clear?’
The servant seemed relatively unperturbed at finding his mistress in such a state. Margont asked him why.
The servant shrugged. ‘Me always say she finish like that. Now she burn in hell and she enjoy that.’
‘Nobody deserves such a death.’
Margont stood there without moving for a considerable time, observing these details. All this had a meaning, of that he was sure. It was a new mystery but even more difficult to solve, given the almost unbearable sight of this mutilated body defiled by food.
When Lefine arrived, he found Margont in the corridor in the act of smelling a bunch of dahlias and assorted roses displayed on a pedestal table. Lefine prepared to enter the bedroom but Margont suddenly raised his arm.
‘I strongly advise you not to.’
Lefine obeyed. Margont asked the servant to leave and waited until he was far enough away before continuing, ‘Are you sure that your men were keeping a careful eye on our suspects?’
‘They are perfectly trustworthy. If one of our colonels had gone out during the night, they would have seen him, would have informed us immediately and would have followed him. In my opinion we’ve made a mistake: none of the four is the killer.’
Margont sighed. ‘Unless this man realised that he was being spied on. Perhaps he eventually noticed that the same soldier was often glancing at him or perhaps one of the people we’ve questioned to build up a picture of him went and told him about our investigation.’
‘But my men and I have been very careful when trying to worm things out of people to play it casual, as if we were just passing the time of day.’
‘If the person we’re after has discovered he’s being watched, he must have left his quarters in secret. Have you seen the size of the palace we’ve been billeted in? And the colonels are even better provided for. If you know you’re being spied on, nothing would be easier than to slip out of one of the many windows on the ground floor.’
Lefine was staring down at his boots like a naughty boy who’d been found out.
‘It would take a whole company to watch all the possible exits. Obviously, my men were only keeping an eye on the doors.’
‘He sneaked out and went in search of his prey, laughing at how stupid we’d feel the next day.’
‘I’m very sorry …’
Margont patted him on the arm. ‘It’s not your fault. The worst thing is that even though he knew he was being watched, he still managed to get out to commit another crime. It’s something he can’t control; he has to give himself over to this butchery. So if we don’t arrest him, he’ll strike again. And this time there’s no comparison with the considerable risks he took in murdering Elisa Lasquenet – if he really was the culprit – and Maria Dorlovna. He’s greatly improved his technique: no haste, no more escaping across the rooftops, he didn’t attract attention …’
‘Are we going to call in Jean-Quenin to examine the body?’
‘What would you expect from an examination?’
‘Well … nothing.’
‘I too would like something to cling on to, to be able to say to myself: “This is what I must do and when I’ve done it, everything will become clear.” I don’t think Jean-Quenin would be able to teach us anything and I don’t have the heart to ask him to devote two hours of his time to us when he’s rushing around tending the wounded. Fernand, my theory of the Prince Charming doesn’t stand up: this victim only liked rough soldiers.’
The killer seemed to have a very sharp mind and a talent for acting. He had quickly surmised that Maria Dorlovna wanted a man able to show tenderness and refinement … so he had become that man. And he had had no difficulty in becoming the military tough liking a good screw for Countess Sperzof. Margont was no longer looking for a Prince Charming but for a chameleon.
Dalero joined him again. Margont was surprised to see that he had shaved. He must have used his knife or a servant’s razor. He had also had his coat pressed. He seemed restored, using his image as a crutch to lean on. Without saying a word, he went into the bedroom to examine the body. Lefine forced himself to do likewise so as not to be the only one to avoid that painful experience, but he came out again almost immediately.
On his way out, Dalero said to Margont: ‘Good. I shall write a report at once about this new crime and about the progress of your investigation. The prince will have it within the hour. Take care in the fighting. Don’t expose yourself to too much danger.’
‘Why so much concern for me?’
‘Because if you get yourself killed, I’m the one the prince will appoint to replace you.’
CHAPTER 21
THE man was slumped in an armchair, in one of the drawing rooms of his quarters in Smolensk. Nothing in this wonderful room could hold his attention, not the height of the ceiling – quite out of proportion – nor the furniture with its embroidered upholstery, nor the chest of drawers inlaid with panels of Chinese or Japanese lacquer … His mind was occupied by images of other things. He was recalling the feelings that had overwhelmed him while he was torturing that woman, especially when he had disfigured her face. The mutilations had rendered that body anonymous and his imagination had seen the reflection of other faces in this mirror of blood: the shy wife of one of his officers; a former lady-friend to whom he had been very close; women he had come across in the street … On the other hand, he had killed the servant on the spur of the moment because he had been frightened. That giant with arms and legs like the branches of an oak tree could have broken his neck with one swipe, like a bear. He regretted the hastiness of it. He would have liked to tie the beast to his straw mattress and cut him up bit by bit. But the exquisite taste of pleasure was mingled with a feeling of anxiety.
A few days earlier he had visited a field hospital. Oh, the wounded! He had looked at them writhing like the worms he used to cut in two as a child. The funniest thing was that people had thought it was compassion. Compassion! Seeing these anguished faces smile at him as if he were a saint had doubled his pleasure.
The following day, as he was exploring the area, he had noticed that a man he had seen the previous day near one of the wounded was riding some way off from his escort. He had assumed he was a marauder, except that he saw him later and then understood. He suspected that someone was investigating the murder of the Polish woman but he had been amazed to realise how far the investigations had progressed without unmasking him. It must be because of Maria’s private journal. What an absurd idea to write everything down in a notebook perfumed with dried rose petals! Maria had told him about it as you tell someone a secret as a mark of confidence. She had immediately added with a sway of the hips that she would never let anyone read it, not even him. As if he could be interested in such childish activities! It was only afterwards, just after killing her, that he had remembered that lieutenant who had come galloping up to them from nowhere and saluted him saying: ‘Colonel, an urgent message for you!’ The bloody fool! He had given clear instructions about who was replacing him that day! He had not told anyone where he was going so this lieutenant must have scoured the countryside to find him. The fathead! He must have seen that his colonel was in civilian dress and in the company of a lady. The lieutenant had paid heavily for his blunder. At Ostrovno he had sent him time and again to the front line carrying missives of little importance. In the end the young officer had been cut to pieces by grapeshot. And the message he was carrying said basically: ‘Beware of the enemy artillery.’
If he had not been overwhelmed by fury as he was stabbing Maria, he would have remembered to force her to tell him where she had hidden her notebook before finishing her off! His emotions and desires sometimes impinged dangerously on his reason.
The result was that now he was being spied on. So he had decided not to kill again until the end of the campaign. Then he would be transferred somewhere and there … In Smolensk, he had not been able to stop himself from striking again, but it was imperative from now on that he should lie low. Those spying on him would
