The Blood of Lorraine Read Online Free PDF Page B

around du Manoir’s gargantuan mahogany desk, where the servants had set out the cigars and cognac. Big as it was, the desk was dwarfed by a room lined with books reaching up to a very high ceiling. The Presiding Judge had even installed a movable ladder so that he, or his servants, could reach the top shelves. Martin doubted that this device was used much. Du Manoir had never struck him as a very deep thinker.
    Martin refused a cigar and picked up a snifter of cognac, planting himself at the edge of the conversation, waiting for his chance. When Didier broke off from the rest of the smokers to peruse a shelf of books, Martin immediately approached him.
    “Singer came to see me this afternoon,” he began.
    “Oh, really?” Didier arched his eyebrows and took a sip from his tiny round glass of cognac. He was a tall, thin man with curly, close-cut sandy hair. He usually wore the severe expression appropriate to his calling on his clean-shaven face. Even in this social situation, he demonstrated one of his many well-known tactics, forcing the witness to fill in all the details and, possibly, to stumble.
    “He was upset about the case you just handed him, the mutilated baby and the accusation of ritual murder.” Martin lifted his glass to his lips, although it hardly sheltered him from Didier’s unflinching blue-eyed gaze.
    “And?” the prosecutor asked.
    “And, he’d like me to take it over.” There, now it was Didier’s turn. Martin took a gulp of the warm amber brandy.
    But instead of responding, Didier whispered a warning. “I think Rocher is heading our way.”
    There was a general, unspoken disdain around the courthouse for the portly Alphonse Rocher, Nancy’s senior examining magistrate, who somehow had blustered his way to the top. Reluctantly, Martin stepped aside, allowing the man who had offered the clumsy toast to Clarie to join their circle.
    “What’s this? Talking business?” Rocher asked, before sucking contentedly on his cigar.
    “You might say that.” Didier’s smile went up one side of his face as he gave Martin an expectant look.
    “Well, let’s hear it then!” Rocher exclaimed, the dinner’s drink having made him even more voluble than usual.
    “It’s nothing,” Martin muttered as he took another sip and tried to step back further from both of them.
    “Well, I’m not so sure about that. I bet it is something.” With his rosy cheeks, walrus mustache and generous mane of white hair, Rocher could have been any child’s jolly grandfather. But he wasn’t supposed to be indulgent and jocular. Judges were supposed to be serious about their duties and their responsibilities. Martin had no desire to discuss Singer’s request with him.
    “It’s the case I offered to you and that you urged me to give to Singer,” Didier said, casting a significant glance toward Martin. The wily prosecutor’s few words had economically delivered two messages: that he did not feel the case would be hard to solve, or he would not have given it to Rocher, and it had been Rocher who had suggested that Didier assign it to their Jewish colleague.
    “Yes, yes, yes, that one,” Rocher said as he began puffing on his cigar with pleasure.
    “Why Singer?” Martin asked. He would have liked very much to wipe that stupid, merry expression off Rocher’s face.
    “Now, now, don’t get your dander up,” Rocher said as he laid an unwelcome hand on Martin’s shoulder. “We just wanted to see what he would do. And besides, it’s about his people. We thought it would be best if he handled it.” Rocher winked at Didier, who remained stone-faced.
    “The Republic is for all people. I believe we have held to that principle since 1789.”
    Rocher laughed and glanced at Didier. “Oh my, a history lesson yet.”
    “All right. Sorry,” Martin said. Somehow whenever he began to speak about the things he held most dear, he ended up sounding like a prig. Still, he didn’t appreciate being mocked. He took a swallow