The Phantom of Rue Royale (29 page)

Nicolas, as usual, held out his hand as usual, but was brought up short by Sanson’s gaze, at once imperious and pitiful, in which he read a kind of supplication. The three of them watched with a pang in their hearts as Sanson washed his hands at length at a brass fountain. Serene again, he turned to them with a weak smile.

‘Forgive my reserve, it’s been an unusual day …’

‘Which makes us all the more grateful,’ Nicolas said, ‘that you have agreed to devote your talents to this task.’

Sanson waved his hand as if swatting a troublesome fly. Nicolas immediately regretted using the word he had.

‘My talents! If God had only granted me the possibility to devote myself entirely to my talents … But let’s get down to this case of yours.’

‘A new-born child, or a still-born foetus, found in a cellar, wrapped in cloth and buried. Probably several days ago, let’s say between four and eight.’

‘I see. The object of this autopsy is, I assume, to determine if there was infanticide.’

‘That is indeed our purpose, yes.’

‘The first thing we have to do,’ said Sanson, ‘is to ascertain whether the foetus was alive after delivery. I don’t think I need to impress upon you the importance of this question.’

‘Of course not, my dear colleague,’ Semacgus cut in. ‘How, after all, could we suspect that a crime has been committed after birth if it is proved that the child never lived? In such a case, breathing and living are one and the same thing. We therefore have to establish whether or not the foetus ever drew breath.’

‘Otherwise,’ said Bourdeau, in a sententious tone, ‘there’s always the possibility that an abortion was carried out just before term.’

‘Gentlemen,’ resumed Sanson in his gentle voice, ‘the solution to these two pertinent questions rests entirely on an examination of the thorax and the lungs and, if need be, the heart, the arteries and veins, as well as the condition of the umbilical cord and the diaphragm.’

‘Gentlemen, gentlemen,’ cried Nicolas, ‘your words are wise, but your knowledge is greater than mine! Please keep things simple, I beg you, so that I can follow you.’

‘You see, Nicolas,’ said Semacgus, ‘the lungs increase in
volume as they breath. They change position and colour and push up the diaphragm. Their weight increases with the blood that goes through them, but their specific weight decreases when they are dilated by air. I’ll skip over the details and the advanced aspects of the phenomenon. Let’s proceed. As my instrument case is at Vaugirard, the Châtelet surgeon has lent me his – the mere mention of Commissioner Le Floch having worked wonders!’

He pointed to a leather case, which, when opened, glittered in the torchlight. From a black bag, he took a measuring glass. Then he took off his coat, while Sanson removed his bicorn and his ceremonial jacket and Bourdeau lit his pipe. Almost instinctively, Nicolas took a small tobacco pouch from his pocket and watched with horror as the autopsy got under way. An observer could not have failed to see how strongly affected he was by what was happening. These two men, whom he knew all too well, with their qualities, their failings, even their vices, were bustling about in the middle of this squalid cavern, bent over a poor rotting thing, muttering incomprehensible words. He closed his eyes as the tiny organs were extracted, weighed, dissected and examined. At last, after what seemed like an interminable time, the baby’s lungs were placed inside the measuring glass, which was now filled with water. The two men washed their hands, exchanged a few more remarks in low voices, and turned to the commissioner.

‘So, gentlemen,’ said Nicolas, ‘what do you conclude, if there is indeed a conclusion to be drawn from this examination?’

‘The foetus breathed,’ Semacgus replied. ‘We can be sure of that.’

‘And we can rule out the possibility that it was still-born,’ said Sanson.

‘The lungs overall are light red in colour, but weigh less than water.’

‘I understand what you’re saying. But if everything points to the fact that the foetus was alive after its mother gave birth, can you determine if the death was natural, or if it can be ascribed to an act of violence and, if so, what kind of act?’

After a long silence, Sanson folded his hands. ‘We’ve ruled out malformation, which is a common cause of death. The child was normal, and even well formed. We don’t know if the labour was easy or difficult, but there are no signs of imperfection on the body. Nor can we assume asphyxia.’

‘What can we assume, then?’

‘An umbilical haemorrhage. That happens when the cord is not tied immediately. In law, that constitutes infanticide. We think the murderer tied the cord only after letting the blood flow back, to allay suspicion. That would explain why you didn’t find any bloodstained cloths or any traces of blood in the earth where you found the corpse.’

‘That’s horrible,’ said Nicolas.

Semacgus nodded. ‘Yes, it is. But, to a deranged mind, there’s nothing guilty about draining a baby of its blood. The criminal feels that he is letting nature take its course rather than performing a terrible act. For our part, we do indeed consider that infanticide was committed on a baby that had breathed.’

‘Gentlemen, I thank you once again. Before we part, one last service. Bourdeau, did you bring the apothecary’s bottle that was found at the clothes dealer’s?’

The inspector rummaged in his coat pocket and took out the bottle.

‘Would it be possible,’ asked Nicolas, ‘to tell me what it might have contained?’

Semacgus took the bottle, removed the glass stopper and lifted it to his nostrils. He wrinkled his large nose as he breathed in, then handed the bottle to Sanson, who did the same.

‘It’s obvious,’ murmured the hangman.

‘There are still some tiny crystals. With a little water, perhaps …’

Semacgus walked to the fountain and held his finger under the water. Then he let a few drops of it trickle down the inside of the bottle, which he shook and closed again. He asked Bourdeau to light his pipe. When the tobacco glowed red, he placed the bottom of the bottle over it for a few moments.

‘That will help us to extract it.’

He reopened the bottle, breathed in the contents and passed it to Sanson, who nodded.

‘Laudanum.’

‘The sap of the white poppy, a narcotic and a soporific,’ Semacgus explained.

‘Is it dangerous?’ asked Nicolas.

‘It can be. It causes deep sleep, varying in length depending on the quantity absorbed. An excessive amount can be fatal. Repeated misuse can induce a mindless state.’

Semacgus looked at Sanson, who nodded.

‘Obviously,’ Semacgus continued, ‘everything depends on the age and state of health of the person who uses it.’

‘You’ve been very clear, my friends. Your conclusions and
explanations have been most enlightening. I’m going to have to leave you now; my continuing investigation calls me elsewhere. Bourdeau, tomorrow at five o’clock in the afternoon, a hearing will be held
in camera
in Monsieur de Sartine’s courtroom in the presence of the Criminal Lieutenant. I want you to make sure Naganda and Miette are there. It would be good if Marie Chaffoureau, the cook, could also attend.’

‘Nicolas,’ said Semacgus, ‘what would you say to a meal at one of those cheap eating houses Bourdeau is so fond of?’

‘Cheap perhaps,’ replied Bourdeau, offended, ‘but the food is good. As you yourself should know from experience, Doctor.’

‘Of course. Don’t take my words in the wrong way. I am grateful to you, and so is my stomach. Well, Nicolas?’

‘A nice thought, Semacgus, but time is short. There’s someone I have to track down before it gets dark. If I leave it any later, it’ll be the devil’s own job to find him before dawn.’

Nicolas held out his hand to Sanson, who this time shook it without hesitation. In the doorway, he turned and reminded Semacgus and Bourdeau that he was counting on them to be present at the hearing the following day. It was only with difficulty that he found his coachman, who had gone to have something to eat and then, exhausted, had fallen asleep with his face in his plate. An errand boy was sent to fetch him, and took advantage of the opportunity to scold him, to which the
coachman
responded by threatening him with the lash as punishment for his insolence. Nicolas’s composed presence restored calm. The carriage set off for Rue Saint-Honoré.

Nicolas needed to check something with the Galaines’ cook. He was not especially surprised that infanticide had been
confirmed. As for the bottle, which he could feel in his pocket, the fact that it had been taken away and left with the clothes dealer was obviously significant. It was as plain as the nose on his face that there was a connection between the contents of the bottle and the strange state of which Naganda had complained. On the other hand, what credence could be given to a witness who it was now clear had been lying, concealing facts and misrepresenting his own actions, without giving a detailed account of his
whereabouts
on the night of the murder? The Deux Castors soon came within sight. The cook opened the door to him and, doubtless deprived of anyone to talk to since dawn, was soon chatting away freely.

It was not easy, she explained, to look after a little girl who was so advanced for her age, who did not answer the questions you asked her, but fired off others of her own that were a lot more annoying. She reminded the cook of her aunts at that age. Of course, Camille and Charlotte were not as clever and one of them had taken years to learn how to tie a knot, in fact she still couldn’t do it except by tying it upside down. Nicolas let her talk, without showing the slightest sign of impatience. He only interrupted her when she mentioned that, early in the morning, when the child was finding it impossible to sleep after that dreadful night, the thought of which still terrified her, she’d had to serve her a little sugared milk with a good spoonful of orange-blossom water. It was the perfect remedy for calming you down and putting you to sleep, a remedy used by her aunts, who got their supplies from a neighbourhood apothecary. He asked to see the bottle. It was in every way identical to the one found at the second-hand clothes dealer’s. As it did not have a label, though, there was nothing to
indicate that it had not been bought from another source. He asked which of the two sisters in particular used this medication. Marie Chaffoureau assured him it was Camille, the younger. He recorded this fact in his little notebook, having observed that such apparently insignificant details were easily forgotten. Nicolas thanked the cook and asked her to be present at the Grand Châtelet the following day. This seemed to upset her. She was worried about leaving Geneviève alone in the house. It wasn’t really a problem, he said – in fact, all things considered, it might be useful for the child to be there, too. He promised to send a carriage, and once again thanked the cook for the omelette the previous Saturday.

Thanks to the directions he had been given, he had no difficulty in finding the apothecary’s shop patronised by the Galaine family. It was only a short distance away, at the corner of Rue de la Sourdière and Rue Saint-Honoré. When he opened the door, a distant bell rang. The shop seemed huge. In the middle stood a monumental counter of carved wood. Shelves covered the walls all the way up to the ceiling, supporting rows of containers, in particular a number of richly decorated porcelain vases bearing inscriptions in Latin. There were other vases in ivory, marble, jasper, alabaster and coloured glass. After some minutes, a short man in his fifties appeared, dressed in black silk serge and wearing a powdered grey wig. Beneath thick eyebrows dyed black, his little blue eyes stared at Nicolas without expression.

‘What can I do for you, Monsieur? I’m sorry I kept you waiting, I was supervising an assistant who was gilding the pills.
2
It’s a delicate operation that demands all my attention.’

‘That’s quite all right. Nicolas Le Floch, police commissioner at the Châtelet. I wonder if you’d be so kind as to provide me with some information that could be useful in an investigation I am conducting.’

The man’s eyes lit up. ‘Clerambourg, master apothecary, at your service. I did hear of some problems in the house of one of my neighbours, a master furrier named …’ His tone suggested that this was an observation he would rather not have had to make. ‘But you’re not in your robes?’

‘Oh, no, you’re not a suspect. We’re just having a friendly conversation. There’s something I’d like to check.’

‘And what is that, Monsieur?’

Nicolas took the bottle from his pocket and handed it to the apothecary, who held it between two fingers, as if it were a poisonous animal. ‘Well, Commissioner?’

‘Well, does this bottle come from your shop?’

‘I assume someone has told you it does.’

Nicolas made no reply to this.

The apothecary turned the bottle over. ‘I think it is one of ours.’

‘Could you be more precise?’

‘Of course. It’s one of a series of bottles that are specially blown for me. They have a little bulge in the glass. They’re
unmistakable
; you won’t find them among any of my competitors.’

‘And what’s the point of this little bulge?’

‘That’s the thing, Commissioner … I use this kind of bottle for delicate products which can be dangerous when used internally.’

‘But aren’t such products only used after a detailed
consultation between the doctor and the apothecary, resulting in a prescription, after which the medicine is made up and delivered to the patient by one of your assistants?’

‘That is the way it’s usually done, yes. However, the patients often demand these dangerous products themselves … and business is business. And, what’s more, we’re not the only ones to supply them. The grocers’ – his tone had become sharp and acrimonious – ‘also claim the right to deal in our preparations. They sell products that are just as dangerous, even deadly. We’ve been pursuing them through the royal courts for years.’

Nicolas interrupted him. ‘I understand. As for this bottle, what did it contain and who bought it from you, if your memory can stretch that far?’

‘The last purchase made by the Galaine family – I assume that’s who we’re talking about – was a product which is of no particular danger when used sensibly and in moderation.’