Phryne had caught Rousseau even before he had reached the iron gate that lead to the Gendarmerie.
«I have something of the utmost importance to show you», she had announced after greeting him.
«It seems a bit early, doesn't it?», he said.
«I'll be as bold as to say that you won't find it so after you hear what I have to say once we're behind closed doors».
«Well then», Rousseau said, motioning for her to follow him inside the station.
His office was bigger than Gaillard's and less cluttered. Behind the wooden desk there was a flag stand with France's and the Gendarmerie's and award diplomas decorated the walls. That was the only personal touch. There were no family photographs on the desk or sporting event cups on the shelves, just files.
Rousseau took off his trench coat and hat and left them on the rack by the door and occupied his place on the other side of the desk.
«I'm glad I came to the office with you. Otherwise, I'm not sure I would have recognised you looking so bare», Phryne said lightly.
Rousseau let out a small laugh.
«An officer of the law should look as inconspicuous as possible, wouldn't you agree?»
«Your words remind me of a good friend of mine who wanted to dress in his usual suit and tie for a bal masqué. He would be dressed as a policeman, he argued, but eventually I convinced him to dress as Marc Antony instead».
«And did he succeed in blending with the crowd then? I am sure you would have loved having your point proven».
«He didn't even had a chance to put on the costume. Crime got in the way.»
«Does crime get in your way very often?»
«Sometimes, but you know how things are for us. We must always be ready to step ahead and do what needs to be done», she said, with a theatrical shrug, trying to smooth over her realisation of some days ago.
«What did you bring then, Mlle Fisher?», Rousseau asked, putting an end to that banter but calmly enough for Phryne to gather he had been amused by that little interlude.
«It hasn't been published in France yet, but have you at least heard about a book named 'The Mystery at Styles' by a famed British crime writer named Agatha Christie?»
«I can't say I have». Rousseau felt that the work he took home most nights was detective work enough for him. «Why?»
«Let me give you some quick details and tell me if they sounds familiar to you: We have a widow who inherited a life estate and a significant part of her late husband's income. Emily Cavendish marries a younger man, named Alfred Inglethorp. She has two stepsons and one of them is the vested remainderman of the property. Dear Emily Ingletrop dies of strychnine poisoning and after bits of the investigation I'll spare you from it is discovered that Bromide had been added to her evening medicine and she took that lethal cocktail unbeknownst to her».
As Phryne talked, Rousseau's face had been taken by surprise as his brows raised and his eyes widened. Yet, after a small pause he still said:
«That's definitely curious and even bewildering, I must recognise, but haven't you just mentioned how tremendously popular Mme Christie's books are? It wouldn't be that odd for someone in that house to own a copy and we can't know if they may have felt too inspired by it to murder someone.»
«I shall have to disagree, Capitaine», Phryne said, with a certain glee permeating her voice. She always loved to prove Rousseau wrong and their latest amiability still didn't prevent her from enjoying it completely. «Not only were there over three hundred books and this was the only piece of detective fiction on those shelves but there's also the fact that someone tried to erase the pencil underlines and notes written on the margins.»
Phryne took the copy out of her bag, turned it towards Rousseau, flicked through the pages, and handed it to him so he could see it with his own eyes and at his own rhythm.
«Are these the remains of M Van Asten's handwriting?», he said, pointing to the ridges left by a pencil-tip where once one could have read words.
«I think so. I took a 'cast' if I may call it so, with these pieces of paper», she said, showing him the small notebook sheets she had put on top of the written book pages and shaded with a pencil, letting the charcoal reveal the letters underneath those contours.
There had been a line coming from 'strychnine' to the right margin of the book that lead to a list:
Found in: pesticides, appetite and nerve medicine (easily bought)
Some pages ahead, another arrow linked 'bromide' to how it could be available: sleeping medicine, herbicide?
Mix, read another note. Quick reaction.
Miss Fisher put these pages on the blotter and continued:
«I found some letters from Philip in William Montgomery's desk and I find similarities enough to believe that he's the author of those 'useful field notes'».
Rousseau picked the papers Phryne had given him and attentively looked at them with the magnifying glass he took from a drawer. His conclusions met hers but he still had some doubts.
«Why would he keep the book though? It makes no sense to keep such liability close and M. Van Asten strikes me an intelligent man, despite the poor judgement shown regarding how he handled his money issues and distaste for his stepfather».
«Some perverse kind of pride? He was perhaps hoping to get away with murder but wanted to have some sort of proof of his triumph? Christie's story has its twists but it's that difficult to keep up with if he was trying to mimic what happened in that fiction. And someone did try to erase the lines as well as to hide the tree in the forest, to borrow an idiom, even if they chose the wrong type of tree to conceal in this particular forest». Phryne shrugged again, «I have seen so many odd reactions over the years during my detective work I'm afraid it takes something really outrageous to surprise me at this point».
«This job does stretch the limits of our beliefs», acquiesced Rousseau. «But I am ready to attempt to stretch yours a little bit further as well. Can I be sure of your discretion?»
«Obviously, Capitaine. If we weren't in such good terms, I could have been offended by your remark».
«Neither M. Montgomery nor M Van Asten took the money missing from the trust fund set up by M. Van Asten's mother».
«Who did then?». Phryne was really astonished.
«M. August Armand Bizet de St. George, the lawyer who had set it up for the first Mme Montgomery. It was evenly split but there's a limit in each half from which the other would have to be warned about any change. Dear M. Bizet de St. George was taking from one side and from the other in small sums and under that limit but Philip knew the department director due to his ties with banking and he was made aware of these transactions. I can see why he may have thought M Montgomery was involved though because the lawyer had created the companies to which the money was transferred with names that could suggest associations with M. Montgomery, like W.G.M. - his initials, U&W, Ondine Entreprise, Paper Mills Mont, Una Entreprise, and so forth, which could be considered quite clever. M Van Asten's money difficulties may have become more pressing perhaps and he didn't have the chance to look thoroughly into who was involved in them, but M. Bizet de St. George was undeniably the one, nominating personnel, both from the office and from home and their families as members of these companies. We are still trying to understand if this was done with their acknowledgement in exchange for money and other privileges or without it and through forgery but I'm sure we'll be able to know more now that M. Bizet de St. George is in custody».
Rousseau clearly relished in the reveal and was proud of his work. He even seemed to hold his head a bit higher and his back a bit straighter, which was quite a feat considering how he carried himself at all times.
Phryne was completely startled, surprise rising in her as she listened to the Capitaine exposing his findings.
«So Philip did kill William for something he didn't do?»
«Everything points in that direction, yes», Rousseau said, interlacing his fingers.
«How did you find this?»
«An accountant, Gaillard, and I combed through every bank statement and accountancy leger we found at Chateau Ondine, but we couldn't find any trace that linked the money the Montgomerys have to this famous trust fund. It all seemed to come from M. and Mme's Montgomery's personal fortunes. Searching their house in Paris didn't promise discovering much more so I appealed for a warrant to investigate their accounts in France as well as the part of the fund set in Paris to start with. It was granted and a brigade of specialised accountants and liaison officers were deployed, fine-combing through them over the past two days. I guess the lawyer thought he was being clever enough and had never thought we would be able to get him».
«Congratulations, Capitaine. I am truly impressed», said Phryne earnestly.
«Thank you, Mlle Fisher. Yet, I must thank you for your help as well. We did the backstage work, but you were the one who found M. Pernot's lighter, the letter opener, and now this», he said, pointing towards the book and the 'casts' on his desk.
«We had our troubles and disagreements, but we made a good team», Phryne said with a smile.
«Indeed», Rousseau said, smiling back.
«Does M. Van Asten know about these new details already?», asked Phryne.
«Not yet. The lawyer will be here at 9h30 for the interrogation and that's when I'm going to tell them».
«Poor Caroline. She still doesn't believe Philip did it but maybe this will make her come out her illusion. She will be devastated, but the sooner the better», Phryne said, more to herself than to Rousseau, «Could I watch the interrogation?»
«I can't allow you in the room, but you can stand by the door for a while».
«Thank you».
Soon after, 9h30 came and Phryne followed Rousseau through the same path they had taken the day before.
From the other side of the glass on the interrogation room door, Miss Fisher saw Philip's face and demeanour genuinely crumble for the first time.