The Statement (17 page)

‘Again, without disrespect, Father Abbot, may I ask if you believe that clerics like yourself have the right to forgive Brossard for his crimes?’

‘Our pardon is granted in the name of God in the sacrament of confession. We are instructed to grant God’s pardon to all sinners who honestly repent of their sins.’

‘But has Brossard ever repented, Father Abbot? According to those who pleaded his case in the past he has pretended that the killings and the tortures he committed were military actions, that everything he did, he did as a servant of Vichy, loyal to Maréchal Pétain.’

‘I am not his confessor, Colonel, so I can’t answer that. But Monsignor Le Moyne, who
was
his confessor, assures me that Brossard asked God’s pardon for his acts and received absolution in confession. The Christian act of pardon does not countenance revenge, no matter how heinous the crimes of the sinner.’

‘But surely, sir, that’s a falsification of the Church’s teachings?’

The Abbot exploded in an angry laugh. ‘Indeed? Please, enlighten me on my error, Colonel.’

‘It seems to me, sir, that a pardon is false which ignores those who have been injured and maltreated and which is given solely in response to a confessional oath of repentance. I think that’s confusing Divine pardon with pardon given by one man to another. In this case, a pardon granted Brossard by Monsignor Le Moyne.’

‘I’m afraid you’ve missed my point, Colonel. Be that as it may, you must remember that an official pardon
was
given by one man to another, in this case the President of the Republic who granted Brossard a pardon in ’71? Yes, ’71. The President believed then, as our current President believes now, that so many years after these events it’s time for reconciliation, a time to put the wrongs and rancours of the years of Occupation behind us. I must say I agree with that sentiment.’

‘Father Abbot, as you know, Brossard is now charged with a crime which no president has the authority to pardon, the international charge of a crime against humanity. The law must take its course. But I didn’t come here this morning to ask you to do something your conscience will not permit you to do. I am asking for your help because Brossard is now in great danger. He is an old man. If he is arrested and tried before a court of law he may be acquitted, or he may spend the rest of his life in prison. In either case he will almost certainly live out his allotted span of years. But if we don’t find him and take him into custody within the next few days, he may be murdered.’

‘How do you know this?’

‘You remember the tourist who was shot and his car thrown into a ravine some days ago. The police came to see you about it?’

‘Yes, indeed.’

‘We now believe that the dead man was a professional assassin. We believe he was hired by a Jewish commando, probably to avenge those Jews Brossard executed at Dombey. We also suspect that this group is in contact with someone who knows Brossard’s pattern of movement. For he does have a pattern. We know that in the past year he has moved from one clerical residence to another, rarely staying more than a few weeks in any particular place. We also know that Cardinal Delavigne has made a request to the French clergy that, henceforth, all clerical doors be closed to him. So he must now seek out those who will ignore the Cardinal’s wishes, possibly among those right-wing clerics known as “
intégristes
”.’

‘I am not one of them,’ the Abbot said. ‘They have been disavowed by Rome. However, I didn’t comply with the Cardinal’s request, which, by the way, is my right as Abbot of a monastic order.’

‘But would you know where I might contact these “
intégristes
”? Or where I might reach Brossard?’

The Abbot rose from his desk and went to the window of his study. A misty morning sun floated over the rock-strewn ravine surrounding the monastery walls. The Abbot spoke quietly, his back to his visitor.

‘You are not being honest with me, Colonel. This would-be assassin was murdered, wasn’t he? And you believe the man who shot him was Pierre Brossard. If I could help you find Brossard, you will put him on trial for this killing.’

‘That would be a decision for the Salon police,’ Roux said. ‘And it wouldn’t be easy for them to prove their case. Apart from the plea of self-defence, I imagine an old
milicien
like Brossard wouldn’t leave any incriminating evidence. In fact, the Salon police suspect that he removed the dead man’s papers for that reason.’

The Abbot turned suddenly from his contemplation of the ravine. ‘So the police
do
believe that Brossard was the killer?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘And you, Colonel, what do you think?’

‘I believe he killed him, yes. And I also believe that this group will almost certainly send a second assassin to kill Brossard. They are obviously well organized and well informed. That’s why I’m asking for your help, sir. We must find Brossard before they do.’

‘Or before he kills again,’ the Abbot said.

There was a moment of silence. Then, the Abbot walked back to his worktable, his heavy boots loud on the wooden boards of the study. He sat down in his chair, opened a worn leather notebook and looked up at Roux.

‘Colonel, I am going to help you as much as I can. Not because I want to save Brossard from an assassin’s bullet, although I do not want to see him killed. But if what you say is true, I have foolishly given shelter to a murderer, a murderer who, if threatened, may kill again. I now see that I was in error in ignoring the Cardinal’s request.’

The Abbot paused and looked down at his notebook.

‘So. I know something of Brossard’s habits. In recent years he has been supported financially by a group known as the Chevaliers de Ste  Marie. Have you heard of them?’

‘A Catholic lay group, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, about four hundred members, predominantly ultra-conservative, but also including people who were members of the Resistance. As you may know, Colonel, many French Resistance fighters were as anti-communist as they were anti-Nazi. Some of them are now Chevaliers. It’s a sort of crusade, anti-communist, anti-freemason. Anti the enemies of France.’

‘And anti-Jewish?’

‘Not openly, no. Bishop Grasset is the head of the movement and, of course, he’s part of the established Church. The Chevaliers have links to the “
intégristes
”, those right-wing Catholics who have defied Rome, but the Chevaliers themselves have managed to remain within the body of the Catholic Church. As a proof of this, with the blessing of the official hierarchy, they hold an annual religious ceremony on Good Friday in Sacré Coeur basilica in Paris, where they parade in velvet capes, embroidered with a golden cross. The age of chivalry, knightly crusade, that sort of thing.’

‘And you say they’ve been supporting Brossard financially?’

‘Yes. On each occasion that he stayed with us for a period of over a month, a letter would arrive for him, containing a money order for 3,000 francs. Brossard would ask our almoner to cash it for him. The sender was not identified, but once, when we had some difficulty in cashing the order, our almoner made enquiries and found that the address it was sent from was that of the Chevaliers in Paris. When Brossard stayed with my friend Dom André Vergnes in Aix, a similar letter would arrive for him. Dom André, who knows someone highly placed in the Chevaliers, mentioned Brossard and the envelope. This friend said, “Of course. Pierre is one of us.”’

‘So he’s a Chevalier?’

‘I believe so, yes. And in that case, it’s almost certain that from now on he will be helped by certain clerics who are in close touch with the Chevaliers. If he follows his usual pattern there is a certain priory in Villefranche where you might find him at present. I remember that he has stayed there, on occasion, before going on to the “
intégriste
” priory in Nice. The Villefranche prior is a religious conservative.’

‘Do you have the address of this priory?’

‘Yes. I’ll give it to you. But there is one other fact which might be worth looking into, although I am not sure what it signifies. When Brossard was our guest here, it was his custom to go into Salon most afternoons and while away his time at a café called the Bar Montana. He would often ask our
père hospitalier
if he might use our telephone to phone this bar. And Father Jérôme, who was present at those telephone calls, remembers that it was always the same question. He would ask if his letter had arrived. Sometimes, he would become agitated if the answer was no. Make of it what you will. I just thought I’d mention it.’

‘I’m glad you did, sir. And the address of the Villefranche priory?’

The Abbot unscrewed the top of his old-fashioned fountain pen and began to write.

19

‘A
petit vin blanc
, Inspector? And the same for your friend?’ Madame Marchand signalled to her son, Jules, who was serving behind the bar. ‘Roger is in the cellar. I’ll get him for you.’

As Jules put the glasses before them, Inspector Cholet showed him the photographs. Jules, who was in his early twenties, picked up the second photograph, the one showing the older Brossard, and laughed. Jules wore a long ponytail and, in his right ear, a small gold earring. ‘Yes, I think that’s him. Old turd. Papa knows him. He had a row with him once.’

Roger Marchand, the owner of the Bar Montana, came up the staircase leading from the cellar to the trapdoor behind the bar. He shook hands with Cholet and was introduced to Roux. He looked at the second photograph and whistled. ‘You mean this is Brossard, the one who was pardoned? The one
Le Meridional
writes about?’

‘That’s him,’ Roux said. ‘Of course it was taken a few years ago. He might look different today.’

‘No, he’s not. Shit, if I’d known who he was I’d have given him a kick in the arse a long time ago.’

‘Papa, you remember the row about the
noirs
?’ Jules said.

‘Of course I do. It makes sense now, doesn’t it? Last year when he was here he came to me in a rage because some black kids came and sat at the table next to his. We don’t often get them in here, they have other cafés to go to. He started on about how could I expect customers to eat and drink off the same cups and plates that had been used by stinking
noirs
. I told him, “Look, you’re not a regular, you come here now and then and we’re good enough to hold your post for you. If you don’t like
noirs
, tell them to send your letter somewhere else.” ’

‘But he didn’t, did he?’ Inspector Cholet said.

‘No. He backed down when I said that.’

‘This letter,’ Roux said. ‘Do you remember anything about it?’

‘Yes, it was registered, I always had to sign for it. It came from Paris, that’s all I know.’

‘How often did it come?’

‘Once, each time he visited here. Usually he’d be here for a few weeks and it would come a few days before he left.’

‘And did he ever talk to you? Did he meet anyone here? Do you know anything else that might help?’

‘No, he never spoke to anyone. He’d come in the afternoon and the thing I remember about him is he always read through
Le Monde
and that other Paris paper,
Libération
. He’d order a coffee or a beer and sit on his arse for a couple of hours. I thought he was a pensioner, maybe coming here once a year for a few weeks to visit relatives. To tell you the truth, I didn’t pay him much heed.’

‘He didn’t like this,’ Jules said, fingering his gold earring. ‘Or my hairstyle.’

‘And you knew him as what?’ Roux asked. ‘I mean, what name was on the letter that came for him?’

‘Pouliot. Monsieur Pouliot. Care of Bar Montana.’

20

Judge Livi came through her outer office and saw the colonel waiting in her study. She stopped at her secretary’s desk. ‘I don’t want to be disturbed. No phone calls.’

‘Very good, Madame.’

She closed the study door behind her as she went in. They shook hands. ‘When did you get back?’

‘Late last night.’

‘Success?’

‘Yes. But we’re on a tightrope. Or, I should say, I am. You, Madame, are my superior in this matter. Only you.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘I need a search warrant for a religious house and I need it at once. It will have to be prepared in the greatest secrecy. I have no idea if there could be a leak within the gendarmerie itself. But I now know that anything is possible in this case. We can’t trust the police, we can’t trust the ministry, we can’t trust the DST. In fact, if we are to trap Brossard, we can’t risk revealing our plan to any official of the French state. I’m beginning to realize that we are in a labyrinth.’

‘What happened in Salon?’

‘The man who was murdered was not Jewish. He was almost certainly a hired assassin. Yet when Inspector Cholet of the Salon police sent the corpse’s fingerprints to Paris he received a telex telling him that there is no record of those prints on any police files. Yet if he was a professional, it’s almost certain his prints would be on file somewhere. It makes me wonder. What if those prints were on file in Paris and have been removed?’