Lepetit. While he was talking to Lepetit one of Papillon's companions asked Lepetit to come outside. Goldstein himself went out a little later and saw Papillon and Lepetit talking quietly; but he did not linger. Later, coming back to the Place Pigalle, he once more met Papillon, who told him he had just shot Lepetit and asked him to go to the Lariboisiere and see what state Lepetit was in, and to warn him to keep his mouth shut.
For of course, I, who was described to the Court as a terror, a member of the underworld all the more dangerous because of my intelligence and Cunning; of course I would hang around the Place Pigalle, right on the spot where I'd shot a guy, until Goldstein came that way again. Do I stand there like a signpost on some little Ardeche lane, so that the pigs only have to come strolling along to ask me how I'm doing?
This Goldstein was not such a fool as all that; the day after his statement he hightailed it to England.
Meanwhile I stood up for myself stoutly. 'Goldstein? Don't know him. I may have seen him; may even have exchanged a few words with him, like you do with people always around the same district, without knowing who you're talking to.' I really could not fit a mug to that name; so much so that it was only when we were brought face to face that I succeeded in identifying him. And I was so taken aback that a little square I didn't know should make such a detailed charge against me, that I wondered what crime he could have committed-nothing much for sure, he was such a dreary runt-for the pigs to have such a hold on him. I am still wondering; sexual offenses? Cocaine?
Without him, without his successive statements, which added new material to the pigs' case every time he opened his trap, without him nothing held together. Nothing.
And now there appeared something that at first sight looked miraculous but later turned out to be exceedingly dangerous- indeed fatal. A diabolical police plot, a horrible trap that I and my lawyers fell into headfirst. I thought it meant safety, but it was disaster. Because there was nothing solid in the file: Goldstein's successive bits of evidence were all very improbable. The file had so little body to it that my alleged killing lacked even a motive. Since I had no cause to dislike the victim, and since I was not raving mad, I was as out of place in this job as a hair in the soup; and any jury at all, even one made up of the dullest idiots on earth, could hardly fail to realize it.
So the police invented a motive; and the one who provided it was a pig who had been working Montmartre for the last ten years, Inspector Mazillier.
One of my lawyers, Maitre Eeffey, liked wandering about Montmartre in his free time; and he met this pig,.who told him he knew what had really happened bn the night of March 25-26, and that he was prepared to tell-implying that what he had to say would be in my favor. We said to ourselves, either he's motivated by professional honesty or else-which is more likely- there's some rivalry between Mayzaud and him.
And _we_ called him as a witness. _We_ did.
But what Mazillier had to say was not at all what we had expected. He stated that he knew me well and that I had done him many favors. Then he added, 'Thanks to the information provided by Charriere I have been able to carry out several arrests. As for the circumstances in connection with the murder, _I know nothing about them_. But I have heard it said [Lord, how many 'I have heard it said's we had during my trial!] that Charriere was the object of ill will on the part of persons unknown to me who disapproved of his relations with the police.'
And there was the reason for the murder! I'd killed Roland Lepetit during a quarrel because he was spreading it around Montmartre that I squealed, that I was an informer.
When was this statement of Inspector Mazillier's made? April 14. And when did Goldstein make his, the one that contradicted his statement on the day of the killing? April 18, _four days after Mazillier's_.
When the court of first instance was presented with this padded, elastic evidence, this mass of rumors, lies and prompted statements, they sensed there was something fishy about the whole thing. Because although you often put them all into the same bag, Papi, as if judges, pigs, jurymen, the law and the prison administration were all part of the same conspiracy you must admit that there have been some exceedingly honest judges.
As a result, the first court _refused_ to send me before the assizes with that phony file, and sent all the evidence back to the investigating magistrate, insisting upon _further inquiry_.
The pigs were utterly infuriated; they found witnesses everywhere-in prison, just about to be let out or just having been let out. But the further inquiry produced nothing, absolutely nothing, not the slightest clue or the least suggestion of new and serious evidence.
In the end, without anything fresh-still a bad bouillabaisse made with all the wrong fish-the file was at last allowed to be sent up to the assizes.
And now came the clap of thunder. Something happened that is almost never seen in the legal world: the public prosecutor, the man whose job it is to protect society by putting as many defendants as possible behind bars-the public prosecutor who had been given the brief to act against me, took it with the tips of his fingers, as though he were holding it with tongs, and put it back on the desk, saying, 'I won't act in this case. It smells fishy and prefabricated: give it to someone else.'
How splendid he looked, Maitre Raymond Hubert, when he came to tell me this extraordinary news at the Conciergerie! 'Can you imagine it, Charriere! Your file is so unconvincing, a prosecutor has refused to have anything to do with it and has asked for the brief to be given to someone else!'
… It was cool that night on the bench in the Boulevard de Clichy. I walked up and down under the shadow of the trees; I did not want to walk into the light for fear of interrupting the magic lantern as it projected these pictures from thirty-seven years ago. I turned up the collar of my overcoat, and pushed back my hat a little, to air my head. I Sat down again, pulled my coat over my legs, and then, with my back to the avenue, I slid my legs over the bench and sat the other way around, my arms leaning on the back as they had leant on the rail of the dock during my first trial in July, 1931.
Because there was not just one trial for me. _There were two_. The first in July, the other in October.
It all went too well, Papi! The court was not blood-red, like a slaughterhouse; it was more like an enormous boudoir. In the flooding light of that marvelous July day, the hangings, the carpets and the judges' robes were almost pale pink. And in this court, a smiling, kindly, rather skeptical presiding judge, so little convinced by what he had read in the file that he opened pro. ceedings like this: 'Charriere, Henri, as the indictment does not entirely correspond with what we should have liked to see in it, will you explain your case to the court and the jury yourself?'
The president of an assize court asking the defendant to lay open his case! You remember that sun-filled July assize and those wonderful judges? It was too good to last, Papi. Those judges conducted the proceedings with such impartiality, the president calmly and honestly looking for the truth, asking the pigs embarrassing questions, worrying Goldstein, pointing out his contradictions, and allowing my lawyers and me to ask him awkward questions-it was too splendid; it was sunlit justice, a holiday sitting with the judges in your favor.
The first important witness, already primed by the pigs, was the mother. I don't think it was out of bad faith that she had adopted the pigs' insinuations. She really did so unconsciously.
The mother no longer said that she and the commissaire had heard 'Papillon Roger.' Now she stated that what she had heard was, 'It's Papillon. Goldstein knows him.' She had forgotten the Roger and she had added the 'Goldstein knows him,' words that Commissaire Gerardin and Inspector Grimaldi did not hear. Odd that a commissaire should not write down something as important as that, don't you think?
Maitre Gautrat, the lawyer appearing for the family, wanted me to ask the victim's mother to forgive me. I said to her, 'Madame, I do not have to ask your forgiveness because I did not kill your son. I express my sorrow for your grief; that is all I can do.'
But Commissaire Gerardin and Inspector Grimaldi changed nothing of their first statement: Legrand had said, 'It was Papillon Roger,' that was all.
Now the key witness came forward: Goldstein. Using a recording machine at 36, quai des Orfevres, this witness had made five or six statements, three of which were used. Each one accused me; it did not matter if they were contradictory-each time they brought a fresh piece of wood to the framework the police were building up. Sitting on the bench thirty-six years later, I could see Goldstein as if he were right in front of me. He spoke in a low voice: he scarcely raised his hand when he said, 'I swear it.'
When he had finished his statement, Maitre Beffey went for him. 'Goldstein, how many times have you met Inspector Mayzaud 'by chance'? He himself states that he has met you and talked to you about this case 'by chance' several times. It's curious, Goldstein. In your first statement you said you knew nothing about the affair; then you knew Papillon; after that you said you had met him on the night of the crime, before it was committed; then he tells you go to Lariboisiere and see how Lepetit is getting on. How do you explain these differing statements?'
Goldstein's only reply was to repeat, 'I was afraid, because in Montmartre Papillon is terribly dangerous.'
I made a gesture of protest and time president said to me, 'Defendant, have you any questions to ask the witness?'
'Yes, Monsieur le President.' I looked straight at Goldstein. 'Goldstein, turn this way and look me in the face. What is it that makes you lie and accuse me falsely? What crime of yours does Mayzaud know about? What crime are you paying for with these lying statements?'
The shit trembled as he looked me in the face, but he did manage to bring out the words 'I'm telling the truth' quite distinctly.
I could have killed the swine! I turned toward the court. 'Gentlemen of the court, gentlemen of the jury, the public prosecutor says I am an intelligent, sharp-witted, knowing character; but the witness's evidence shows me to be a perfect idiot, and I'll prove it to you. Admitting something as important as this, telling a man you don't know at all you've just killed his friend, is the act of a total imbecile. Yet I don't know Goldstein.' And turning toward Goldstein I went on, 'Goldstein, please name one single person in Paris or in the whole of France who can say he has seen us talking together even once.'
'I don't know anyone who could testify to that.'
'Right. Please name a bar, restaurant, or eating place in Montmartre, Paris, or anywhere in France where we have eaten or drunk together even once.'
'I've never eaten or drunk with you.'
'Very well. You say the first time you met me that extraordinary night I had two men with me. Who were they?'
'I don't know them.'
'Nor do I. Now say quickly, without hesitating, where I told you to meet me with the answer you were to bring back from the hospital, and say whether you mentioned that place to the men who went with you. And if you did not mention it to them, why not?'
No answer.
'Reply, Goldstein. Why don't you reply?'
'I didn't know where to find you.'
Maitre Raymond Hubert: 'So my client sends you on an errand as important as this-he sends you to find out Roland Lepetit's condition, and you did not know where to give him the answer? It is as absurd as it is unbelievable!'
Yes, it was unbelievable all right; but it was even more unbelievable that the whole indictment had been allowed to be built up on the successive accusations of this dreary jerk who, although carefully coached by the pigs, did not even have wits enough to give a quick answer.
The president: 'Charriere, the police claim that you killed Lepetit because he called you an informer. What have you to say to that?'
