‘It was vengeance,’ Pel said. ‘Plain, ordinary, common or garden vengeance. We caught the right murderer, but for committing the wrong murder.’
He paused and began to toy unenthusiastically with his little cigarette-rolling gadget. ‘All the same,’ he said, ‘he’ll pay the penalty. It was a pity for him Vallois-Dot got the wind up and wanted to give it all away.’
Darcy offered a Gauloise. Pel stared at it, then at the little gadget in his hands.
‘Go on, Patron,’ Darcy urged. ‘Be a devil.’
Pel stared a moment longer, then he tossed the cigarette roller into the waste-paper basket and took a Gauloise. Lighting it, he blew out a cloud of smoke like the Riviera Express coming into the Gare de Lyon, and went on.
‘They jumped to the conclusion,’ he said, ‘that because Gestert was a German and resembled Geistardt, that he was Geistardt. Especially when he showed himself interested in the woods at Bussy-la-Fontaine.’ He drew a deep breath. ‘However, we’ve also caught St Etienne’s bank robbers and we’ve got the murderer of Madame Matajcek – at least, we have when he comes round. And finally, we found out who’d been robbing the chicken houses. The Chief’s delighted about that, so it’s not been a bad day’s work.’
Darcy studied him. ‘How did you fall on Massu, Patron?’ he asked.
Pel rubbed his nose. ‘I didn’t,’ he said. ‘But when I saw his file, the whole lot came together. The meridional colouring, all the links to the Louhalle woman. He probably even looked like her. He was certainly sturdy like her, quick-tempered and free with his hands. That’s why he wouldn’t take me to see Madame Foing. He thought she might recognise his mother in him. Especially as I was going to see her about her.’
He paused, drawing at the Gauloise and coughing as if he were consumptive. ‘When I saw his mother’s name in his file, it hit me between the eyes.’ He struck himself on the forehead with the flat of his hand. ‘So I kept him busy writing a report while I got the Lab to examine his van. It had a slit in the tyre that matched the plaster cast Misset took, and they found traces of blood inside of the same group as Gestert’s. And, of course, there were fingerprints all over it that matched the unidentified ones on Vallois-Dot’s car and the car at Rivière-Française.’
‘Was he after the swag from the de Mougy place, too, Patron?’ Pel shook his head. ‘I doubt if he was even interested.’ He drew deeply on the cigarette. ‘He was clever,’ he went on. ‘He was banking on the fact that, while we’d check every weapon we could find, we wouldn’t check police weapons. Any more than we’d check police vehicles. And we didn’t.’
‘And Vallois-Dot?’
‘He was going to throw himself on our mercy with the information that they’d got rid of a murderer of innocent Frenchmen. That was something that had burned in Massu’s brain from the day he was old enough to understand. His mother was a heroine and the Germans had tortured her. No wonder he was always walloping old Bique à Poux. He thought he was a German, too.’ Pel stubbed out the Gauloise and, while Darcy was absorbed in the story and unlikely to notice, hurriedly helped himself to another. ‘It was the file,’ he said again. ‘The confirmation and the reason were there, in this building all the time. Father: Unknown. Mother: Dominique Louhalle. If he’d thought about it, he’d probably have stolen it. If we’d known, he might still have got away with it. His mother was known as a Resistance fighter and if his victim had been Geistardt – even if we’d thought his victim was Geistardt – his counsel could have pleaded provocation and the court might well have accepted it. Until he murdered Vallois-Dot, that is.’
Darcy frowned. ‘But why did he never claim the Louhalle woman as his mother, Patron? Surely he could have been proud of her.’
‘Could he? As a mother?’ Pel shrugged. ‘Perhaps he didn’t fancy acknowledging the fact that she was a tart and he was the by-blow from a night’s entertainment.’
‘Poor bastard.’ Darcy realised what he’d said and gave a twisted grin. ‘And that little business in the wood?’
Pel shrugged. ‘He was always too quick off the mark, and a policeman’s gun’s too handy. I was afraid if we tried to take him any other way he might start shooting. I’d also hoped,’ he added slowly, ‘that he might get himself shot and save himself from being dragged up in court by his friends and colleagues.’
Darcy sighed. ‘While Geistardt, if he’s still alive, is probably living in the lap of luxury in Argentina.’
‘And the de Mougy plate,’ Pel said in a flat voice, ‘belongs to anyone with the patience to dig up one thousand hectares of Piot’s land.’