The Nicolas Le Floch Affair: Nicolas Le Floch Investigation #4. Jean-Francois Parot

      Sartine nodded his head with satisfaction. ‘It seems that reason is gradually returning to that mad head of yours. I’m therefore going to answer you as frankly as possible and tell you something which I fear may come as a shock to you. What did you know about Julie de Lastérieux?’

      Nicolas opened his mouth, but Sartine did not give him time to reply.

      ‘Nothing, Monsieur! You knew nothing about her. You merely accepted blindly what she told you. For example, her husband did not die of fever in the West Indies. Pursued for trafficking in accounts and embezzling the King’s money, he took his own life to escape justice. His fortune was confiscated and his property sold. However, a large proportion of this was ceded to his widow for reasons that will soon become clear. You saw her three or four times a week, sometimes less. What do you know of her activities outside those evenings? Very little.’

      ‘But—’

      ‘No buts! I know everything about her and you know nothing. Commissioner, imagine a woman who is received in the best houses in Paris, and who receives in her own house, several times a week, courtiers, men of letters, men of the world, and those idlers who are seen everywhere and put their noses into everything. She gave dinners, and the police – my police – paid for them. Her house in Rue de Verneuil – a meeting place for men of all conditions, both good and poor company – was not quite an open house; there were few women and no gambling, and it was a place where everyone spoke freely. I was the only person to know Madame de Lastérieux in her private role. She was very skilful at keeping all this from you. I was informed of what I wanted to know, and in a much more subtle fashion than I would have been by ordinary spies.’

      Nicolas was stunned. ‘And she never told me!’

      ‘She was under strict orders not to, and she knew it was in her own best interests to obey them. I have to admit in your defence, Nicolas, that even in bed, where so many men pour out their secrets, you never divulged any, even though you were privy to so many. And the lady …’ – he laughed – ‘… had been given instructions – forgive me, my dear Nicolas – to ask you many questions. You never yielded. It’s very satisfying for the head of the police force to be so sure of the loyalty of his closest officer.’

      ‘But, Monsieur,’ said Bourdeau, ‘if she had ever been suspected or denounced, this role would have exposed her to terrible reprisals.’

      ‘That’s a very sensible remark, Bourdeau. It was a risk we ran, certainly. But there’s nothing for the moment to either invalidate or confirm the theory you’re putting forward.’

      Was it conceivable, thought Nicolas, that this woman he had loved so passionately had been deceiving him all that time, that he had been a mere plaything to her?

      Sartine was looking at him sympathetically, guessing where his train of thought was leading him.

      ‘You weren’t part of the game, Nicolas. She was very fond of you and hoped one day to escape the constraints within which we kept her. That explains why she was so obsessed with the idea of your marrying her. She hoped that appearing at Court would free her. But rules are rules. To maintain order and serve the King, the ends justify the means, even when those means may be morally reprehensible.’

      ‘Or may cost a human life?’

      ‘Sometimes, yes, although there’s nothing so far to indicate that this was the reason for her death. All the same, we need to throw some light on it. The very salvation of the State is at stake.’

      The Lieutenant General led them to his office. Huge logs, specially brought from Vincennes, were blazing merrily away, with much crackling and throwing out of sparks: as usual, when Sartine was at the Châtelet, Old Marie had lit a fire in the great Gothic fireplace. In the centre of the room, Julia and Casimir stood waiting. They were in shackles, and two officers were guarding them. Sartine took up position in front of the fireplace, raised his slender figure to its full height, ordered Julia to be taken outside, and began interrogating Casimir.

      In a somewhat singsong voice, the man stated his identity. He was a native of the island of Guadeloupe, about twenty-five years of age, Roman Catholic by religion, and served in Madame de Lastérieux’s household as a slave. He described Thursday evening, when his mistress had held a dinner. There were eight guests. Monsieur Nicolas had dropped by late that afternoon, but had immediately left again. He had no explanation for this departure. The other guests were unknown to him, apart from Monsieur Balbastre, who was a regular, and a young musician who had been coming to the house for the past two weeks, and had even visited Madame de Lastérieux alone several times – staying very late on one occasion. The dinner had passed without incident. As was her custom, Madame had eaten very little. Asked whether he had seen Nicolas again during the evening, he unhesitatingly replied in the negative. He had seen his mistress for the last time when she retired to her boudoir to show the young musician a particular perfume. Julia and he had tidied everything and had gone to bed. Yes, Julia was his wife, even though no priest had blessed their union. He did not know if the young man had left or, if he had, at what time. The next morning, Julia had entered her mistress’s bedroom and found her dead. She had screamed and he had come running.