Christian name was also a good omen – ‘where did your late father and my greatly missed friend the Marquis de Ranreuil buy his wigs? I seem to recall they were ideally firm yet supple.’
‘I think, Monsieur, that he found them in Nantes, in a little shop near the dukes’ palace.’
‘Hmm! I’ll have to find out more about it. But for the moment, we have an unfortunate matter to deal with. Very unfortunate, in truth, for it concerns you personally, and, as everyone knows the esteem in which I hold you and the confidence I have in you, some people would be only too pleased to gossip about an incident which might implicate the éminence grise of the Lieutenant General of Police.’
This was said in the pompous tone Sartine used whenever he invoked the dignity of his office. With his hands, he stroked two tiered wigs placed symmetrically like yew trees in a French garden.
‘We need to consider, however,’ he went on ‘that for the moment there is no case. A young woman has succumbed to something that a neighbourhood quack says resembles poisoning. Primo, are we certain of the cause of death? Secundo, if the cause is proven, do we suspect suicide, murder or, quite simply, a domestic accident, which is always possible? When all these reasons have been duly examined, we will still have, tertio, to question witnesses. Eh?’
This interjection, Nicolas knew, did not call for any reply: it was merely there as punctuation, a pause for breath after which the argument would resume its course.
‘According to the information I have received, the body is still in the state in which it was found and has not been taken away. Only the local commissioner knows of the death. Nothing has leaked out, and the two servants are in solitary confinement. Seals have been placed on the bedroom, the servants’ pantry and the drawing room. We must lose no more time. Bourdeau, see to it that the body is taken discreetly to the Basse-Geôle, that it is abundantly salted, even though we are in winter, and that Sanson is summoned as soon as possible. As you know, the duty doctors at the Châtelet are quite incapable, and have given proof of their incompetence on more than one occasion. Ask Semacgus, who has proved himself in previous investigations, to help Sanson in this task.’ He laughed. ‘Those two are used to each other by now! Don’t forget to confiscate anything which might throw light on this matter: glasses, crockery. Look in the servants’ pantry for the leftovers from last night’s dinner – apparently it was given in Nicolas’s honour.’
He gave Nicolas a long hard look.
‘Now, as for this gentleman …’
He pensively twisted a curl on his wig.
‘Commissioner, if you have a statement to make, I am listening. Something you may have on your mind and which you would like to do me the honour of confiding to me. Take your time; what you say to me will determine the course we take, for I shall not depart from whatever line I adopt. In fact, if anyone has my trust, it’s you, and, in my position, there are not many who enjoy it. Eh? What do you say?’
For Nicolas, the open-mindedness of this conclusion tempered the inquisitorial tone of the rest of the speech, a tone which could have been applied to any suspect.
‘Your words do me great honour, Monsieur, and I can only answer as honestly as possible. Yesterday evening, I spent no more than fifteen minutes in Julie de Lastérieux’s house until an unjust remark caused me to leave. Having calmed down, I returned two hours later. I did not see her again, as the party was at its height. I judged that my presence would cast a pall over the guests’ merriment, and so refrained from showing myself. So …’ – he paused for a moment – ‘I wandered a little and then went back to Rue Montmartre.’
‘Nothing else I might learn from any malicious third parties?’
‘Nothing else, Monsieur. I met Commissioner Chorrey on duty at the Théâtre-Français and spent a little time with him.’
Sartine made an impatient gesture. ‘As I’m sure you can imagine, I already know that! In any case, I need to make it clear to you that, being a party in this affair, you cannot be involved in any way in the investigation. Go back to work, but do not attempt to intervene, however remotely. It’s enough that Inspector Bourdeau, your friend …’ – he emphasised the possessive – ‘… should be given the task of dealing with this. Not to mention the fact that the two men who will be opening the body are also close to you. I could easily be reproached for all this, which means—’
‘Nevertheless, Monsieur—’
‘Nevertheless nothing! As I was saying … it means that I must keep you at a distance from this case. Don’t imagine that I don’t understand your feelings, your grief, your legitimate desire to participate in the inquiries into your friend’s death. But circumstances force us to act in a certain way. You would do well to obey. As long as the mystery has not been elucidated, any move on your part would bring the legality of our procedures into question and would place me in a delicate position should we come up against one of those magistrates who share the fashionable tendency to challenge the authority of the King.’
Monsieur de Sartine stood up, walked around his desk – stopping one of the wigs from slipping as he did so – took Nicolas by the shoulder and pushed him gently towards the door.
‘If you want my advice, I think you should take some time off. What would you say to going to Versailles and paying court to His Majesty’s daughters? Only yesterday Madame Adélaïde was asking after you. Or else, visit Madame du Barry, go hunting with the King. In short, a little courtly spirit would not go amiss in the present situation. Versailles is a place where we have to show ourselves often lest we are forgotten!’
As Nicolas, followed by Bourdeau, was about to descend the staircase, he heard Sartine call the inspector back. They spoke for a few moments, but Nicolas could catch nothing of what was said. Bourdeau then rejoined him and walked with him to their carriage without saying a word. Nor did he open his mouth as they rode through the fog-shrouded streets in which people moved like vague shadows. Nicolas, too, remained silent. He did not care where they were going. He was once more in the grip of his perverse imagination, his mind filled with horrible images and interminable and fevered reflections on the causes and consequences of what had happened. Then, as if trying to break through his defences, Monsieur de Noblecourt’s words came back to him, echoed by Monsieur de Sartine’s instructions. They sounded within him like the repeated strokes of a funeral bell, like so many manifestations of the imperceptible dangers with which he suddenly felt surrounded. The cause of Julie’s death had still to be established, and yet everyone was keen to give him advice and recommend him to be careful. The fact was, he told himself, that however friendly and trusting they all appeared to be, he was being treated as if he was presumed guilty. Guilty of what? It was difficult to tell. That was what aroused his unease, this diffuse anxiety, this impression of slipping down a slope without anything to hang on to. He threw a sideways glance at Bourdeau, who was so still it seemed as though he were sleeping with his eyes open. He would have liked to talk to him, but no sound emerged from his mouth, and besides, what would he have said? Solitude had been his companion since his earliest childhood, and now it had reasserted itself in the cruellest, most unexpected way.
The noise of the carriage and horses echoed beneath the sombre archway of the Châtelet. The old walls plunged him into a melancholy so profound that Bourdeau had to pull him by the arm. The errand boy looked at him without recognising in this grim, downcast man the brilliant horseman who usually threw him the reins of his mount with a great laugh. Nicolas walked his usual route like an automaton, and passed Old Marie, the usher, without greeting him or making one of those friendly remarks which the old man cherished as a mark of friendship. He somehow found himself in the duty office. Bourdeau
