‘But he was always conscious of who she should marry?’ he asked.
‘Ah oui. He wanted Angèle-Marie to have a good match. Position, enough money and all the rest. A foolish thought, of course, for life is seldom so kind.’
‘Others shamefully mated with her, Inspector, and because of this, Alexandre knew no peace and vowed he would punish them for the rest of his life. Many times I implored him to go to the police. He said too much time had elapsed and that, you will forgive me, the police seldom cared about young girls being deflowered against their will and would only accuse her of seducing her attackers.’
‘His queen had flown, and several drones had mated with her, Inspector. It’s what would have happened quite naturally among the bees, only the queen would have ripped out the parties sensibles of each of them on completion of their coupling.’
‘They’d have died,’ said Vallée, clearly uncomfortable at discussing such things.
‘And Danielle?’ asked St-Cyr. ‘Did he feel the same about her?’
Bees now covered Mme Roulleau’s finger, the woman watching them with keen interest. ‘Danielle,’ she softly said. ‘Danielle and Étienne.’
‘Alexandre feared those two were far too close,’ muttered Vallée fidgeting uncomfortably. ‘He always regretted that he’d had to give Étienne the family name. “That boy is useless,” he would often say, “yet Danielle, who should know better, will have nothing said against him.”‘
‘An artist, a sculptor … She posed for him, I gather.’
‘Posed?’ snorted Mme Roulleau. ‘As mannequins will before the artists who hire them. Toute nue and without even a feather!’
‘But as a child of three or four, and surely not since then?’
‘Not since this war and the Defeat took him away,’ huffed the woman. ‘But who am I to say what went on in that country house where the boy lived alone and she went regularly and often stayed for nights on end until Alexandre was forced to fetch her home?’
‘Étienneand he fought, of course,’ said Vallée. ‘The boy hated his stepfather. Ah! it was not good, Inspector. A girl of fifteen in 1939 …’
‘Alexandre was certain the boy had designs on her,’ swore Mme Roulleau. ‘Certain, too, that he did not want Danielle taking after her mother!’
‘Did he know of his wife’s attempts to have her son released?’ hazarded St-Cyr.
‘Know of them?’ seethed the woman. ‘He refused absolutely to let her do so.’
‘He despised that wife of his, Inspector. He knew she had begged this German, this Schlacht to intercede on her son’s behalf.’
‘And if the boy had returned?’
‘Alexandre would not have let him enter his house and …’
‘Captain, please continue. It’s important,’ urged St-Cyr.
Vallée looked to Madame Roulleau for guidance and saw her nod. ‘Inspector, Alexandre vowed he would go to the authorities and accuse the boy of being among the terrorists. He even swore he could find evidence enough to have him shot.’
‘What evidence, please?’
Afraid of speaking about such things, Vallée nervously glanced at the guards who were standing some distance from them. ‘My service revolver. Though I had asked him to do so for me, Alexandre never turned it in when we were demobilized. “I might need it some day,” he always claimed. “Leroux or one of the others might try to do something.”’
The custodian …
The Inspector did not ask where the revolver was hidden, but rather, thought Mme Roulleau, if Danielle would have access to it.
‘For this you must ask her,’ she said, and placing the opened jar among some primroses, patiently removed the bees from her finger, tut-tutting when they insisted on returning to it. ‘Or perhaps Madame de Bonnevies might know. A wife always has the keys to the house, Inspector, even if she claims not to, and Alexandre was often away on his rounds.’
‘He kept that study of his locked.’
‘Of course, but perhaps it was only locked to some and not to others?’ offered the woman. ‘Juliette de Goncourt was, and still is, très belle, très adorable, n’est-ce pas? One of the Saint-Honoré crowd, that also of the Sorbonne and things I know little of. But when it comes to a pregnancy out of wedlock, one shopkeeper’s daughter is the same as another, no matter the class of shop. The boy responsible refused to marry her and daily poor Monsieur de Goncourt would look at her growing belly and wince!’
‘It’s not the past that I want at the moment, mes amis, but the present. Could the mother of that boy have paid to have her illegitimate grandson freed?’
‘Mon Dieu, what is this, Inspector?’ exclaimed Mme Roulleau.
‘It’s just a thought.’
‘Then who, please, was the father of that bastard of hers?’
‘That sculptor, madame,’ chided Vallée uncomfortably. ‘The boy is talented. Even though Alexandre would never acknowledge this, I myself happened to see some of his work in a gallery before the Defeat and was much taken with it and surprised.’
‘Who, Inspector? Was it Henri-Christophe de Trouvelot? I’ve long considered this matter, though of course such circles were not mine to question.’
‘It’s confidential.’
‘And when you catch the killer?’ she hazarded.
‘Perhaps then Mme de Bonnevies will no longer care.’
‘But it is only to you that she gives a secret she has guarded all these years?’ muttered Madame Roulleau, concluding that she’d been right all along. Yes, right! ‘What reason, please, did she have for suddenly breaking a vow she had kept even from the Père Michel, her confessor?’
‘Has the boy been released, Inspector?’ asked Vallée. ‘If so, then God forgive me for saying it, but there is your poisoner.’
‘And Madame de Bonnevies must, if she doesn’t already know what the boy did, be thinking it,’ said Madame Roulleau.
‘And Danielle?’ asked St-Cyr.
‘Danielle?’ leapt the woman. ‘Oh for sure the girl would worry about such a thing, should the half-brother have come home, but she loved her father dearly and worked constantly with him. She would never have …’
‘Well, what is it?’ asked St-Cyr.
It made her sad to have to say it. ‘Alexandre would most certainly have told her what he intended to do if … if the boy was released. She’d have been terribly hurt — he was never one to let the feelings of others intrude once his mind was made up. But as for Danielle trying to stop him in such a way, ah no. No, I can’t believe it.’
But she would consider the matter, thought St-Cyr and said, ‘Then let us move on to Monsieur de Saussine and his associates.’
‘Who had every reason to kill him,’ hissed the woman, ‘and who knew exactly how to do it!’
‘Alexandre always considered M. de Saussine to be beneath him, Inspector,’ confided Vallée. ‘A student to whom he had devoted considerable energy, and had helped to become established, but a great disappointment. Not dedicated enough, he’d say. Too greedy.’
‘Too cavalier. Monsieur de Saussine had little interest in selective breeding to produce disease-resistant stocks, Inspector, and was more interested in selling his queens which he shipped to beekeepers in competition with Alexandre.’
‘Disease-free queens?’
‘Ah!’ clucked the woman. ‘How could they have been in times like these? AJexandre would never do such a thing, no matter the circumstance, and had sent notices out to warn others, even though Monsieur de Saussine threatened legal action.’
‘And Messieurs Jourdan and Richeaux?’
‘Are like most politicians, simply front men for others. The one has been placed in a position of power by his friends so as to be used by them. But always, as in a hive, there are parasites to guard against and battle.’
‘Alexandre knew M. de Saussine was a threat, Inspector, and feared he would convince Herr Schlacht to take serious measures against him.’