The Episode of the Nine Monets: A Crime of Le Fantôme Read online

  Larsan had not sat down since entering the office. He was vitalised from the discoveries and energy coursed through his motion. He swept around the confined space, coming close to knocking various ornaments from their perches on more than one occasion, as he continued to vocalise his thoughts.

  ‘I think it explains just about everything,’ he said, briefly pausing to pick up a small statuette and mechanically play with it. ‘Why leave behind a plain canvas with a crude ghost on it? Because to sell a stolen painting, people have to know it has been stolen. The theft has to be in the news. But Le Fantôme doesn’t want to be in possession of the thing trying to sell it long after the theft, once the police investigation is well underway. He wants to strike quickly, making his sales while we are still working out how he stole the thing.

  ‘However it takes time to make eight perfect copies of a Monet that has never been publicly displayed, and for which, consequently, there is no reference material. So he poses as a Scottish laird – you remember I’ve expressed the belief in the past that Le Fantôme uses disguise to pull off his crimes – to take photographs of the painting, and later starts producing the copies. He also poses as a plumber while DuFresne is away and switches the original with a replacement. But this replacement is different from the other copies he has made. This one is done in watercolour, painted over a plain canvas with a simple ghost, and would be easily spotted as a fake by someone qualified in art history. But neither DuFresne nor Giraud have great eyesight and are unlikely to notice the deception, so the exchange is safe for a week or two.’

  ‘Watercolour,’ repeated Toussante. ‘So the painting wasn’t stolen the other night at all. The window opposite the painting…’

  Larsan nodded. ‘It wouldn’t be hard to push something damp through the gap in the window and just wipe away the watercolour, leaving the plain canvas and oil-paint ghost beneath.’

  ‘Hence the wet rug,’ said Noble. The painting dried during the night but the water on the rug was still damp.’

  Toussante rammed his fist down onto the desk in frustration.

  ‘Well it explains how he did it, but it doesn’t bring us any closer to finding the original. All we’ve really done is discover that Le Fantôme got away with millions of francs as well as the Monet. I’m tired of sitting in this office and admiring the brilliance of a criminal without getting any closer to catching him.’

  The other men nodded their agreement with this sentiment.

  ‘Something doesn’t feel right about it either,’ said Larsan. ‘It’s not how Le Fantôme has operated in the past. We’ve agreed months ago that he must already have significant wealth. His other crimes have been more about style and artistry than financial gain. He’s always seemed more interested in flair and taunting us than just making money.’

  Noble looked at his friend with scorn. ‘Oh, this wasn’t artistic enough for you?’

  Larsan shook his head. ‘I just feel we’re still missing something.’

  The three settled into silence as they looked over Larsan’s notes. Toussante pored over the transcripts of the interviews, all meticulously written up by his second-in-command. The transcripts each followed a similar track, initial reticence unlocked by Larsan with varying hints of blackmail. Each man had similar reactions to discovering that they had been duped, expressing a number of desires regarding what they would like to do to Le Fantôme when they found him. Most were restrained by the fact they were wealthy gentlemen, not to mention that their confidant was one step removed from commanding La Sûreté Nationale. One or two even expressed some admiration…

  Toussante suddenly tensed, before thumbing rapidly through the pages on his desk. He found a particular page and re-read the interview with excitement.

  ‘What is it chief?’ asked Larsan, knowing that his superior was on to something.

  ‘Claude Lejeune,’ replied Toussante, naming the fifth buyer Larsan had interviewed the previous day. ‘Look at this, when you told him about the copies and what Le Fantôme had done.’

  Toussante pointed to the transcript, and the others read Claude Lejeune’s words: “You almost have to admire the man. I may not be an expert but I could definitely spot a copy that wasn’t close to perfection. This is a masterpiece of forgery. Such talent, to fool so many…”

  ‘”To fool so many”. You hadn’t told him about the other buyers and copies. How could he have known about others who had been duped too?’

  ‘You think it was a slip? You’re not saying that he is Le Fantôme?’

  ‘I think it’s possible.’

  Larsan looked dubious. ‘He could just have been talking about all Le Fantôme’s other crimes too. He’s fooled plenty of people these last few years.’

  ‘But read the transcript. You hadn’t mentioned Le Fantôme. Lejeune had no reason to think the man who sold him the painting was some master criminal.’

  Noble grabbed his jacket, anxious for activity. ‘It’s worth checking.’

  ‘Gone.’

  Toussante, Larsan and Noble, along with Edith Beaulieu, the same art expert who had accompanied Larsan the day before, stood in the townhouse recently occupied by the man who had called himself Claude Lejeune. The apartment was sparsely furnished and only a few pieces of generic furniture littered the rooms.

  ‘I was so focussed on tracing the painting,’ sighed Larsan, disgusted with himself, ‘I didn’t really notice how unlived in this house felt. I should have noticed it wasn’t normal.’

  ‘Why would you? People decorate their houses in all different ways. And you had your mind on other things.’

  ‘I don’t think we missed him by much,’ said Larsan, not sounding exonerated. ‘Nothing seems to have been taken.’

  ‘What about the thing that really matters?’ asked Toussante.

  Larsan showed them to a small room at the rear of the house, whose entrance was disguised behind a coat rack. Inside they all breathed with relief at the sight of the Monet still hanging on the wall, especially Mme Beaulieu.

  ‘Lejeune didn’t have time to take it with him,’ said Noble with satisfaction.

  ‘Let’s stop referring to him as Claude Lejeune,’ replied Larsan. ‘That identity, like this apartment, is just a shell, ready to be discarded if compromised. He’ll never be heard of again.’

  ‘But at least we have this,’ said Toussante, gazing at the Monet. ‘It’s evidence. There may be fingerprints.’

  ‘There won’t,’ said Larsan with certainty. ‘But I think it may be rather more than just evidence.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Mme Beaulieu?’ Larsan gestured towards the art expert, and she knelt to remove some equipment from her bag. They had evidently discussed a plan between themselves earlier. ‘We’re never going to stop looking for a stolen Monet,’ said Larsan, as Mme Beaulieu worked. ‘Le Fantôme would never be able to display it. But where is the one place we would never look? At a copy already documented as a forgery. The men who bought the counterfeits have every right to leave them on display.’

  Mme Beaulieu took the object she had just prepared and wiped gently over the canvas. Beneath the delicate strokes the image appeared to shimmer slightly, some aspects shifting a fraction of an inch.

  ‘The original!’ cried Toussante. ‘Hidden beneath another watercolour copy.’

  Larsan nodded. ‘He could just wait for our investigation to be finished, then remove the surface copy and hey presto: an original Monet he could leave on the wall even if the police visited.’

  ‘Clever,’ continued Toussante. ‘Very clever. But we finally beat him.’

  “TOUSSANTE TRIUMPHANT!”

  The headline blazing from the newspaper seemed a little excessive, and Henri Toussante had the good grace to look discomforted by both it, and the oversized photograph of his face peering out from beneath. He and Larsan were leaning on a wall overlooking the Seine and looking at the front page.

  The article trumpeted at length the achievement of the Sûreté in tracking
down the Monet and thwarting Le Fantôme. By the time a reader had finished the account of the consummate skill with which Toussante and his deputies had foiled the criminal’s plan, they would have been forgiven for missing the details that Le Fantôme had not been caught and was now several million francs wealthier. But with so little success to report in this regard over the last year the papers were determined to milk the moment.

  ‘Congratulations,’ murmured Larsan, wryly. ‘You’re famous.’

  Toussante made a face. ‘You and Alain also got a mention.’

  ‘Yes, but not a picture too.’ Larsan smiled broadly at the increasing embarrassment of his chief, and piled on the torment. ‘We mustn’t be handsome enough.’

  Toussante smiled good-naturedly at the teasing, but the expression was soon replaced by consternation.

  ‘Look here Patrick, do you think this is alright?’

  ‘Alright? What do you mean?’

  ‘I can’t shake the feeling that we’ve been played.’

  ‘Played? I don’t understand.’

  ‘What if this is exactly what Le Fantôme wanted?’ He gestured at the newspaper. ‘He’s certainly been a pain to us these last months but I doubt many outside the police really knew about him. This puts him far more in the public eye. It’s the kind of publicity no one could buy.’

  ‘We beat him, Henri. We got the Monet back.’

  ‘I know, I know. And yet…’

  A passer-by would likely be confused by Toussante’s attitude. This long overdue victory over Le Fantôme had incited the public interest in the case and garnered a positive atmosphere. Not only had the Monet been recovered, but it would soon be proudly on display in the Musee du Jeu de Palm. This was the painting that Le Fantôme failed to get away with, thanks to the sterling work of Toussante and the Sûreté, and the people demanded to see it. The publicity had forced Jacques DuFresne’s hand and he had, as unaltruistically as humanly possible, agreed to loan it to the museum.

  Even the money Le Fantôme had gained from selling the forgeries was viewed beneficially. The millions of francs had come straight from the coffers of the rich, and that pleased the general public. The great depression had thundered through France and the rest of the western world several years earlier, and social dissatisfaction with economics had grown into antagonism against the wealthy. The mood was ripe to embrace a Robin Hood-style folk hero. Le Fantôme was stealing from the rich and, whilst the giving to the poor part was conspicuous by its absence, most generally felt the episode marked a good start. This tableau of the daring and imaginative villain, the blue collar police foiling him with dogged determination, and the wealthy being the real victims all made for great headlines.

  ‘I just worry this may be exactly what Le Fantôme planned,’ said Toussante eventually, pointing to the newspaper. ‘Everyone is talking about him now, and I’ve already heard people describing him as an antihero. What if we’ve just done exactly what he wanted us to do?’

  ‘Then we’ll make him sorry he ever tried to use us.’ Larsan screwed his mouth into a determined expression. ‘We’ll get him, chief. Sooner or later, we’ll get him.’

  COMING SOON…

  THE THIRTEENTH APOSTLE

  A Mystery of Three Impossible Crimes

  READ THE CONCLUSION OF THE LE FANTOME SAGA

  About The Author

  Jamie Probin

  Jamie Probin is the author of the Dr Harris mysteries and a professor of mathematics. He is from Preston, England, but moved to the USA to teach at a university in Charleston, SC.

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  Jamie Probin, The Episode of the Nine Monets: A Crime of Le Fantôme

 

 

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