The Hanged Man by Gary Inbinder Page A

man’s mutilated corpse was fished out of the Seine. No one doubted that Rousseau had put a distinctive finish to what the gangsters had foolishly begun.
    Choosing to ignore Rousseau’s reference to his nerves, Achille instead noted the quality of his former partner’s dark gray suit. “My compliments to your tailor; you’re looking very debonair. The political brigade must pay well.”
    Rousseau grinned broadly. “Thank you, Professor. My new job does have its rewards.”
    Achille guessed that Rousseau’s evident prosperity was not entirely the consequence of his inspector’s salary. But he prudently kept such thoughts to himself. “I congratulate you on your success. Now, pleasant as this reunion has been, I think we should get down to business. You’re already aware of my investigation into the circumstances surrounding the death of a man found hanging in the Parc des Buttes-Chaumont. We believe the deceased was a Russian émigré, Lev Dmitryevich Kadyshev. Does that name mean anything to you?”
    Rousseau narrowed his eyes and rubbed his clean-shaven chin as if in thought. “Kadyshev, eh? That has a familiar ring to it. I guess we do have a file on him somewhere; nothing too exciting, I’m afraid.”
    â€œYou didn’t have him under surveillance?” Achille asked, a hint of skepticism in his voice.
    Rousseau laughed, a deep rumbling like the pedal tones on an organ. “We can’t shadow every rat in the Paris sewers. Not enough resources, I’m afraid. But cracking a big case could remedy that.”
    Achille recalled what Féraud had said about politics, publicity, and appropriations. “I’m also looking for Kadyshev’s friend, a big fellow named Boguslavsky. We believe he works as a chemist. Have you got anything on him?”
    â€œAh, yes, Boguslavsky; a damned anarchist. I’ll pull Kadyshev’s file, and Boguslavsky’s, as well, and help you find him. Anything else?”
    â€œI believe the killers brought in a cat burglar to remove evidence from Kadyshev’s room. Do you know of anyone the Russians might have used to pull off a job like that?”
    Rousseau nodded and grunted, “Maybe. I’ll look into it.”
    â€œI’m also interested in files relating to Madame Nazimova and her late husband.”
    Rousseau grinned like a gargoyle. “Oh, I’m sure we have something on them . They were chummy with that old bitch, Louise Michel.”
    Louise Michel was one of the prominent Communards who had been transported to New Caledonia. Returning to France following the 1880 amnesty, she immediately became involved in anarchist plotting. Sentenced to six years imprisonment in 1883 and released after serving three, she was soon re-arrested for inciting to riot. She wasn’t incarcerated for long, but upon release she lived under close surveillance and constant threat of arrest. Fearing that her political enemies were about to have her committed to an insane asylum, Michel had recently fled to London.
    While he strongly disagreed with her politics, Achille admired Louise Michel for her courage, honesty, self-sacrifice, and social work among the poor. He would have never referred to her as an “old bitch,” but unlike Rousseau, Achille had no bitter personal memories of the Commune.
    â€œVery well. In addition to Kadyshev and Boguslavsky’s files, please provide me with what you have on Nazimova and her late husband.”
    â€œThey’ll be on your desk this afternoon. Is that all?”
    Achille frowned. “I don’t suppose you have any suspects in this case?”
    Rousseau cracked a sly smile. “Maybe Kadyshev poked his nose where it didn’t belong and his anarchist pals cut it off?”
    Achille stared directly into Rousseau’s insinuating eyes. “Was Kadyshev one of your paid informers?”
    â€œListen, my friend. People in high places want