Boris Akunin: Murder on the Leviathan

Nightmare crime in fashionable district

Today, 16 March, all of Paris is talking of nothing but the spine-chilling crime which has shattered the decorous tranquillity of the aristocratic rue de Grenelle. The Revue parisienne‘ 5 correspondent was quick to arrive at the scene of the crime and is prepared to satisfy the legitimate curiosity of our readers.

And so, this morning as usual, shortly after seven o’clock, postman Jacques Le Chien rang the doorbell of the elegant two storey mansion belonging to the well-known British collector Lord Littleby. M. Le Chien was surprised when the porter Carpentier, who always took in the post for his Lordship in person, failed to open up, and noticing that the entrance door was slightly ajar, he stepped into the hallway. A few moments later the 70-year old veteran of the postal service ran back out onto the street, howling wildly. Upon being summoned to the house, the police discovered a scene from the kingdom of Hades - seven servants and two children (the 11year-old son of the butler and the six-year-old granddaughter of the housekeeper) lay in the embrace of eternal slumber. The police ascended the stairs to the second floor and there they discovered the master of the house, Lord Littleby, lying in a pool of blood, murdered in the very repository which housed his celebrated collection of oriental rarities. The 55-year-old Englishman was well known in the highest social circles of our capital. Despite his reputation as an eccentric and unsociable individual, archaeological scholars and orientalists respected Lord Littleby as a genuine connoisseur of Indian history and culture. Repeated attempts by the directors of the Louvre to purchase items from the lord’s diverse collection had been disdainfully rejected. The deceased prized especially highly a golden statuette of Shiva, the value of which is estimated by competent experts to be at least half a million francs. A deeply mistrustful man, Lord Littleby was very much afraid of thieves, and two armed guards were on duty in the repository by day and night.

It is not clear why the guards left their post and went down to the ground floor. Nor is it clear what mysterious power the malefactor was able to employ in order to subjugate all of the in habitants of the house to his will without the slightest resistance (the police suspect that use was made of some quick-acting poison). It is clear, however, that he did not expect to find the master of the house himself at home, and his fiendish calculations were evidently thwarted. No doubt we should see in this the explanation for the bestial ferocity with which the venerable collector was slain. The murderer apparently fled the scene of the crime in panic, taking only the statuette and one of the painted shawls displayed in the same case. The shawl was evidently required to wrap the golden Shiva - otherwise the bright lustre of the sculpture might have attracted the attention of some late-night passer-by. Other valuables (of which the collection contains a goodly number) remained untouched. Your correspondent has ascertained that Lord Littleby was at home yesterday by chance, through a fatal confluence of circumstances. He had been due to depart that evening in order to take the waters, but a sudden attack of gout resulted in his trip being postponed - and condemned him to death.

The immense blasphemy and cynicism of the murders on the rue de Grenelle defy the im agination. What contempt for human life! What monstrous cruelty! And for what? For a golden idol which it is now impossible to sell! If melted down the Shiva will be transformed into an ordinary two kilogram ingot of gold. A mere 200 grams of yellow metal, such is the value placed by the criminal on each of the ten souls who have perished. Well may we exclaim after Cicero: O temporal O mores!

There is, however, reason to believe that this supremely heinous crime will not go unpunished. That most experienced of detectives at the Paris prefecture, M. Gustave Gauche, to whom the investigation has been entrusted, has confidentially informed your correspondent that the police are in possession of a certain important piece of evidence. The commissioner is absolutely certain that retribution will be swift. When asked whether the crime was committed by a member of the professional fraternity of thieves, M. Gauche smiled slyly into his grey moustaches and enigmatically replied: ‘Oh no, young man, the thread here leads into good society.’ Your humble servant was unable to extract so much as another word from him.

J. du Roi

L

The golden Shiva is found! Was the ‘Crime of the Century’ on the rue de Grenelle the work of a madman?

Yesterday, 17 March, between five o’clock and six o’clock in the afternoon, 13-year-old Pierre B. was fishing by the Pont des Invalides when his hook became snagged so firmly at the bottom of the river that he was obliged to wade into the cold water. (I’m not so stupid as to just throw away a genuine English hook!’ the young fisherman told our reporter.) Pierre’s valour was richly rewarded: the hook had not caught on some common tree root but on a weighty object half buried in the silt. Once extracted from the water the object shone with an unearthly splendour, blinding the eyes of the astonished fisherman. Pierre’s father, a retired sergeant and veteran of the Battle of Sedan, guessed that it must be the famous golden Shiva for which ten people had been killed only two days earlier, and he handed in the find at the prefecture.

What are we to make of this? For some reason a criminal who did not baulk at the cold-blooded and deliberate murder of so many people has chosen not to profit from the spoils of his monstrous initiative! Police investigators and public alike have been left guessing in the dark. The public appears inclined to believe that belated pangs of conscience must have led the murderer, aghast at the horror of his awful deed, to cast the golden idol into the river. Many go so far as to surmise that the miserable wretch also drowned himself somewhere close at hand. The police, however, are less romantically inclined and they discern clear indications of insanity in the inconsistency of the criminal’s actions.

Shall we ever learn the true background to this nightmarish and unfathomable case?

A bevy of Parisian beauties

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At Port Said a new passenger had boarded the Leviathan, occupying stateroom No. 18, the last first-class cabin still vacant, and Gustave Gauche’s humour had immediately improved. This newcomer looked highly promising: that self-assured and unhurried way of carrying himself, that inscrutable expression on the handsome face which at first glance appeared altogether young, until the subject removed his bowler hat, unexpectedly revealing hair greying at the temples. A curious specimen, the commissioner decided. It was clear straight away that he had character and what they call a past. All in all, definitely a potential client for papa Gauche.

The passenger walked up the gangway swinging his holdall while the porters sweated as they struggled under the weight of his ample baggage: expensive squeaky suitcases, high-class pigskin travelling bags, voluminous bundles of books and even a folding tricycle (one large wheel, two small ones and a bundle of gleaming metal tubes). Bringing up the rear came two poor devils lugging an imposing set of gymnastic weights.