Paris, 20 November, 1922
Russell sits in the car, studying the house and street, as LeRocque exits the car to investigate the house he no longer shares with his wife Simone. Immediately she notices that in addition to herself and her follower, there is a man seated in a car across the road, several houses up. Russell grimaces wryly as she considers how much attention this otherwise unremarkable house is receiving. The building is a modest, two story, single family home built in a flurry of post war construction. The small front garden, walkway and house match those to either side and all along the block, not yet showing distinctive characteristics typical of homes in a more established neighbourhood. Confident that both observers are remaining in their cars, Russell’s attention returns to the lieutenant who is just arriving at the front door. LeRocque knocks and waits but no one opens to the door. He tries his key, only to discover to his consternation that it no longer fits the lock. Flushed with anger and embarrassment he returns to the car to confer with Russell.
Russell informs the Lieutenant of their second observer which raises both the urgency of their task and threat of danger. They agree she should maintain her position and cover him while he escalates his efforts by smashing a window. Aside from getting into the house, Russell hopes it will goad their observers into revealing themselves. LeRocque strides back toward the house, grasping the barrel of his gun in his left hand with the intent of using the butt end to break the window. This has the desired effect. Their follower steps from the car and quickly, discretely, waves off the other observer. While that car drives down the road and out of sight, the man hurries toward LeRocque shouting, “Hey, what the hell do you think you’re doing.”
“Lucien! What the hell are you doing here? Where’s Simone?”
The man stops and the two stand facing one another about 15 feet apart. “I followed you here, you imbécile! First that bullshit story and now you’re trying to break into her house. You may have fooled Simone, but I’m not stupid, LeRocque. The Sūreté don’t ask their wives for help. Not unless they have something to hide. So who is that woman really? Some whore you shot her pimp over?”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I know she’s in your car and you’re breaking into Simone’s house.”
“My house,” growls LeRocque.
“Want to guess who has the key?” sneers Lucien.
“You changed the locks. Why? You have something to hide?”
“Simone changed the locks. Said she was scared of you.”
“Bullshit.” spits LeRocque as he locks eyes with Lucien. Speaking with the authority of the Sūreté, “Now unlock the door.”
Lucien pulls his coat aside to show his gun. “I think you’re up to no good. There’s no way I’m letting you go in there without a warrant.”
“You’re threatening a police officer.” Transferring his own gun to his right hand, keeping it aimed at the ground. Continuing with controlled ferocity. “It’s my house. Try and stop me and I’ll arrest you for trespassing.”
“You’ve crossed the line, LeRocque. This isn’t a police action. It’s breaking and entering.” To add the force of threat to his accusation, Lucien, without breaking eye contact, slowly pulls his own gun, also directing it to the ground.
Russell has seen enough to know that Lucien is a sophisticated opponent playing a dangerous game. He is deftly manipulating LeRocque’s weaker position (locked out of his own home and without official standing) while simultaneously concealing Lucien’s true motives – to hide whatever’s in the house and gain more information about Holmes and herself. He’s counting on his superior position, both as an agent of the DeuxièmeBureau and the man who stole LeRocque’s wife, to force him to capitulate in a direct confrontation. If it were just the two of them, it would probably have worked.
Instead, Russell intends to match him move for move, turning the tables to learn whatever she can about him and Simone, starting with getting into the house. For the second time in as many hours, Russell needs to diffuse the mounting tension between two posturing men, only this time there are guns involved and it’s not about impressing a girl. Since Lucien has chosen to play the role of hothead boyfriend, hers will be the placating innocent bystander, ignorant of hidden agendas and defenceless. Lucien may not believe it, but he’ll have to play along in order to maintain his own ruse.
Russell, having stepped out of the car unnoticed, slams the car door behind her to get their attention. Both men freeze but continue glaring at one another.
“Gentleman, please, you are frightening me.” Turning to Lucien with wide eyes and a tremor in her voice, Russell pleads, “Sir, please, Simone helped me in my time of need and I asked the Lieutenant here to help me thank her. When he couldn’t locate her, I insisted on accompanying him here. Please, can’t we assuage his fears? He just needs to know she’s safe. If you won’t let him inside, might I could go in his place?”
There’s an awkward silence, as LeRocque has no idea how to react to this newest incarnation of Russell and Lucien calculates how to parry her advance. He stalls for time. “I don’t know you. Why would I let you in?”
Dodging the question, Russell says. “Yes, of course, you should accompany me. I promise I’m not here to steal anything.” Gesturing to the Lieutenant, “I, we, just want to be sure Simone is safe.”
LeRocque does not like where this is going, worried Russell is putting herself at risk. Russell is horrified to hear him announce, “There’s no way I’m letting her go in there alone with you.”
To her credit, she manages to stifle her ire at yet another ridiculous display of male chauvinism. She quickly amends her proposition. “Then all three of us, together. Can’t you see, it’s the only way to reassure the Lieutenant. Surely you two can set aside your differences for Simone’s sake.”
The two men continue to eye each other carefully without moving. Russell turns first to LeRocque, then Lucien, and pleads again. “Please, both of you, put your guns away. We’ll go in together, for Simone’s sake.”
Lucien realizes he’s been out manoeuvred. To refuse now would only draw attention and suspicion to himself, from the Sūreté and, if Simone’s tale is to be believed, from Holmes. Coming to a decision, he shrugs his shoulders and with a smile that does not reach his eyes, puts his gun back in its holster. “For Simone’s sake.”
LeRocque snorts but holsters his gun as well. All three gather at the front door and, after some awkward jostling for position, Lucien unlocks it and LeRocque pushes his way in first, followed by Lucien and Russell. While LeRocque calls out Simone’s name several times, getting no response, Russell closes the door behind them and surveys the space. They have entered directly into a large sitting room that spans the majority of the front of the house. Along the right-hand wall is a staircase leading to the first floor. Underneath is a cupboard and, further back, a wide arched entryway to a small living space beyond. In the back of the sitting room to the left is an open doorway leading to the kitchen and, she later learns, an attached dining area which together comprise the back of the house.
Surreptitiously studying each other, the three walk in silent procession through each ground floor room, peering closely at everything from floor to ceiling. LeRocque leads the way, Lucien taking the rear and Russell acts as a buffer between them. The rooms are mostly tidy and unassuming, furnished for utility and comfort, and feel orderly but lived in. Coats hang from hooks to one side of the doorway, shoes lined up underneath. Along the left wall near the coats is a sideboard with a lamp, shade askew and some framed family photographs, none of which contain the Lieutenant. The centre of the room is occupied by a large couch, piled with extra cushions and a rumpled throw blanket. Standard lamps and chairs stand to either side of the couch and a coffee table, a few books and magazines scattered across it, sits in front. The kitchen is generally clean but for a couple of plates with crumbs set on the counter beside a small pitcher of cream, butter dish and marmalade, and a newspaper spread across a table. LeRocque steps around the waste bin, oddly placed a few feet from the wall, to peer through the window in the door leading to the back garden.
Continuing their circuit through the dining room into the den and then back to the sitting room, they don’t find Simone or anything suggestive of a struggle or violence. Lucien loudly protests as LeRocque heads for the staircase to search the first floor, but Russell successfully calms the rancour, citing the waste of time and their common cause to find Simone. Their procession resumes as before, mounting the stairs to search the two bedrooms, toilet and washroom.
One of the bedrooms looks to be a guestroom, slightly dusty and seldom used. The closet is open and, from the nap in the rug, it’s evident something has been dragged across the floor. Entering the second bedroom, it’s clear the guest room closet had contained a large piece of luggage which now lays open atop the bed, half full. In it are a jumble of Simone’s clothing, a pile of shirts and undergarments, a couple dresses, and a pair of shoes but little else. The Lieutenant is growing increasingly tense, his whole body becoming taut, his eyes darting from closet, to dresser, to desk, to bed. Russell surmises he is reacting to the undeniable evidence that Lucien shares his wife’s bedroom, at least on a part-time basis. Some of his shoes and suits are in the closet, cufflinks on the dresser, and a tie is draped over a bedpost.
“Want to explain this?” barks LeRocque, indicating the portmanteau.
“I should think it’s obvious. She’s going on holiday.”
“Never mentioned it to me,” growls LeRocque.
“Why would she?” cuts Lucien.
Looking to Russell, LeRocque says “Check her appointment journal, there on the desk. She writes everything down in there, very meticulous.”
Russell takes some time rifling through the book to find the correct page. She reads off the words ‘Lucien, Switzerland’ and tomorrow’s date.
“Sounds like you are going, not her,” says LeRocque to Lucien.
“I am. For work. It’s been planned for weeks. She’s decided to take a holiday and join me.” Lucien reaches his hand inside his coat and LeRocque explodes into motion, pulling his gun and pointing it directly at Lucien’s chest, hammer cocked, just an arms-length away in the tight quarters. With nerves of steel and practiced nonchalance, Lucien drops his hand “I just wanted to show you her ticket. I have it right here.”
The gun still levelled at Lucien, LeRocque asks Russell to check. Russell has no difficulty pretending agitation as she steps toward Lucien awkwardly. Blushing with embarrassment, she removes a folded paper from his inside coat pocket and reads it aloud with shaking hands, confirming it’s a train ticket to Switzerland leaving tomorrow afternoon at 2. LeRocque tilts the gun away from Lucien and returns it to his holster. Russell releases an exaggerated sigh of relief and turns to LeRocque in flustered agitation. “Really Lieutenant, I think we should leave. We’ve confirmed she’s not here and nothing seems amiss. We’ll just have to look elsewhere.”
With Russell leading the way, the three turn to file out of the room but Russell stumbles a bit to the side and clutches the armour. “Oh my, I think I need to splash some cold water on my face. I’ll be down in a moment.” With her hands on the walls to steady herself, she enters the washroom and, leaving the door open, turns on the faucet. LeRocque, nudging Lucien ahead of him, continues past her down the hall and the two proceed back down the steps. In less than a minute, Russell has re-joined them and the three exit the house. Lucien locks the door behind them, but before he can return the keys to his pocket, LeRocque grasps his wrist with one hand and the keys with the other.
“I’ll take those,” says LeRocque with authority. “I’m going to launch a missing persons investigation, Lucien, and you’re my prime suspect. Don’t even think about leaving town.”
Allowing LeRocque to take the keys, he says, “By all means, embarrass yourself Lieutenant. We both know the Sūreté won’t get in the way of the DeuxièmeBureau.”
Spitting sarcasm, “Still planning on leaving. Nice. Your concern for Simone is touching.”
“You do your job. I’ll do mine. There’s nothing to implicate me except your imagination. In fact, I think I’ll follow you back to The 36 and make my own report. I’m sure your superiors will want to know how she came to be at a crime scene in Pigalle. I’d be careful, LeRocque. If anyone’s suspect it’s you.”
Lucien turns to go to his car and Russell heads for theirs. LeRocque stands for a moment clenching his fists before striding around the car and climbing into the driver’s seat. Russell remains quiet, giving LeRocque time to rein in his rage as he drives them swiftly through traffic toward the Quai des Orfèvres. Slowly his breathing becomes deeper and his hands relax on the steering wheel.
“So, what was that about? I’m more likely to swoon than you.”
“I wanted his shoe.”
“What?”
With a triumphant smile, Russell pulls a man’s shoe from her sling.
LeRocque keeps looking back and forth between the road and Russell’s gleaming face, not understanding.
Russell clarifies. “We have a footprint left by a man’s dress shoe at both the Wilson and Girard murder scenes. Now we have a shoe.”
LeRocque slams on the brake, narrowly avoiding hitting the car that has stopped in traffic in front of him. Russell lets out a sharp invective as she flies forward into the dashboard, blunting the impact with her right arm.
“You think Lucien is involved in the murders? Sorry, by the way.”
Rolling her eyes at his offhand apology, Russell resumes her seat, bracing herself for further violence to her ribs. “Shoes can tell a great deal about the person wearing them, how they walk, old injuries, where they’ve been. The pattern of wear is not as specific as a finger print of course, but in general all of our shoes have a similar pattern of wear. Laboratory samples like soil or material can add certainty. Holmes took samples and made a careful study of the footprints left at the murder scenes. If this shoe was at the scene, we can deduce it. If Lucien was at the scene, any of his shoes could suggest it.”
“So, you think Lucien is involved in the murders?” asks LeRocque again.
“A hunch, not yet refuted by the evidence.”
“A hunch,” repeats LeRocque.
“Not yet refuted by the evidence. That’s the important part. Holmes has them too, you know, although he might not call it that. Think of it as the subconscious making a leap before you have completely worked it out consciously.
“I don’t get it, it’s too far-fetched. The murderer you’re looking for happens to be my wife’s lover? What are the chances? Mind you, I wouldn’t put it past him.”
“That’s right. You wouldn’t, and you didn’t. I think you suspected him as soon as Simone disappeared, even if you didn’t realize it. You were adamant, back in the café with Hemingway, no police. That only makes sense if you connected Simone’s disappearance with these other events.”
“Oh, come on. I may have thought it, but I don’t actually believe it. It’s just a coincidence,” argues LeRocque. “We’re programmed to find patterns even when none exist. Two bad things happen in a row and you link them together. First day stuff at the police academy. You know that.”
“Yes. That’s why we test instead of believe. Holmes is fond of saying there is no such thing as coincidence and also that ‘Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth.’ As you said, by mere coincidence it’s ludicrously improbable to think your wife’s lover is the murderer we seek. But as soon as you mentioned that Lucien works for the Deuxième, his involvement in the murders became plausible. Our job is to ignore the coincidence, find the logic, and test it.”
“Hang on, you’ve suspected since then. And you didn’t think to mention it?” demands LeRocque.
“Suspected is too strong a word. Think about what we knew at the time. Lucien is Deuxième– so he may be involved in counter-intelligence operations. Simone learns of us and may have passed that information along to Lucien, whether she believed you or not. There’s an unexpected phone call. Lucien could have used Simone to learn more about us. You’re being followed. He may be trying to get to us. It’s plausible, but all conjecture. Now we have much more information.”
“And?”
“We haven’t yet eliminated the possibility.” LeRocque holds his tongue and keeps driving so Russell tries to clarify. “What do we know now? Simone did tell Lucien about us, he said as much himself, calling it your ‘bullshit story’. We saw Simone’s shoes and earrings in the house, the one’s she wore at the hospital, so we know she came back here after the hospital. That’s consistent at least with the theory Lucien was behind all her questions over the phone. You are being followed, we know it’s Lucien and he professes to be following you. Our little test proved he’s following me instead and so we’ve caught him in a lie, trying to hide his true motives. Finally, he tried very hard to keep us out of the house. There could be many reasons for that, related to Simone’s disappearance, to the murder investigation, or both. Now we have his shoe, a train ticket to Switzerland, and our observations from inside the house.”
LeRocque abruptly pulls into a side street and turns off the car. Lucien comes to an abrupt halt behind them but stays in his car to see what they do next. LeRocque smiles devilishly as he looks into the rear-view mirror, apparently pleased to be toying with Lucien, before lighting a cigarette and closing his eyes to think. Russell waits him out.
After a few minutes LeRocque says, “Holmes doesn’t know about Lucien – who he works for.”
“He knows by now. While you were getting petrol, I had a message delivered to him at the hotel – Friend’s friend a possible dog walker, 2 to 6.” LeRocque clenches his jaw and shakes his head but makes no move to speak. Russell elaborates. “Friend’s friend is Simone’s friend, Lucien. A dog walker is someone with a leash. Remember, we called Vokos the monster on the end of someone’s leash. Holmes is sure to get the reference. Two to five, the French and English military intelligence branches – DeuxièmeBureau and MI6. If Lucien’s involved, it may mean French military intelligence is behind the murders of the MI6 operatives. I said ‘possible’, so he knows it’s too soon to divert from his current line of enquiry.”
“That’s it?” asks LeRocque, rolling his eyes.
“I also confirmed I’m helping you find Simone.”
LeRocque erupts in frustration at being so out of his depth, always at least 10 steps behind both of them. Turning to her, he asks sarcastically, “What was your code for that? Cat sitter on holiday? Rupunzel’s haircut, 1 to 3?”
“Oh no, something much subtler,” responds Russell mildly. ‘Still Looking’.”
LeRocque is in no mood to appreciate the irony. He is fed up, tired of being oblivious to their schemes and at the mercy of their cheek. Turning away from her, he blurts out, “God I hate you two.” He slumps back into his seat, drawing deeply from his cigarette, and tries to regain his composure before asking his next question. Without looking at her he asks quietly and plainly, “Mary? Where’s Simone in all of this? Victim? Accomplice? You should tell me. I need to know.”
“I don’t know, Martin. It may be one, or the other, or something else entirely. We have a lot more information now than an hour ago, but not enough to draw any firm conclusions.”
“Really? A lot more information? What exactly did you see?” asks LeRocque with dread, fully resigned to be once again informed of everything he’s missed.
“I was going to ask you the same thing?”
“Oh, please. We both know you’re way ahead of me on this.”
“Martin, this isn’t a competition.”
“No, it’s a schooling. The only thing I’ve learned is that I’m in the wrong line of work. You once suggested tour guide. You’re right, it’s clearly more my speed.”
“If I had tried to compete with Holmes’ experience and power of deduction, I’d have given up long ago. I bring a different lens. So do you.”
“Mary, I doubt you really mean that, but regardless, you’re wrong.”
“I’m right. Especially in this case. You know these people, that house, what’s out of place.”
LeRocque scoffs and shakes his head again, tortured by the truth of it. Everything was out of place. And Russell saw it, all too clearly. The changed lock. The missing pictures of him. Lucien’s presence, all over the house, in the kitchen, the bedroom. His cuckolding – laid bare.
“All I saw in that house was Lucien. I’m too close to this.”
“You’re a detective, Lieutenant, not a victim. Divorce what you saw from what you feel. Analyse it!”
LeRocque explodes with anger, driving his fist into the ceiling of the car. Refusing to look at Russell, he throws the butt of his cigarette from the window, starts the car and tears down the streets, making three quick turns to get back onto the main road. Lucien races to keep up, ploughing into traffic in hot pursuit, a chorus of honks and squeals in his wake.
“Whatever you want from me, Mary, I don’t have. I saw exactly what you saw but you’re the only one who’ll realize what it means. Simone’s shoes and earrings – you’re the one who saw it as evidence that Simone came home. There’s nothing I can tell you that you don’t already know, that you haven’t already figured out.”
“You don’t know that. None of us know what we don’t know, only what we do know. You lived with Simone, in that house, it’s only logical you have knowledge that I lack. We’re just going to have to work it through, room by room. Share our observations. That’s how this works. If you trust that I can find Simone, then you have to trust my method as well.”
Russell gets no response as the silence lengthens by minutes. Eventually she decides to interpret his silence as acquiescence. “We’ll start upstairs, in the bedroom, her suitcase. Lucien said she was packing to go on holiday. I don’t think so.”
“No, I don’t buy it either.” Russell waits for him to elaborate. “For one thing, she’s not spontaneous – not about something like travelling. Holidays are a big deal to her and she’s too methodical to just throw a bag together. Usually she’d use the guest bed to assemble what she’s going to bring. She can plan for weeks before she got it all sorted.”
“That’s consistent with the bag itself. It looked like a random assortment of clothing, not outfits, shirts but not trousers, more thrown into the bag than packed. And her calendar, on the same day it said ‘Lucien, Switzerland’, she had also written ‘Shopping, Elle’. The next day it said ‘Haircut’ and ‘Tante mère’. Those seem like appointments to me.”
“Elle is short for Giselle – a childhood friend. They get together every now and then to go shopping, then out to dinner, make a big night of it, just the girls. Tante mère is a sort of adopted mother to Simone although she’s not an actual relation. She must be coming into town. She lives on this isolated farm out in the country, I’m not exactly sure where.”
“Maybe Simone planned to go there?”
LeRocque snorts. “Not likely. Rustic living and Simone don’t really go together.”
The two continue their discussion, room by room, comparing notes. They fall into a rhythm, like a tennis match, trading observations and clarifications, back and forth. Over and over they agree in what they saw and what it might mean, with LeRocque able to add context, bolstering their conclusion.
“The lampshade by the coatrack. I think she grabbed a coat in a rush and knocked it askew,” says Russell.
“Yeah, it’s happened before. You’d think we’d have learned and moved the lamp. Normally she’d straighten it right away. She had to have been in a rush,” says LeRocque. “An off-kilter lampshade – that’s enough to drive her to distraction.”
“And the stuff left out on the kitchen counter, the milk and butter, the dishes?”
“The same thing, right? She never leaves stuff out – she’s really conscientious about that sort of thing.”
“The waste bin too. Pulled into the middle of the floor. I’m guessing she had to move it out of the way to go out the back door.”
“Well, you’re sort of right, but I don’t think so.”
“What do you mean, sort of?”
“The bin, it does block the door. We don’t usually go out that way, so it doesn’t matter.”
“So it fits. She’s in a rush and decides for whatever reason it’s faster to go that way.”
“Well she didn’t. I checked.”
“Martin, I really think she did. Why else would the bin be moved? Besides, there were crumbs on the floor and some had been pushed out of the way by the swing of the door. What did you see that I missed?”
“Well I didn’t see the crumbs on the floor, that’s for sure. I guess she could’ve gone that way, but then she wasn’t in a rush. You looked out the window, right, saw the storm door was closed. It’s broken. It’s a real pain to get back in place once it’s opened – it takes forever, even if you know the trick.”
“Martin, that’s it!” cries Russell jubilantly. “I told you – you looked and you saw with a different lens!”
“She concealed her movements. She’s on the run,” concludes LeRocque.
“Exactly. She’s not an accomplice or a victim. She’s on the run.”
“Mary.”
“Martin?”
“You were right. Again.”
“Do you hate me for it?”
“It’s more of a love-hate. Like siblings.”
“Oh, don’t say that,” implores Russell, the horror written across her face.
“What? What did I say?” asks LeRocque, genuinely taken aback by her inexplicable distress.
“Cousins, Martin. Let’s go with cousins.”