Read Online The Killer of Little Shepherds by Douglas Starr - Free Book Online
Authors: Douglas Starr
Ads: Link
and patience.
It is not clear whether Fourquet had read Gross’s work, but he seemed to have closely followed his procedures. With a calm, easygoing manner, Fourquet began his line of questioning at a point in time well in advance of the murders. He asked Vacher how he’d spent his time since leaving the regiment.
Vacher spoke freely. 3 He told Fourquet about his days in the army and about the “great heartbreak of love” that had caused him to shoot his fiancée and himself. He talked about the asylums at Dole and Saint-Robert and about the years he’d spent as a vagabond. He spoke about how difficult it was to get hired because “people ridiculed the deformity of my mouth … and because of the bad odor that came from the pus from my ear.” He talked about his travels to the hinterlands of France.
“You also traversed the departments of Rhône, Loire, l’Ain, and Savoie,” Fourquet interjected.
Oh, yes, replied Vacher.
And then the investigator made a mistake. Jumping ahead too quickly in the chronology, he pointedly asked Vacher about Bénonces. “You are inculpated to have been there … and to have killed Victor Portalier, who was living in that locality.”
Vacher saw the trap and avoided it. He denied ever having traveled to Bénonces, and he dared Fourquet to produce a witness who had seen him in the area. When Fourquet brought in someone to testify the next day, the man was too shaken to be of any use.
Fourquet knew he had risked his entire case. There were no witnesses to the murders and no definitive forensic evidence. The fact that Vacher had passed through the areas where the killings had occurred would not be enough. “It was all a presumption,” Fourquet admitted, “and a presumption by itself would not suffice.” The only way to bring the criminal to justice was to trick him into making a valid confession. He had to get Vacher talking again.
For three weeks, they did nothing more than “squabble,” as Fourquet wrote in his memoirs. Fourquet would ask questions; Vacher would evade them. Increasingly desperate, Fourquet dealt what he called his “last card”: He told Vacher that he planned to release him.
“I now see that you’re not the man I am looking for,” he said. “They made a mistake at Tournon. You’re the fourth person who’s been sent to me and the fourth I will have to let go.” He told Vacher he would release him in a few days, after some final interviews.
In the meantime, he asked Vacher for some assistance. For the past several months, Fourquet said, he had been gathering information for a book about vagabonds, and he would interview each vagabond who came his way. Would Vacher be interested in telling his story?
Vacher replied with a cynical smile. To prove his sincerity, Fourquet showed him the stacks of information he had been gathering. He explained a theory he was developing about vagabond migration—how they would head south for the winter and then work their way north, following a succession of harvests: grapes, chestnuts, olives, and sugar beets. “In other words, you follow the same laws that guide the migratory birds. Isn’t that right?”
“Yes, it’s true.”
“So you see, I’m not trying to trick you.”
Little by little, Fourquet won Vacher’s confidence. Over the next several days, he asked him to share his observations of the countryside. It was then that Vacher explained how the people in Brittany and Savoie tended to be hospitable and how the people around Tours were standoffish with strangers. Stealthily, Fourquet began to lead him in certain directions.
“You don’t really have it so bad, you vagabonds,” he said. “You get tostay for free in the Riviera when we up here are freezing in the snow. A magistrate like me doesn’t get such a nice offer. You were in Nice, weren’t you?”
“Yes. I also went to Menton to see one of my sisters who lived in that city in 1894, once in April and another time in
It is not clear whether Fourquet had read Gross’s work, but he seemed to have closely followed his procedures. With a calm, easygoing manner, Fourquet began his line of questioning at a point in time well in advance of the murders. He asked Vacher how he’d spent his time since leaving the regiment.
Vacher spoke freely. 3 He told Fourquet about his days in the army and about the “great heartbreak of love” that had caused him to shoot his fiancée and himself. He talked about the asylums at Dole and Saint-Robert and about the years he’d spent as a vagabond. He spoke about how difficult it was to get hired because “people ridiculed the deformity of my mouth … and because of the bad odor that came from the pus from my ear.” He talked about his travels to the hinterlands of France.
“You also traversed the departments of Rhône, Loire, l’Ain, and Savoie,” Fourquet interjected.
Oh, yes, replied Vacher.
And then the investigator made a mistake. Jumping ahead too quickly in the chronology, he pointedly asked Vacher about Bénonces. “You are inculpated to have been there … and to have killed Victor Portalier, who was living in that locality.”
Vacher saw the trap and avoided it. He denied ever having traveled to Bénonces, and he dared Fourquet to produce a witness who had seen him in the area. When Fourquet brought in someone to testify the next day, the man was too shaken to be of any use.
Fourquet knew he had risked his entire case. There were no witnesses to the murders and no definitive forensic evidence. The fact that Vacher had passed through the areas where the killings had occurred would not be enough. “It was all a presumption,” Fourquet admitted, “and a presumption by itself would not suffice.” The only way to bring the criminal to justice was to trick him into making a valid confession. He had to get Vacher talking again.
For three weeks, they did nothing more than “squabble,” as Fourquet wrote in his memoirs. Fourquet would ask questions; Vacher would evade them. Increasingly desperate, Fourquet dealt what he called his “last card”: He told Vacher that he planned to release him.
“I now see that you’re not the man I am looking for,” he said. “They made a mistake at Tournon. You’re the fourth person who’s been sent to me and the fourth I will have to let go.” He told Vacher he would release him in a few days, after some final interviews.
In the meantime, he asked Vacher for some assistance. For the past several months, Fourquet said, he had been gathering information for a book about vagabonds, and he would interview each vagabond who came his way. Would Vacher be interested in telling his story?
Vacher replied with a cynical smile. To prove his sincerity, Fourquet showed him the stacks of information he had been gathering. He explained a theory he was developing about vagabond migration—how they would head south for the winter and then work their way north, following a succession of harvests: grapes, chestnuts, olives, and sugar beets. “In other words, you follow the same laws that guide the migratory birds. Isn’t that right?”
“Yes, it’s true.”
“So you see, I’m not trying to trick you.”
Little by little, Fourquet won Vacher’s confidence. Over the next several days, he asked him to share his observations of the countryside. It was then that Vacher explained how the people in Brittany and Savoie tended to be hospitable and how the people around Tours were standoffish with strangers. Stealthily, Fourquet began to lead him in certain directions.
“You don’t really have it so bad, you vagabonds,” he said. “You get tostay for free in the Riviera when we up here are freezing in the snow. A magistrate like me doesn’t get such a nice offer. You were in Nice, weren’t you?”
“Yes. I also went to Menton to see one of my sisters who lived in that city in 1894, once in April and another time in
Similar Books
