‘His sick father could not have led that pseudo-investigation we held last Monday, with such a vivid account. No matter. He himself, in disguise, would do it. Remember, also, that for eight days, nobody who was close to him actually saw him. He only met strangers who knew the professor’s face from the newspapers, and didn’t see him close-up. Easy successes that went to Richard’s head. It was to be expected that he would undertake a more challenging ordeal. There was also, in such a re-incarnation, a deeper motive which I will explain later.’
‘But, having succeeded, why did he want to kill Maryse as well?’
‘For two reasons. The first was that André Richard wanted, not just to escape, but to remain unknown. He made it a quixotic point of honour that the Richard name emerge unblemished from the adventure. He believed that the puzzle of the bunker murder would remain unsolved and, for that, nobody must think of him or his father. But Maryse had seen him. She hadn’t recognised him there and then, but it was inevitable that, sooner or later, she would realise. For the honour of his name—as Dumas once said—it was necessary to eliminate her. The method chosen was hardly simple, but the idea of shooting his cousin point blank was something that even Richard couldn’t stomach.
‘The second reason was unknown to Richard himself, but I have no doubt that, in the end, it was more decisive than the first. André had never stopped loving Maryse and, subconsciously, wanted to avenge her disdain for him.
‘Whatever the reason, the combination of his passions led to the last bravado of the monster and his defeat.’
There was a short silence, then Bob continued:
‘From my personal point of view, the real tragedy isn’t any of the twelve or thirteen crimes in succession. It’s not even all of them together. No. It’s the dreadful collapse of a father who sees a life wholly devoted to a pursuit of justice scorned and vilified by the very person he is obliged to defend. Think how it must have been for Richard who, for ages, had fought to defend people from death, from illness or crime, to be confronted by the most terrible criminal he had ever confronted, and the revelation of his identity.
‘That tragedy played out in the mind and heart of the scientist and, if the latter resisted, the former collapsed. Not suddenly. Not completely, either. Total madness can be as merciful as death. Neither happened to thedistraught father and it was left to him after, horribly, having raised the criminal, to become his accomplice. I say horribly, because if Professor Richard, after several days of confusion, was dazzled by the lure of enormous wealth and power and, above all, a deranged paternal love, he never lost his moral compass and, in contrast to his son, judged himself very severely.
‘I think the poisoning of the Russian was just a defensive reflex. At the time, Richard, who understood the tragedy, had not made contact with his son. He knew nothing of the genesis of the affair. It was only later... but let’s start at the beginning. The psychology of André Richard will shine light on the events.
‘His feelings towards his father were very complex. The word is especially appropriate because, as you know, in Freudian terminology, it refers to the repressed emotions that are the basis for so many pathological mental states. That the Oedipus Complex played a role in André’s case, there is no doubt. Whilst his mother was alive, he had a jealous love for her. Jealous, in the passionate sense, of his father, for whom he had a veritable hatred. The death of his mother soon afterwards diverted that sentiment. André became closer to the professor and the pride he took in his glory and renown brought to the fore what is, in the Oedipus Complex, the substitution of the son for the father. That was the real reason for André’s supposed scientific vocation. He was intelligent enough to succeed brilliantly, but he did not have his father’s zeal. Without the desire to identify with his father, André would undoubtedly have taken up a career rich in material benefits. Maryse herself noted that her cousin often wanted to cut his career short, with an eye on politics. In any case, his manner was curt and dry, and even when he dealt with patients, he was unfeeling and unsympathetic. Another unequivocal proof of that mentality and the underlying psychology was the pleasure that the young André derived from aping his father and disguising himself to look like him. He was fifteen when he attended his first masked ball and appeared in a wig, a beard, and small frock coat, the very image of his father.’
‘I know,’ said Maryse, ‘I have a photo of him. The resemblance is striking.’
‘The curious thing is that, at the beginning of the case, Professor Richard, completely committed to the task at hand, threw himself wholeheartedly into the mission. Not knowing initially the adversary he was confronting, the desire to win enabled him to get back to normal. If we saw him ready to give up a couple of times, it was doubtless because he was becoming suspicious, but he quickly recovered his confidence, and his determination to do a good job was enough to forget the months of discouragement.
‘That only made his fall so much harder. I must admit I didn’t know how the revelation had dawned on him until André Richard explained. The professor had come to know Gregor from his service to his son, whom he visited occasionally. The Russian, who had entered the clinic as a patient, spent his convalescence as a voluntary nurse. So he knew the young doctor well. We now know that, during the crime at Villemomble, the latter’s hat fell off,
