Floats the Dark Shadow (42 page)

“No, we will not. Too much is at stake.” Meeting her accusing glare, he asked, “Will you give me your word?”

Which meant he would trust her to keep it. Quashing the struggle within, Theo finally agreed. “I will not go see the Pommiers for a day.” No matter what Michel said, she was still afraid the police would imply Averill’s guilt, subtly or blatantly. But her own explanation could slant their view of events in unpredictable ways. Trying to convince them of Averill’s innocence might do the opposite. And Theo had a more important mission to accomplish tomorrow—she must go to Averill’s parents.

Inspecteur Ganet came back with a young officer. He bowed stiffly. “I am Inspecteur Rogier, mademoiselle. Please follow me. We have carriages waiting beyond the gate.”

“I have one.” It came out a croak. She had to clear her throat and repeat the words. “It’s not far.”

“It may have left when the Black Marias appeared,” Ganet said to her.

“Perhaps.” Theo gave a helpless gesture. What did it matter?

Michel laid a hand on her arm. “One of the carriages will be there, yours or ours. But you must leave now, Mlle. Faraday.”

She pulled away from him and watched, despairing, as the Black Maria holding Averill drove off into the night. Was he guilty after all?

No! She could not believe it. Would not believe it.

Was she wrong to listen to her heart?

Overhead the moon mocked her with its evil smile.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Ah! What an infamous thing is prison! It exudes a poison that assails all within its pestilential reach.

~ Victor Hugo

MICHEL watched as Rogier led Theo Faraday toward the carriages. Pausing at the gate, she turned and looked back. The faint candlelight caught the gleam of tears on her face. Her pain fed his anger against Charron. Michel forced himself to rein it in. Turning back to Ganet, he said. “After their joy at Ninette’s return subsides, you will need to question the parents. See if you can confirm Monsieur Noret’s claim with Madame Pommier—discreetly. I doubt it’s a ruse, but it must be checked.”

“It will take some time. Little Ninette will be all they’re thinking about. They’re sure to summon a doctor to tend her.”

“Undoubtedly,” Michel agreed. “Aside from being drugged, I don’t believe she was hurt or molested, but they will need to assure themselves.”

“And the fearful memory may work its own evil on Mlle. Ninette,” Ganet said.

“Yes,” Michel agreed. “If she recovers her senses while you are there, find out what you can from her—gently. She may be too frightened to talk, but the fresher her memories are, the better for gathering evidence.”

“How much can I reveal about tonight?”

Michel frowned. “Be ambiguous for the moment. You can say that some of the Revenants organized their own rescue effort. Those who went in disguise to the Black Mass have been arrested with the others but will probably be released.”

“But first they must be cleared of any suspicion.”

“Exactly.”

Rogier had returned with a carriage and was beckoning the other passengers. Michel sent Ganet to gather Ninette. Noret looked devastated to part with her but relinquished her to Ganet’s arms. Noret’s presence seemed to have calmed her, for she had fallen asleep. Ganet murmured to her anyway, comforting her as he carried her to the carriage that would take her home to Montmartre, along with Theo Faraday. Michel hoped she would heed his wishes and stay out of trouble for a day.

Rambert came up to him. “Corbeau is not among the prisoners.”

“He might have been waiting in a carriage he borrowed or stole.”

“To take the girl away after—for worse than this spectacle.” Fuming, Rambert returned to help the final loading of the prisoners.

Michel was confused by all the scattered pieces that did not fit the puzzle. Had Corbeau fled Paris, or was he still here? Had he stolen the children for Averill? For Vipèrine? For both?

Michel shifted the pieces about as he finished securing the scene. Three men would remain on guard until morning when more evidence would be collected and the chapel and crypt photographed. Rambert was still agitated, so Michel sent him off in the last Black Maria. He got in the remaining carriage, where the prison doctor waited with Paul Noret. Dr. Foquet had agreed to remove the bullet in the prison infirmary. Michel didn’t plan to arrest Noret, but it would do no harm to let him assume so.

The driver took off at a brisk pace. Noret winced with pain whenever the carriage joggled. “You’re lucky Mlle. Faraday shot you in the leg,” Michel said. “My men might have put a bullet through your heart.”

“At the time, I did not care,” Noret replied. “But I shall thank Miss Faraday when next I see her.”

“How did you know where to come?”

“Jules Loisel told me.”

Were all the Revenants dabblers in evil? So it seemed. But which one drank the dark liquor to the dregs? “And how did Monsieur Loisel know?”

“He was an acolyte of the foul serpent I tried to shoot. Jules wanted to be involved in the Black Mass.”

“As Monsieur Charron did, to inspire a poem?” Sarcasm drenched the question.

Noret grew agitated. “I should not have spit on Averill. If he was trying to rescue Ninette….”

“If,” Michel repeated.

Noret looked at him intently. “You doubt him?”

“It is my business to doubt.” They rode in silence for a moment, the murkiness of the night like a funeral pall over the carriage. “Tell me more about Jules Loisel’s connection.”

“It was not just for his poetry. He has a rejected lover’s longing and hatred for the Catholic Church. Vipèrine asked him to conduct the Black Mass. Such a violation was irresistible.”

“But he did not carry through with the plan,” Michel noted.

“Not when he saw Ninette.” Noret adjusted the pad absorbing the blood of his wound, giving a low hiss at the pain.

“Yet Vipèrine dared to choose a girl Loisel knew. Why did he risk it?” Michel asked.

“Vipèrine thought Jules was jealous—that he wanted Ninette for himself,” Noret answered. “Lately I’d begged off critiquing Jules’ poems for the chance to visit her. He complained of my neglect to Vipèrine, who misinterpreted his anger.”

“Did Vipèrine have anything against you in particular?”

“He thinks he is the new Rimbaud because he spews garbage from his filthy brain without censure. But he has no rhythm, no image that is not stolen from a better poet, no unique thoughts. I refused everything he submitted to the first
Le Revenant
. He did not try again, but whenever I see him, he regards me with hatred.”

“He would kidnap your child because you refused his poems?”

“You underestimate his ego, Inspecteur, and his malice.”

“Apparently.” Michel was stunned, but revenge was always a motive, even such a bizarre revenge. Vipèrine had proved he could indulge in obscene cruelty whether or not he was playing at Gilles de Rais.

Noret shifted and winced with pain. He sucked in a breath, then went on. “At first, Jules thought I was smitten, that I had seduced Ninette or was trying to do so. I was furious and made some comment about not seducing innocent virgins. Jules said that women are all daughters of Eve, often most wicked when they appear most innocent. That he knew better than I the deceptions of which they were capable.”

Noret stopped, struggling with his anger at the memory. Michel remembered a piece of his interview with Loisel in the morgue. “He admitted that he was dismissed from the seminary because of a woman.”

“Yes. Guilty or not, he blames the woman for his fall,” Noret said.

“Did you tell him that Ninette was your daughter?”

Noret shook his head. “Not then. Jules railed about our argument to Vipèrine. The creature was on the hunt for a virgin to despoil. He thought that Jules would relish the corrupt ceremony even more if it was mutual revenge. But he did not warn him of the plan before he brought her to the chapel. Even Jules could not accuse a kidnapped child of being a seductress worthy of such defilement. Instead, he rebelled and came to me.”

“But not to the police.”

“He was frightened to have stumbled so far down the path of evil,” Noret said.

Michel remembered their previous confrontation. “It seems no one is beyond good and evil when it comes to your child.”

“Tonight I am only a father. Perhaps tomorrow you can question the anarchist poet.”

Michel much preferred the father. “Jules came to warn you,” he prompted.

“I told him then she was my daughter. He was horrified at what he’d done.”

As with Charron, perhaps Loisel’s tale was the truth, perhaps only the disguise for the ultimate lie. Gilles de Rais had been fervent in his love and hatred of God. Jules Loisel was a tormented religious reject. Could that rejection have set him on this murderous trail? Was his confession only some complicated subterfuge? Implicated in the slaughter of innocents, Loisel might have seen a way out. Knowing Noret loved the girl, for whatever reason, Jules might suspect Noret would commit a vengeful murder. If it had worked it would have been very tidy. Vipèrine would be both implicated and silenced. If that was the plan, was Jules Loisel only Vipèrine’s accomplice, or was he the mastermind?

“Did Jules know you owned a gun?” he asked Noret.

Noret hesitated. “Yes.”

Michel frowned. Even if Loisel possessed that crucial knowledge, the theory was flawed. The outcome could not be predicted. He might never have found Noret, who had been searching for Ninette. Was Loisel that desperate? Why not do as Averill Charron claimed and pretend to rescue the girl? If he had summoned the police, he could have killed Vipèrine himself and played the hero.

And Vipèrine—was he playing puppet master to the Revenants? Was he grasping as many strings as he could lay hold to and dancing them about, just to sweeten his revenge on Noret? He did not need to be the killer to play such a game, only the snake he was.

The Black Marias had a head start, but the carriage was swift and pulled into the Dépôt while they were still unloading the prisoners. Michel and the doctor helped Noret descend. “I will need to confirm what you’ve told me with Jules Loisel. I will not place you under arrest—unless you attempt to leave before that happens.”

“I am in Limbo? Very well.” Noret gave him a sardonic smile, followed by another wince. “Jules talked of making his way back to Normandy and begging the seminary for forgiveness. Frankly, I never wanted to see him again and gave him enough for train fare.”

“We will find him.”

“I hope you do so swiftly,” Noret said. He was able to walk, albeit painfully, and Michel watched him make his way toward the infirmary with Dr. Foquet. He would have to confirm this latest piece of the story. He remembered Noret’s hesitation when he mentioned the gun. Could Jules be dead and buried already? Given Noret’s rage, it was possible—but not probable. Looking around, he picked out an officer to send to Loisel’s pathetic hovel in Montparnasse. “Bring him in for questioning. If he is not there, try the Gare Saint-Lazare.”

After the man was on his way, Michel took a deep breath. His brain was swarming with conjecture. He needed to choose a path and follow it. He went into the Dépôt, its anteroom crammed with his prisoners. This late at night they would be searched, then held in a gloomy waiting room until morning. Before he left for the raid, Michel had spoken to the officer on duty and made sure that there would be enough cells available to question the prisoners. His prime suspects were still waiting to be searched, so he had them moved forward. When Vipèrine went behind the curtain, Michel looked around for Rambert. He and some of his other men were bragging about the raid with the prison guards, justly proud of their success. Briefly, Michel considered changing the interrogation, as there was no question that Vipèrine was involved in the abduction. But despite the emblematic blue beard, Michel doubted Vipèrine was Gilles. He puzzled over why and decided that it was the man’s attachment to the serpentine character he’d created. There was no particular logic to his belief—such a flamboyant persona could be chosen to cover an even more profane identity—but Michel had at least clarified his misgivings.

Along with that, Michel felt Rambert was too blunt to interrogate Charron effectively whereas Vipèrine was sly but not subtle. And the blow Rambert had inflicted earlier was as likely to silence Charron as to make him talk. But Charron was already used to engaging Michel verbally. With luck his prisoner would be unable to resist explaining himself. Revealing himself. His decision made, Michel took Rambert aside and conveyed the information that had been gleaned on the carriage ride. “Vipèrine may refuse to speak. If he does, take care not to lead him. He’s not to be trusted. He will try to play to what you want to hear—either for or against. But do see what he says about his relationship to the Revenants.”

“I’ll ask about Loisel.” Rambert hesitated. “But you do think Charron is our man? Charron and the viper did it together?”

Michel frowned. He suspected Rambert wanted justification for having struck Charron. He wanted to answer honestly, but it was always unwise to commit before all the facts had been gathered. And even facts had been known to deceive. “I think he is the most likely suspect but certainly not the only one.”