her life and the strain had begun to show.
Mademoiselle Darrieux paled when the waiter handed her the morning paper and she read the headlines on the front page: Murder at the Ritz. A cleaner doing her rounds early this morning found the mutilated body of Louis Aubert, the general manager of the Paris Ritz, inside a walk-in safe in the basement of the hotel. His throat had been cut during a suspected robbery ...
‘Perhaps,’ replied Zuzanna calmly. ‘But that depends …’
‘On what?’ said Malenkova curtly.
‘On how well Emile and Anielka covered their tracks, and from what I’ve heard so far, they’ve done a remarkable job.’
‘Oh? Tell me.’
‘Anielka couldn’t drug Aubert in the safe. The promised champagne didn’t arrive. That only left her with one choice: abort the entire plan, or do something about this. She chose the latter.’
‘So, she just killed him by cutting his throat?’
‘Exactly. Then she rang me and told me all was ready for Emile.’
‘Did she tell you about ...?’
‘No. She sounded calm and in control and told me there were no CCTV cameras in the corridor downstairs leading to the safe. So, I sent Emile on his way.’
‘And?’
‘You know he’s a pro. He was in disguise. Wearing a dinner suit and wig, he blended in perfectly.’
‘And the body in the safe?’
‘Didn’t seem to bother him too much. He went to work immediately and opened the box within minutes. After that he said he “cleaned up”.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘He wiped all the surfaces that could have been touched by Anielka. No fingerprints that way. He was wearing gloves, of course. He then removed the blue box, put it into his briefcase and left. He didn’t spend more than twenty minutes inside the hotel. As I said, he’s a pro and acted like one.’
‘And Anielka?’
‘She followed a few minutes later. As you can imagine, they didn’t want to be seen together. I waited at the prearranged spot. They got into my car and we drove away. Simple as that.’
‘How was Anielka?’
‘Calm, but excited. She believes she did an excellent job. By killing Aubert, she has removed a big problem, she said. No witnesses who could identify her, or in any way help the police ... We did ask her to improvise, and she did just that.’ Zuzanna pointed to the spectacular Fabergé egg on the table. ‘A little extreme, perhaps, but without her and what she has done, we wouldn’t have this.’
‘What about the letters?’ asked Malenkova.
Zuzanna had expected the question and was ready. ‘Left behind in the rush, I’m afraid,’ she said. ‘The pressure, the dead body, confusion.’
‘What? I thought we made it clear the letters were all part of it!’
Zuzanna shrugged. ‘Shit happens.’
Instead of the violent outburst Zuzanna had expected, Malenkova nodded calmly. She was already a step ahead, trying to work out how to solve the problem. After careful analysis of the letter found in the music box, she was certain that the letters in box thirty-three held important clues about something big, perhaps even bigger than the Imperial Fabergé egg on the table in front of her. Unfortunately, those letters now appeared beyond reach, unless ...
‘We have to move quickly,’ said Malenkova.
‘In what way?’
‘I’m not worried about Emile. He knows how to go to ground and disappear for a while. We’ve seen him do it many times. It’s a different story with Anielka.’
‘What’s on your mind?’
‘We should do two things straight away. First, change her appearance, and then take her out of Paris.’
‘I agree.’
‘Change her hair; it’s one of her most striking and recognisable features. You know, colour, length and so on. And then take her to my ski lodge in Grenoble and stay there for a while, and keep an eye on her. Destroy all the clothes she wore on all the occasions connecting her to the Ritz and liquidate her accommodation. Do it tonight; right now. If we are lucky and act quickly, you’ll be out of town even before the body is discovered.’
‘Excellent suggestion. I’ll get onto it straight away,’ said Zuzanna, surprised to be getting off so lightly. ‘But I think we should praise Anielka for what she has done, don’t you think? That way, we can use her again in the future.’
‘Yes, you’re right. We should do that. She’s quite exceptional. We’ve never worked with someone quite like this before. I’ll give her a call.’
‘That would certainly do it. She’s like a finely honed weapon. Handled correctly, she’s capable of extraordinary things,’ said Zuzanna.
‘I agree. All of you have done an outstanding job. As for those letters left behind, the only one who knows what is contained in them is our Mr Rogan. According to Mademoiselle Darrieux, he has photographed all the pages, remember?’
‘Correct. And in due course he may well receive the originals, but not the Fabergé egg,’ added Zuzanna, smiling.
‘But those letters could be even more important than the egg,’ mused Malenkova, sensing another challenge.
Zuzanna looked at her, surprised. ‘In what way?’
‘Later. For now, we should use our Darrieux connection to find out as much as we can about those letters. I’ll prepare a number of questions I want you to put to her in that regard. We must strike while fear will make her do all we ask. Who knows? This may change with the murder. A high-profile murder like this in the Paris Ritz of all places, will be a sensation Paris hasn’t seen for a while. If we handle this correctly, it could even work in our favour.’
Malenkova turned to face Zuzanna. ‘I’m very proud of you,’ she said. ‘Now go and call me when you get to Grenoble.’
‘Will do,’ replied Zuzanna, relieved.
Malenkova watched Zuzanna walk up the stairs. Then she turned up the volume and continued to listen to Bruckner while she caressed the Imperial Easter egg on the table next to her like a lover, and looked forward to exploring the surprise inside at the end of the symphony.
31
Prefecture de Police de Paris: 7 February 2017
A cleaner discovered Aubert’s naked body at six-thirty am and reported the matter to the duty manager. The duty manager rang the police immediately and closed off access to the basement. The police arrived twenty minutes later and took over. The officer in charge rang the Prefect of Police at home and reported the incident. Realising the enormity of the matter and its far-reaching consequences, not only for France but internationally, he personally took charge and appointed Marcel Lapointe, a senior commissaire of the Paris Brigade Criminelle, to head the investigation.
On his way to work half an hour later, the Prefect remembered his conversation with Dupree a few days earlier and the cold case file he had given to him. As he entered the prefecture, a large building in the Place Louis-Lépine on the Île de la Cité, he called Dupree.
‘How are you, Claude?’ asked the Prefect.
‘Quite well, considering. Thank you,’ said Dupree, surprised to hear from his illustrious friend. ‘Countess Kuragin has been very generous. She let me use a cottage here at her chateau. I’m being well looked after.’
‘Excellent. I need your help.’
‘In what way?’
‘We had an incident with potentially far-reaching implications.’
‘Oh? What kind of incident?’
The Prefect then gave Dupree a brief outline of what had happened at the Ritz. ‘That’s all I know at the moment. I would like you to join the team. Interested?’
‘Are you serious? In my condition?’
‘It’s your brain and experience I’m after ...’
‘I’m in! Echoes of Le Fantôme and the Black Widow, you think?’
‘Could be. Nothing happens in a vacuum and without a reason you used to tell us, remember? You always had some of the best instincts in the force when it came to matters like this.’
‘Thank you! My recovery has just taken a giant leap forward.’
‘I will send Lapointe to see you and keep you informed. Another former pupil of yours who’s done well. Anything else you need, just call me. You have my number. We desperately need results here, and quickly!’
‘I understand. I can’t tell you what this means to me,’ said Dupree, but the Prefect had already hung up.
32
Kuragin chateau: 7 February 2017
Jack was working in the conservatory as he did most mornings, when Countess Kuragin walked in with a pot of tea. ‘Still working on those letters, I see,’ she said. ‘Tea?’
‘Yes, please. They are absolutely fascinating.’
‘In what way?’
‘They are written in some kind of code. I’m sure of it.’
‘Oh? What makes you say that?’
‘Just listen to this: “I am so glad you made it safely to France and took N’s gift with you. Just as well, as our rooms were searched again yesterday. Very humiliating. Imagine if they had found it among my things? Instead of helping us, our friend would have done the opposite. I would have been condemned for standing next to him, separated only by the cross. N, too, would have been in trouble and pilloried for having arranged it all.” Strange, don’t you think?’
‘You think so? It’s a personal letter between two close friends. They understand each other and know what is meant by references that may appear strange, perhaps even mysterious to an outsider, but make perfect sense to them because they refer to shared experiences.’
‘Perhaps, but this is only the first letter. The others are even stranger and more complicated until it is almost impossible to work out exactly what is being said. It’s all innuendo. If the former tsarina did in fact write these letters while she and her family were under house arrest in the Alexander Palace in 1917, then these letters are of great historical significance.’
‘Never a dull moment in your life, that’s for sure.’
‘The weirdest letter by far is the last one, sent from Yekaterinburg in July 1918. The one we found in the music box.’
‘Written the day before the Imperial family was murdered?’ said the countess.
‘Yes. The closer you look at it, the stranger it becomes, and quite desperate. There’s a certain urgency in the language. It’s like a final farewell.’
‘Hardly surprising when you consider what happened.’
‘True, but I believe there’s a significant message buried in that letter, and it is in some way connected to the Fabergé egg.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘I’m still working on it,’ said Jack, sidestepping the question. ‘But I sense that something really big is involved here. Some kind of far-reaching secret Alexandra wanted to protect, but at the same time share with her friend. It’s absolutely fascinating!’
‘You and your secrets! Following those breadcrumbs of destiny again?’ said the countess, smiling.
‘Something like that.’ Jack sat back and looked intently at the countess. ‘I have to ask myself, what could possibly have been so important, especially during those desperate times? By now, the Imperial family had been in captivity in Yekaterinburg for over two months. Cut off from the outside world and living in difficult, cramped conditions, watched over by guards. This is the day before the entire Romanov family is brutally murdered, perhaps by the very same guards.’
Jack shook his head. ‘I think Alexandra had to get something off her chest before it was too late, and she did that by putting it all in this letter. This is no social chitchat between friends. This is something far more important, and it’s all right here,’ said Jack and pointed to the letter in front of him.
‘You may be right.’
‘And let’s not forget, somehow this letter made it all the way to France.’ Jack held up the letter like a trophy. ‘From faraway Siberia during those turbulent times. This could not have been easy to arrange.’
‘By the way, Claude just rang from the cottage,’ said the countess. ‘He would like to see us. He said it was important.’
Jack put down the letter and looked at the countess. ‘He’s an interesting man. Very good of you to put him up.’
‘It’s the least we can do, don’t you think?’
‘Still. Did he say what it was about?’
‘No, but he did say it would be better if we heard it from him first, rather than read it in the papers.’
‘How intriguing. Let’s go and see him.’
Jack and the countess walked across to the Gatekeeper’s Cottage on the other side of the moat. As they crossed the bridge and turned the corner, they could see a police car parked in front of the cottage.
‘Interesting, don’t you think?’ said Jack and pointed to the uniformed officer standing at the front door. ‘Do you think we’re harbouring a criminal?’
‘I hope not. Let’s find out.’
‘You are expected,’ said the officer and opened the door after the countess had told him who she was.
Dupree and another man in his fifties sat at the kitchen table. ‘Good morning, Countess, thank you for coming,’ said Dupree. He nodded to Jack and stood up. The other man stood up as well. ‘This is Detective Chief Superintendent Lapointe,’ continued Dupree, making the introductions.
Jack looked at the man in front of him with interest. Shortish, powerfully built and wearing a heavy overcoat, he reminded Jack of Maigret, the legendary fictional Paris detective who featured in more than seventy novels by Georges Simenon, and became an iconic character and the subject of countless films and TV dramas. But most striking of all was the man’s face. Radiating intelligence but also sadness and compassion, the eyes had seen a little too much brutality and violence, and the deep lines around the mouth and prominent chin suggested a determination to do something about it. The only thing missing is the bowler hat and the pipe, thought Jack. Then he saw the slouch hat and the pipe on the table, and smiled.
The countess extended her hand. ‘To what do we owe the pleasure, Chief Superintendent, and so early in the morning? Is Claude under arrest?’
‘Far from it, Countess, he just joined my team and will help us in the investigation.’
‘Investigation?’ said Jack. ‘What kind of investigation?’
‘We are investigating a murder.’
‘Oh? Can you tell us about it?’
‘Monsieur Aubert, the general manager of the Ritz, was found in the Amber Safe this morning with his throat cut,’ said Lapointe calmly and reached for his pipe. ‘Do you mind?’
Speechless, the countess just shook her head in disbelief and shock.
‘Are you serious?’ said Jack. ‘What happened?’
‘Forensics are at the scene right now, but it looks like a robbery—’
‘Robbery?’ interrupted Jack. ‘What kind of robbery?’
‘Strong box thirty-three has been broken into; professional job,’ replied Dupree.
‘And the contents?’ asked Jack, feeling rather ill.
‘Removed, I’m afraid, except for the letters,’ said Lapointe.
‘How could this have happened? In the Ritz of all places? There must have been hundreds of people in the hotel at the time.’
‘We are working on it,’ said Lapointe. ‘I understand you have some photographs of the Fabergé egg, Mr Rogan, and a key to the box; is that correct?’
‘Yes.’
‘If I could have those that would be most helpful.’
‘Of course. This is unbelievable.’
‘The publicity surrounding this will be huge and it would be best if you could stay in the background, Mr Rogan. A prominent man like you could easily become the subject of innuendo and speculation, and therefore a distraction. Your involvement in this matter is unlikely to reach the press, and we should try to keep it that way. Better for all parties, don’t you think? Claude here will keep you informed. That’s all for the moment, thank you.’
Lapointe lit his pipe, signifying that the meeting was over. ‘My officer outside will go with you and collect the key and the photographs. Now, if you would excuse us, Claude and I have a lot to discuss. It has been a pleasure meeting you both,’ said Lapointe. ‘Of course, we’ll need statements. Not only from you, but also from Mademoiselle Darrieux.’
‘Understood,’ said the countess.
‘We can do this here rather than in Paris. Less publicity that way.’
‘That would be appreciated,’ said Jack and followed the countess to the door.
33
La Closerie des Lilas, Paris: 7 February 2017
Mademoiselle Darrieux followed the maître d’ confidently to her usual table like a true celebrity, and nodded to several regulars enjoying their morning coffee and croissants. Breakfast at La Closerie des Lilas twice a week was part of her routine, and she looked forward to being fussed over by the staff and, most importantly, being seen. To a woman living on her own who loved the limelight, these occasions were the lifeblood of her social life and the way she made sure of being noticed and talked about.
Her deliberately outrageous outfits turned heads and invited comment, albeit not all of them flattering. That didn’t seem to matter because being talked about was the oxygen that sustained a socialite who craved attention. The painful alternative was to be ignored, and that was tantamount to social death. It had taken Mademoiselle Darrieux many years to climb the fickle and often unforgiving Paris social ladder and create a persona that was both respected and liked, despite her many eccentricities and very public foibles.
The thought of losing this or having her carefully cultivated reputation in any way tarnished, filled her with terror. Nightmares had haunted her restless sleep since that fateful encounter with the mysterious woman at Shakespeare and Company a few days earlier, and her heart filled with dread every time her phone rang. Despite having answered all the questions put to her by Zuzanna and providing all the requested information to the best of her ability, she felt vulnerable and unsafe. Fear of exposure dominated her life and the strain had begun to show.
Mademoiselle Darrieux paled when the waiter handed her the morning paper and she read the headlines on the front page: Murder at the Ritz. A cleaner doing her rounds early this morning found the mutilated body of Louis Aubert, the general manager of the Paris Ritz, inside a walk-in safe in the basement of the hotel. His throat had been cut during a suspected robbery ...
