The Châtelet Apprentice (30 page)

They burst out laughing, relieving the mounting tension somewhat. Nicolas pushed the door, which had no lock. They noticed that the frame could be moved aside from the other side. A rope fastened to one side ran through a hole made in the door. One only had to pull it for the loose frame to move along and free up the opening. This was the explanation of the mysterious comings and goings of the visitors and occupants of the Lardin
household. The police spies were obviously of no use faced with a system like this, and the stranger who had been with Louise had without doubt bolted this way. It remained to be seen where the exit led.

They went down some more steps. The vile smell of rotting flesh was becoming stronger in the stale underground air. After a few paces they had to turn twice to the left before descending further. Nicolas heard Bourdeau cocking his pistol. They were going through one of those underground passages that have criss-crossed Paris since time immemorial. Hordes of rats seemed to appear at their feet from nowhere, as if queuing up in impatient rows, with the biggest ones jumping over the rest. There had to be some reason for their shrill shrieks and frenzied excitement. The passage led into a vaulted room. Nicolas stopped, stricken with horror at the scene before him. Just as the strips of flesh from the boar had a life of their own, here lay another seething mass only a few paces away from them. Bourdeau, who was behind him, could not stifle a cry. To get nearer they had to kick away rodents that became more and more aggressive, baring their teeth as they squealed. They could see the gleam of hundreds of red dots looking towards the candlelight. Bourdeau pushed Nicolas aside. He had taken a flask of alcohol out of his pocket. He emptied the contents onto his handkerchief, set fire to it and threw it onto the rats nearest them. A few of the beasts began to sizzle, unleashing terror amidst the vile horde. Within a few moments the panic was general and the area temporarily cleared.

Nicolas would wonder for a long time to come whether the vision of that vast expanse of rats was not preferable to the sight that then confronted them. There was a body, that of a human
being, though barely recognisable as such. Monsieur de Noblecourt's scenes of bodily decay were pale imaginings
compared
with the vision of this decomposed and half-eaten corpse. The rib cage had burst open and bones were poking through. The face was unrecognisable but the head was bald. Bourdeau and Nicolas recognised Commissioner Lardin at the same time. There was no doubt about the identity of the corpse. Bourdeau gave Nicolas a nudge.

‘Look, those two broken teeth to the front. And the bald skull. It definitely is Lardin.'

‘There's something odd,' said Nicolas. ‘Look at his stomach, and those rats that have been dead for several days, all around the scattered entrails. Sick?'

‘Or poisoned.'

‘Poisoned in that case by the viscera of a man who died of poisoning.'

‘And who handles poison? Cooks to combat vermin and rodents. Gardeners to get rid of moles, and doctors or apothecaries in their remedies.'

‘Catherine wouldn't hurt a fly,' Nicolas remarked. ‘Although it didn't go for Louise Lardin, as far as the commissioner was concerned Catherine was one of the few people who had
something
good to say about him.'

‘First of all we need to establish how long he's been dead, and this may provide a useful alibi for some people.'

‘Given the state of the body, that's hardly going to be easy. There's still the possibility of suicide.'

Bourdeau was thinking.

‘Have you noticed that all the dead man's clothes have
disappeared
?' he said. ‘It's not very common for people in a state of
desperation to do away with themselves in such a state of undress.'

‘There's no point in wasting words. We first need to find out where this underground passage leads.'

At the end of the vault more steps led up into a gently sloping corridor, narrow and low-roofed. At its far end was a faint glimmer of light. They came across a pile of planks which they cleared away without difficulty. They were now inside a stone building, a sort of disused chapel penetrated by daylight through narrow loopholes. They still had to clamber over heaps of brushwood before finally uncovering a stock of church candles. On one side were tied-up bundles of them and on the other a stack of half-used tapers. They pushed open a door which led into a garden they immediately recognised as that of the Blancs-Manteaux monastery. That explained everything. Their spies could keep their eyes wide open or increase their vigilance as much as they liked, but this passageway enabled a veil of secrecy to be cast over anyone entering or leaving the Lardins' house. That was why one informer thought he had seen the commissioner running towards the church. He had specifically mentioned his leather doublet. But had it been the commissioner, or someone impersonating him so that people would think him still alive? While the commissioner's clothes were still missing the doubt would remain. They turned round and put everything back in place to hide the fact they had been there.

‘I've got an idea,' said Bourdeau. ‘It may not work but it's worth a try. Imagine that the escapee has been caught. You witness the scene. You go back up on your own to the kitchen. You inform Madame Lardin that her visitor has been nabbed,
that he's talked and that I'm holding him under guard. Then we'll see how she reacts.'

Nicolas quickly assessed all the possible consequences of this bold suggestion.

‘There's more to be said for than against it,' he concluded. ‘I'll spice it up a bit by improvising according to the good lady's mood.'

Silently they went back the way they had come. The rats reappeared but wisely moved aside as soon as the two came near. Bourdeau remained in the cellar and Nicolas climbed the stairs to the kitchen. Closely watched by the officer, Louise Lardin was still leaning against the sideboard. She did not see him straight away. Nicolas thought she looked pale and much older.

‘Madame,' he began, ‘I don't think there's any need for me to describe what we found in the secret passage of your house. But what you don't know is that we have arrested the person who escaped from your bedroom when we arrived, just as he was attempting to leave the Blancs-Manteaux monastery. He has confessed to the crime.'

Shock, terror and then calculation could be read in succession on Louise's face. She lunged at him, ready to scratch his eyes out. Nicolas had to grasp her by the wrists to protect his face while the officer gripped her around the waist. Eventually they managed to force her into a chair.

‘What have you done to him?' she yelled. ‘You're wrong, you lunatics. It wasn't him. He's got nothing to do with it.'

She was wild with fury and her whole body arched.

‘Who was it, then?'

‘The other one, the coward, the pig, the man who wanted me, then didn't. The one with scruples, qualms as he called them.
Who didn't want to deceive his friend. Oh! The man of honour who slept with the wife of someone he owed so much to. The one who came to our rendezvous. He was in the brothel with Lardin and Descart, at La Paulet's, an old friend, as you know. He turned up late and shamefaced, to get under my skirts. He needed it. He couldn't do without me. He thought Lardin was out on the town, so he stayed. But Lardin came back earlier than expected. They had a fight and Semacgus strangled him. Afterwards, what could you expect me to do? The wife, the husband, the lover … I was an accomplice. The sentence would be death, for sure. We undressed the body and dragged it into the underground passage. All we had to do was wait for the rats to clean it all up. Then we would dispose of what remained, a little bag of bones to throw into the Seine at night. We had to get that shrew of a cook out of the way because she poked her nose in everywhere. I threw her out of the house as soon as possible before things in the cellar … We put the wild boar there, for one smell to cover up the other. I'm innocent. I haven't done anything. I did not kill anybody.'

‘So according to you Dr Semacgus was caught in the act by your husband and killed him in a brawl.'

‘Yes.'

Nicolas decided to play what he thought was his trump card.

‘If Mauval is innocent, why did he confess?'

‘I don't know. To save me. He loves me. I want to see him. Let me go!'

She fainted. They laid her out on the table and Nicolas rubbed her temples with vinegar. When she remained unconscious he ordered her to be taken immediately to the Conciergerie, where she could be given medical attention.

Bourdeau, who had been listening to everything from the staircase to the cellar, reappeared. Nicolas sensed that he was impatient to comment on Louise Lardin's revelations.

‘It worked,' he said, ‘but it's raised as many questions as it's answered.'

‘You'll have noted, Bourdeau, that she claims Lardin was strangled. Only when the body has been taken for post-mortem and carefully examined will we know the truth. Besides, our reasons for suspecting the use of poison are perhaps not
incompatible
with what she's told us. Remember Sanson's conclusions about Descart's death, poisoned then suffocated. There's a similarity here that the facts may or may not confirm. If that were to be the case, Semacgus would be in a very difficult position. He could have killed here as well as in Vaugirard. We cannot rule him out of either case as he had motives to murder both Descart and Lardin. Even though for Descart the medical rivalry and controversy about the use of bleeding seem rather flimsy grounds …'

‘Are you forgetting that Descart accused him of having killed Saint-Louis?'

‘No, but in the version of events I was considering,
Saint-Louis
wasn't dead but had acted as his master's accomplice.'

‘And where does Mauval fit into all this?'

‘His presence can be felt everywhere. He's meddling in a business that I'm not at liberty to reveal, but which has some bearing on this case.'

‘Oh,' said Bourdeau wryly, ‘I know that you have friends in high places and that your investigation doesn't stop at solving Lardin's murder. Our police force has its black sheep and Monsieur de Sartine doesn't want rumours to spread. That's
why you suddenly broke with the normal rules.'

Nicolas did not answer. He preferred the inspector to be content with a hypothesis that was not too far from the truth but did not give much away about an affair of State that he was under strict instructions not to divulge. Bourdeau for his part, even if he felt slightly bitter about his chief's discretion, had sufficient experience and self-discipline not to hold it against him. Nicolas was sorry not to be able to call on the inspector for this vital part of the investigation where his talents would have been extremely useful, but he fully understood the Lieutenant General's concern to avoid unnecessary discussion of matters to do with the King. The young man did not enjoy the constant self-control this necessary discretion imposed on him and which, as he
understood
, would be part of his life from now on. This never-ending effort was a trial; it made him feel somewhat melancholy, but it also gave him new strength. He had long since realised that this was the force that would shape his destiny; what is more, he knew that secrecy was deep down one of the essential features of his make-up. He felt the need for other people, but was also concerned not to let them intrude on his life. Like certain shy animals, his first instinct was to retreat when others tried to come close too suddenly. He had not chosen his job but, if his qualities were developing, that was presumably because it suited his inherent skills.

The body was placed in a coffin and transported to the
Basse-Geôle
to be examined. A messenger was dispatched to Sanson.

Nicolas, who wanted to prove to Bourdeau that he had learnt his lesson after Bricart's suicide, decided that they would both go
to question Semacgus at the Bastille. After he had ordered an officer to keep Louise Lardin in solitary confinement they got back into their carriage to go to the royal fortress. On the way Nicolas thought about the best tactics for questioning Semacgus. There were two pitfalls to avoid: being taken in by a man who had an advantage over him in terms of age and experience, and his feelings of friendship for a suspect in two murder cases.

Nicolas was only dimly aware of the bustle in the streets where house-fronts were being decorated in preparation for the procession of the Fatted Ox. However, although a newcomer to the city, he knew perfectly well that this procession of the animal bedecked with flowers, ribbons and all sorts of adornments often caused problems for the police because of the excesses and debauchery it encouraged in the crowd. The procession set off from the Apport-Paris near the Grande Boucherie opposite the Châtelet, then paid its respects to the Parlement on Île de la Cité. After that it returned to its starting-point, where the animal was then slaughtered and cut up. But sometimes the butchers' boys, the organisers of the festivity who were anxious to make it last longer, did not wait until the last Thursday before Lent to parade but began their celebrations on the Tuesday or Wednesday, taking a different route from the official one, around other parts of the city.

Soon they came within sight of the Bastille. To their left, the square of Porte Saint-Antoine led into the
faubourg
. They turned off to the right and went alongside the ditches. Nicolas shuddered when he saw the four enormous towers overlooking the city. They had to go through several gates at the end of the bridge leading to the main entrance of the state prison. Bourdeau, who knew the place well, reported to the guards on
duty and to the head gaoler. The man held out a cold, clammy hand to Nicolas, who only just managed to stop himself recoiling from this cross-eyed and freakish-looking individual who walked with a waddle. He picked up a lantern and led them towards one of the towers.