Paris, 20 November, 1922
LeRocque is sitting in the car, engine running, by the time Russell exits the café. Wasting no time, between painful grunts as she climbs into the car, Russell gives LeRocque directions. “Martin, I need you to drop me off in the Place St. Michael while you go get more petrol for the car. Pick me up at the Pont Saint-Michel and we’ll go straight to your house from there.”
“We have plenty of petrol.”
“No matter. If the car following you stays with me, it will confirm that Holmes and I are the object of interest, not you.”
“Merde,” curses LeRocque under his breath while easing into traffic for the short ride to the Place St. Michael. “Hansel and Gretel, Holmes and Russell.”
“You read the note. It may be hubris on our part. We’ll see soon enough.” Not wanting to dwell on his gaff she forges ahead with more questions. “Tell me more about Simone’s call this morning. You said it was all wrong.”
“Yeah, that’s right. She knows I wouldn’t tell her anything about the investigation. First rule being married to a police officer. But it’s more than that. She doesn’t care, hasn’t cared about the troubles of other people for a long time. No, the more I think about it, it was probably Lucien. I bet he put her up to it.”
“Lucien?”
“The cretin she’s taken up with, a real bastard. He’s the only one I can think of who’d be interested in a murder investigation. He’s Deuxième Bureau, you know, military intelligence
At this surprising and provocative piece of information, Russell asks LeRocque to tell her more about Lucien.
“Simone tells me he’s everything I’m not. Sophisticated, debonair. I met him through work and she met him through me. He dazzled her. Took her to the opera, ballet, big gala events, that sort of thing.”
“What do you think?”
“I’d agree, he’s everything I’m not. But not like she means. He’s a thug. No worse than that, more cunning and manipulative. Ambitious, cold. A real ‘ends justify the means’ type. I think he’s dangerous, capable of anything. And now with Simone missing…”
“Any idea why he might be interested in the case?”
“No idea. Curious? It was pretty irregular, me calling Simone to escort you to the hospital. I’m just guessing here.”
“What does he specialize in with the Deuxième? Surveillance, espionage, counter-intelligence?”
“I can’t answer that either. The Sūretéand Deuxième don’t really mix. More like the opposite – we keep a careful distance. I first met him when we were investigating a series of drug-related deaths. One of the victims was a diplomat, and the Deuxième got involved. We were never involved in that part of the investigation.”
Russell has more to ask, but they’ve arrived at the Place St. Michael. She points LeRocque to the far end of the square near a sweets shop, Aux Fontaines de Chocolat, and she exits the car. Pretending to window shop, she watches as LeRocque drives away while the car following them remains by the curb a short block away. Her suspicion confirmed, she enters the sweets shop, buys a variety of macarons, and borrows paper and pen to scribble a brief note for Holmes. ‘Friend’s friend a possible dog walker, 2 to 6. Still looking.’
Knowing she will be watched, Russell adopts one of Holmes’ favourite techniques for delivering messages; street children. She steps back onto the street and casts her eyes about as if she’s a tourist and unsure where she is and which direction to go, peering at street signs, walking a few steps in one direction before turning around to walk in the opposite direction. Having identified a likely candidate, she approaches the child as if to ask directions, while actually negotiating delivery of her note to Holmes at the Hôtel de la Paix. Coming to an agreement in terms, she surreptitiously passes her scribbled note and a franc to the child underneath a macaron. For the sake of her observer, the two continue in animated conversation, ending with the child pointing her in the direction of the Pont St. Michael, the opposite direction of the hotel. With a shower of “merci’s” and another macaron, she waves to the child and walks toward her rendezvous with LeRocque, pleased to see that the car stays with her rather than following the child.
Russell stands by the Seine, savouring her macarons while waiting for LeRocque to pick her up. She smiles at the thought of her follower’s frustration at watching her do nothing more than be a carefree tourist, out for a sweet and a stroll instead of leading him to Holmes or revealing their true purpose here in Paris. Alone for the moment, she uses the time to reconsider the events that led her to abandon Hemingway in order to hunt for Simone. From Holmes’ note, she knows their thinking is in accord. LeRocque had inadvertently led their pursuers to them, which was best managed by leading those pursuers away from Holmes’ and Russell’s true errands – recruiting Hemingway and solving the murders. The matter of Simone is of unknown relevance and safely pursued while she is being followed, at least until proven otherwise. Had their roles been reversed, Holmes may have anticipated the sensitive nature of LeRocque’s news and avoided Hemingway overhearing the details. Probably not. She is absolutely sure, however, that Holmes would not have resorted to kissing the Lieutenant in order to extract himself from Hemingway. Then again, as a man he wouldn’t have had to.
With rare exceptions, Russell has found male chauvinism to be the flip side of chivalry, requiring a weak and helpless damsel to highlight the courtesy and courage of the knight. Hemingway seemed poised to prevent her from assisting LeRocque in the name of his honour and her protection. She did what the situation required. Claiming LeRocque as her chosen knight, she circumvented any claim Hemingway may have presumed while elevating his estimation of LeRocque and therefore of LeRocque’s trust in her. With respect to Hemingway, the kiss had, in fact, worked admirably.
With respect to LeRocque, however, she hadn’t considered the effect of the kiss at all. It wasn’t a role he chose or was even asked to play, and she doubts very much that he saw it coming. Ever since she and Holmes arrived, they’ve run roughshod over him, using him or abandoning him as suited their purpose. He, however, has shown them nothing but loyalty, kindness and a remarkable lack of ego. An honourable knight deserving of respect, concludes Russell, and she resolves to make amends.
“Well that’s settled,” says LeRocque grimly as Russell climbs back into the car. He pulls abruptly into traffic and drives fiendishly to the house he and his estranged wife once shared. Noting his intense focus on the road, Russell sits as quietly as she’s able, protecting her ribs as the car dodges obstacles and lurches between starts and stops in the heavy evening traffic.
LeRocque breaks the silence. “Should I try and shake him?”
“No. Thank you. It’s better he follows us for now and thinks we don’t realize.”
Now that the silence has been broken, Russell continues, “Mr. LeRocque. Lieutenant. Martin. I apologize. Please, forgive me. I shouldn’t have, in the café. It’s not the first time I’ve acted rashly. It just seemed the quickest way to extract ourselves from Hemingway. But it was poorly considered, and I…”
“Are trying to get me killed,” interrupts LeRocque.
“What? Oh. I’m sorry. The driving. I won’t say another word.”
“No, not the driving. It’s not exactly tanks and mortars out here, is it?” he says as he neatly swerves around a bicyclist. “The kiss. You’re trying to get me killed. He probably knows ten ways to kill someone with his hands tied behind his back.”
“Who? Holmes? Well, yes, probably more. But…”
“It’s what I would do. If you were my wife and I saw another man kissing you. A fight to the death. Or maybe a duel. I’d have a better shot at success, no pun intended. You’re worthy of that, a noble gesture.”
Russell looks at LeRocque, temporarily stunned by his words. He takes his eyes off the road for a moment, meeting her eyes and flashing a grin, before snatching the last macaron and looking back to the road. Russell blushes and breaks into laughter, clutching her side. “Martin. Your wife. She was a fool to let you get away. If anyone deserves a noble gesture, it’s you. But for the record, had Holmes been in the café, he would have taken note of who was kissing whom, deduced the cause and, I imagine, played along.”
“Good god. I think I’d prefer death over trying to pull off that bit of playacting.”
Russell laughs again, lightly but genuinely, before responding as if deeply offended, “Really? So heinous as all that? Then I suppose I should apologize.”
LeRocque’s cheeks flush bright red as he pulls to a brief stop in traffic. Keeping his eyes forward, he responds slowly, cautiously. “That is not what I meant.” And then with a nod to himself as they start moving again, “Which of course you know. You are lethal. The both of you.”
Russell, acknowledging the truth in his words, responds in kind. “Martin, you have had to put up with a great deal from us. You’re a good man and I value your friendship. Please do accept my apology.”
“Mary. Believe me. There is nothing to apologize for. On the contrary, I should apologize to you. You should be sitting by the fire, recovering.” Hearing Russell’s harrumph he corrects, “Or rather, recruiting your spy and capturing your murderer instead of helping me find Simone.” After a pause, he continues soberly, “For the record, I’ve been as much a fool as Simone. We failed each other. Now it’s too late. The love is gone and the marriage. Still, I wouldn’t see her come to harm.”
“No, of course not. Tell me about her? Could she be working with the Deuxième Bureau?”
“No. I’m sure of it. Once, maybe, she could have been persuaded, an idealist serving a cause. But not since the war. She’s one of the ones who didn’t quite survive. Or only survived. Now she’s… cynical, indifferent. I can’t see her as some sort of operative. She’s with Lucien because she doesn’t care anymore about anything, anyone. Just herself, what she can get. Things. A little glamour.”
“She helped me,” says Russell.
“Yes, well, it wasn’t altruism. She’s done with all that.”
“What did you tell her about us?”
“The truth, at least what I understood of it at the time. That I was working on a murder investigation with Sherlock Holmes and his partner. I tried to impress her with that, I suppose. Anyway, I said you were working undercover and got hurt. That I needed her to be sure you were treated with respect. She didn’t believe me. Not until she met you anyway. She probably still doubts the part about Holmes, she never saw him. So anyway I, well, bribed her to convince her to come.”
“You were adamant she wouldn’t miss your meeting today. Is it to do with the bribe?”
LeRocque becomes abruptly quiet and stares in front of him jaw clenched while he waits for the traffic light to change. Seeing his discomfort, she offers a change in topic signalling her willingness to respect his privacy. “Those tricolour lights, a great invention.” Although he remains silent, eyes forward, she sees his jaw relax into a soft smile as he realizes her kindness. It is not lost on either of them that her offer of casual conversation is the very same balm he had used to sooth her grief and shame in the aftermath of that first murder scene. A simple gesture of respect and acceptance, received with unspoken gratitude.
Once moving again, he continues, “I told her I’d go ahead and attest that reconciliation was impossible. It’s the final bit of documentation for a divorce. Wouldn’t you know, she brought a statement with her for me to sign while they’re loading you into the ambulance. She’s had it ready for weeks. I refused to sign until you were safely out of the hospital, said I’d meet her today for lunch. How awful is that? I couldn’t be sure she’d do right by you once she was rid of me.”
“Martin. The position we put you in, the divorce, how she treated you, all of it. And I gave you such a hard time that night, trying to sneak away. I’m so very sorry.”
“Never mind all that – the divorce, Simone’s behaviour, I should have signed long ago. As for you, keeping up with you made for a good distraction. Of course, I could’ve done without Holmes waving his gun about, what with me in your hotel room in the middle of the night. That was my first inkling you were trying to kill me.”
Russell half laughs, half cringes at the memory of it, and resolves again to make amends. Sitting up straight as if at attention, she proclaims with formality, “Lieutenant. All evidence to the contrary, I promise I have not actively tried to kill you. And from this moment forward, I promise I will try not to kill you inadvertently, either.”
Pulling up to the curb in front of the house, LeRocque turns off the car and replies, “Try not to kill you– I guess that’s as good as it gets with you two. Considering that you’re being followed because of me, I suppose I may have inadvertently tried to kill you too. Let me make up for it. You stay in the car while I check out the house.”
“Excellent idea,” says Russell.
LeRocque looks at her with frank surprise. “You’re joking, right?”
“Not for my protection, Lieutenant,” say Russell sternly and emphatically. “Logic and strategy. We have two goals, to locate Simone and to discover the identity and intent of our shadow. To find Simone, we need to get into that house which in turn presents an opportunity to observe if and how our follower responds. Caution dictates separating for tactical advantage. As this is your house, it’s expected that you’d be the one to enter. I therefore will watch for a reaction and cover you from here until the next course of action reveals itself.”
“And if he comes for you while I’m in the house?”
“That would be revelatory, wouldn’t it,” says Russell with a gleam. In response to the look of growing alarm on LeRocque’s face she continues, “However, I think it’s unlikely. I’m not going anywhere, so why show his hand so plainly?”
Whatever her reasons, LeRocque figures Russell is safer inside the car than outside. Without another word, he climbs out of the car and heads toward the house.