The Art of Murder (11 page)

Merde! But Levain was right. He just
couldn’t do it. He trusted his instincts far more than all of their
statements, all of the evidence, and all that had been learned so
far.

“
Very well, then. Murder it
is.” Gilles reached for the phone.

“
Is it just that simple,
Inspector?” Levain was astonished.

Gilles ignored him.

He could forestall higher authority and
make them sweat a little for a change.

“
What are we doing,
boss?”

“
I’m going to ask
Jean-Baptiste to see if we can get a search warrant on the Duval
house and holdings.”

“
But we can’t do that! What
is he supposed to tell them? What grounds?”

“
I want to make a big fuss
over that missing key.” Levain’s jaw dropped even further upon
hearing this.

“
And the fact that the gun
was once kept in the safe, and ended up in the desk?”

“
Yes, we can throw that in
as well.”

Levain nodded thoughtfully. There were
still possibilities. It would look like they were doing
something.

“
And now, get Henri or
Joseph, or somebody, I don’t care who, to bring the car around. We
have an appointment.”

As Gilles waited for Chiappe, Andre
reached for his own phone.

Chapter Seven

The art and science of
hypnotism

Hypnotism had been around
since the early 1700s. They had looked it up before coming here.
Now the author of
The Art and Science of
Hypnotism
sat before them, expounding on
his craft.

“
Three forms of hypnotic
somnambulism are distinguished clinically. These include classical
somnambulism in patients with hysterical neurosis on a
juvenile-unstable basis, sensual-lucid somnambulism in patients
with hysterical neurosis on a primitive personality basis, and
sensual-split somnambulism in patients with pseudo-neurotic
schizophrenia with a hysteroid clinical picture. The differential
diagnostic importance of such forms of somnambulism is stressed in
all the literature.”

Without any idea of what to expect, it
was a letdown but also revealing that the office was decorated and
furnished like any other professional’s, whether doctor, lawyer, or
some other type of consultant.

“
And you say that hypnosis
really doesn’t involve mental illness, nor cause any lasting
chemical or structural changes to the brain? It is a phenomena
completely unrelated?” Gilles listened carefully, wondering if he
was even competent to ask a proper question. “Well, I can see why
you wrote the book on it.”

“
Essentially, that is
correct.” The Great Swami, an American whose real name, Edward
Cole, was all over the passport and professional documents he had
provided, was a showman but also a scientist in his own
way.

He had to thoroughly understand the
medium, which involved heavy audience participation in terms of
individual but also group consciousness, and he had to understand
his art, which Gilles took to be one of misdirection.

“
The trance state is
primarily a physiological state, which alters the state of
consciousness, rather than a transcendental state, where I sort of
impose my will upon yours. In purely psychological terms, most
subjects actually do resist the trance, at least at first. It is
not a magical spell, not in any sense of the word. The fact that
popular ignorance often prefers this view is no concern of mine. It
actually makes my job easier. The public performance is a show,
after all. The subjects participate by choice, at some conscious
level, for the practitioner has made them comfortable, relaxed, and
they feel safe in letting go. They often believe the audience will
keep them safe enough, at least onstage.”

“
So you’re a real doctor,
then?” Levain stumbled along as he tried to make notes, knowing he
would never be able to reconstruct all of this later from the
squiggles in his notebook.

“
Oh, absolutely, I am a
doctor, yes. But I am so much more than that.” The Great Swami
nodded complacently. “I am also an avatar of Shiva, but that is
beside the point.”

Gilles coughed politely, sure it was a
joke. He was as stumped as Levain.

“
Totally off the record,
none of your subjects are plants?”

Cole grinned.

“
Never, although that is a
common misconception.”

Gilles wondered whether to believe him
or not.

“
So you liked my book?”
Gilles wondered at the insecurity of the vain, or was it just the
writers.

“
Yes, I couldn’t put it
down. I stayed up all Saturday night to read it.”

The Great Swami beamed at the
statement.

“
I’d be happy to sign it for
you.”

“
No, that’s quite all right,
besides, it may be evidence in a homicide. But you may have
misunderstood my question.”

“
Not at all, Inspector, but
there are no easy answers. The classical feeling, the belief among
professionals, is that it is impossible to induce a person through
a hypnotic trance, to do or perform some act of which they are
fundamentally incapable, or which they have no real need to do.
They must be predisposed to it, and even then I believe, and many
experts believe, that to over-ride a person’s natural sense of
caution, or consequence if you will, the basic instinct for
self-preservation at all costs, makes the task impossible. The
organism would react where the whole was threatened.”

“
You mean it is impossible
to over-rule the subconscious mind?” This was the meat Gilles was
looking for.

“
Something like that.” The
Swami, who looked like a perfectly ordinary person in the quiet
comfort of his office, was trying to be helpful, but unfortunately
they could only tell him so much. “There is perhaps one exception,
which I deal with in chapter nineteen.”

“
Oh…oh, ah...” Gilles
thought furiously. “Yes. Group consciousness. With a large enough
sample you believe anything is possible?”

The sound of Andre’s pencil overwhelmed
the brief silence as The Great Swami gave him a look. They were
serious.

“
I believe that crowd
psychology, and a kind of mass hypnotism, is likely more effective
than attempting to suborn a single individual, considering the mass
media and its reach and influence in modern society. Bear in mind
the results would be general rather than pin-point.”

Gilles wondered if the Great Swami had
ever been consulted by the government, but he didn’t think so or
the man would have mentioned it. Also, he was unlikely to say
anything that was too controversial, or likely to be contradicted
by any other competent practitioner. That much was self-evident, in
fact a common element with the lesser breed of expert
witnesses.

“
What about quitting
tobacco?” Levain’s shrugged at Gilles’ inquiring glance. “Why not,
Inspector? We might as well ask, now that we have him.”

A feeble grin escaped Maintenon. He had
been expecting a fast-talking charlatan, a real shyster, and the
man was nothing like expected.

“
I might be able to help you
quit smoking. It’s a long process, and it is by no means certain.
Nicotine is one of the most addictive substances known to man. It’s
a hard habit to break, and that’s just the truth. As far as
convincing someone to commit a serious crime, let alone murder, in
my opinion, it cannot be done. It would be harder, or at least take
more time, than getting them to quit smoking.”

“
And how do you feel about
your book being found at a crime scene?” Gilles was
floundering.

“
It sold hundreds of copies
world-wide. I suppose I should be pleased, or something.” He
settled back in the deeply-padded leather chair and crossed his
fingers on his belly. “I’m flattered, really.”

There was an air of resignation in this
statement. He must have had high hopes for it.

“
Yes, I see your point.
Well, thank you for your time.” They rose for the obligatory round
of hand-shaking and back-slapping.

Doctors were all the same in his
opinion, although the fact that the Great Swami was a real doctor,
with all kinds of degrees hung up on the wall, was of some
anecdotal interest. The thing was, now he’d have to put a man on
verifying the degrees were real. He probably made more money from
all the quackery or perhaps the richer or more foolish people were
more willing to pay good money for it. Judging by the house, he
seemed to be doing all right, and had never heard of Theo Duval
other than reading something about him in the paper.

His game seemed to consist of a lot of
listening and a lot of talking, in about equal amounts. Maybe their
jobs had more in common than he cared to admit.

***

“
Oh, Lord, where did you get
that?” Leblanc was nothing like Gilles had expected. “When you
called, I was expecting a newspaper clipping. I thought you should
be able to get some information from them…”

Leblanc was much more interested now,
and his attitude changed to one much more amiable. He had a lean,
hawkish face with intellect written all over the eyes and brow, and
a firm but sensual mouth.

“
Yes, I remember taking
that. Twenty francs or something. I was hungry back then. The game
was a simple one. I approached people, asked permission, and took
their picture. I gave out a business card, and the people would
contact me if they wanted a print.”

He studied the photo of Duval and the
young woman with more than professional interest.

Where he was expecting artistic
flamboyance, Gilles found professional confidence, and if he was
expecting turgid, incoherent theories, he wasn’t going to get it.
Leblanc was renowned for his social commentary, and he reputedly
had an encyclopedic memory of his subjects over the
years.

“
That’s Theo Duval and
Elmira Dobbs. Ah, let me think. It was maybe October of twenty-two.
I’m not sure if she’s still around, or what.”

“
Where was it
taken?”

“
The White Hart, it’s in
Montmartre. I might have their card in my file.” Leblanc pressed a
button and his secretary appeared in the doorway. “Please have a
look and see if there’s anything in the files on the White Hart, a
club in Montmartre.”

She left on her errand and he looked at
them with several obvious questions written all over
him.

“
It’s owned by a fellow by
the name of Marcel. He’s all right to talk to, as long as you
reassure him with a few coloured bits of paper.” Leblanc rubbed his
fingers together in a universal gesture. “If he thinks you’re the
vice cops, or after any of his regular customers, he’ll clam right
up.”

“
This photograph is
different.”

“
All of my photographs are
different.”

“
Yes, of course. But what is
your philosophy of creativity, for surely that is what it
is?”

“
My pictures say exactly
what I intend them to say. They are created, not captured. They are
candid, not posed. What this implies is that I must take a lot of
pictures, most of which never see the light of day. My pictures
reveal what the eye cannot see. My camera looks deeper than you can
ever know, for it sees inside, to the person who hides within. We
all wear a mask in this society. You must have figured that out by
now.”

There was a silence as the gentleman
assessed them. They sat there, impervious behind their professional
masks, figuratively speaking, and he grinned engagingly.

“
There is a new interest in
social criticism in general, and in my work, a deeper examination
of character. I’m not that interested in pretty pictures. I work in
an intimate key pervaded by a subtle vein of decadence. The old
ideas are no longer valid, and the current of escapism in modern
life is strong. There is a mood of sensual restlessness and
insecurity in the world today, and many doubts about established
values. This is a good time to be an artist.”

“
I see.” Gilles most
assuredly did not see, however, it was refreshing to get some
temperament from the man, otherwise he would not be the person he
was, which was a very successful and well-regarded artist and
entrepreneur. “Andre?”

“
I have no more questions,
Inspector.” Andre spread his hands palms up in the universal
gesture for helplessness, which was not surprising, given the last
answer.

“
When was the last time you
saw either of them?”

“
Ah, I might have seen them
around at various clubs, although not together anymore. I don’t
think she lasted long, maybe a few weeks or so.”

“
So Monsieur Duval was a
player?”

“
That’s one way of saying
it.” Leblanc thought for a moment. “Theo wasn’t into trophies, or
carving notches on his bed-post, if that’s what you
mean.”

He thought some more.

“
She, on the other hand,
might have had an agenda. That would have turned him off quicker
than anything.”