singular talents toward rooting out France’s real enemies rather than chasing common criminals through the gutters of Montmartre.”
Achille glanced at Adele with a wry smile before inquiring: “Oh, and who might these real enemies be, Madame?”
“Read Monsieur Drumont’s La France Juive and you will be enlightened, my boy.”
Adele interrupted judiciously: “We’re having veal chops with sorrel and an excellent Chateau Haut-Brion. I think you’ll prefer it to your usual sandwich and bottle of beer.”
Madame grimaced at the mention of her son-in-law’s common, workday supper. “Beer,” she muttered, “how disgusting.”
Achille laughed. “To what do we owe this feast? Is it some special occasion of which I’m unaware?”
“Yes, my dear,” Adele answered with a smile. “It’s to celebrate your dining at home.”
The dinner was superb, but after two hours of listening to Madame’s conspiracy theories, Achille was relieved to return to work. He sat at his desk bent over a typewriter, straining his eyes in the yellow glow of an oil lamp. Constantly referring to his notes and considering a number of leads developed from new evidence, he completed his report to Féraud.
In addition to the evidence he had discussed with Bertillon at the laboratory, he made two intriguing discoveries in records. First, a concierge on the Rue Lepic had reported a missing young woman, Virginie Ménard, and the police had questioned an artist named Émile Bernard who had been roaming Montmartre and Pigalle searching for the girl. The time of her disappearance and physical description matched what they knew from the corpse.
Second, he found a file on a dwarf, Joseph Rossini, aka Jojo the clown. Jojo was an ex-convict with a record of violence against women, a circus performer who rented a room on the Rue Lepic, not far from Virginie Ménard. His photographs looked like Lautrec’s twin, and his measurements matched the footprint cast and stride measured at the crime scene. Achille wondered what Rousseau’s investigation had turned up; at any rate, he’d know first thing in the morning. Achille finished typing, and turned his attention to the latent prints on the gold cigarette case.
In 1863, Paul-Jean Coulier, a chemistry professor, published his discovery that latent fingerprints could be developed on paper by iodine fuming. He also explained how to preserve the developed impression and mentioned the potential for identifying fingerprints by use of a magnifying glass. Achille had read Coulier’s paper. But without a credible classification system and a sound argument for the individuality of fingerprints that could be accepted as evidence in a court of law, there was no practical use for them in criminal identification. Galton had provided the supporting argument for individuality and the classification system, what was needed was a means of capturing the prints at the crime scene so they might be compared to the suspect’s fingerprints and presented to the court.
Achille knew that the prints on the cigarette case were impressions made by the oily residue and perspiration on the fingertips. What he needed was a reagent, the equivalent of Coulier’s iodine fumes that could sufficiently enhance the prints so they could be classified accurately, photographed, and compared to the prints on the canvas.
He yawned, removed his pince-nez, rubbed his bleary eyes, and then focused on the loudly ticking desk clock. Eleven P.M. ; time for bed. Achille rose from his desk, stretched his weary arms and legs, and walked to the doorway that entered into a short corridor leading to the master bedroom. He had already removed his shoes and changed into slippers to keep the carpets clean and not make too much noise. The gas was off; he groped through the shadows, careful not to trip over toys Jeanne often left on the runner. When he reached the bedroom door, he knocked gently. Adele bid him enter.
He saw her seated at her dresser. She
Achille glanced at Adele with a wry smile before inquiring: “Oh, and who might these real enemies be, Madame?”
“Read Monsieur Drumont’s La France Juive and you will be enlightened, my boy.”
Adele interrupted judiciously: “We’re having veal chops with sorrel and an excellent Chateau Haut-Brion. I think you’ll prefer it to your usual sandwich and bottle of beer.”
Madame grimaced at the mention of her son-in-law’s common, workday supper. “Beer,” she muttered, “how disgusting.”
Achille laughed. “To what do we owe this feast? Is it some special occasion of which I’m unaware?”
“Yes, my dear,” Adele answered with a smile. “It’s to celebrate your dining at home.”
The dinner was superb, but after two hours of listening to Madame’s conspiracy theories, Achille was relieved to return to work. He sat at his desk bent over a typewriter, straining his eyes in the yellow glow of an oil lamp. Constantly referring to his notes and considering a number of leads developed from new evidence, he completed his report to Féraud.
In addition to the evidence he had discussed with Bertillon at the laboratory, he made two intriguing discoveries in records. First, a concierge on the Rue Lepic had reported a missing young woman, Virginie Ménard, and the police had questioned an artist named Émile Bernard who had been roaming Montmartre and Pigalle searching for the girl. The time of her disappearance and physical description matched what they knew from the corpse.
Second, he found a file on a dwarf, Joseph Rossini, aka Jojo the clown. Jojo was an ex-convict with a record of violence against women, a circus performer who rented a room on the Rue Lepic, not far from Virginie Ménard. His photographs looked like Lautrec’s twin, and his measurements matched the footprint cast and stride measured at the crime scene. Achille wondered what Rousseau’s investigation had turned up; at any rate, he’d know first thing in the morning. Achille finished typing, and turned his attention to the latent prints on the gold cigarette case.
In 1863, Paul-Jean Coulier, a chemistry professor, published his discovery that latent fingerprints could be developed on paper by iodine fuming. He also explained how to preserve the developed impression and mentioned the potential for identifying fingerprints by use of a magnifying glass. Achille had read Coulier’s paper. But without a credible classification system and a sound argument for the individuality of fingerprints that could be accepted as evidence in a court of law, there was no practical use for them in criminal identification. Galton had provided the supporting argument for individuality and the classification system, what was needed was a means of capturing the prints at the crime scene so they might be compared to the suspect’s fingerprints and presented to the court.
Achille knew that the prints on the cigarette case were impressions made by the oily residue and perspiration on the fingertips. What he needed was a reagent, the equivalent of Coulier’s iodine fumes that could sufficiently enhance the prints so they could be classified accurately, photographed, and compared to the prints on the canvas.
He yawned, removed his pince-nez, rubbed his bleary eyes, and then focused on the loudly ticking desk clock. Eleven P.M. ; time for bed. Achille rose from his desk, stretched his weary arms and legs, and walked to the doorway that entered into a short corridor leading to the master bedroom. He had already removed his shoes and changed into slippers to keep the carpets clean and not make too much noise. The gas was off; he groped through the shadows, careful not to trip over toys Jeanne often left on the runner. When he reached the bedroom door, he knocked gently. Adele bid him enter.
He saw her seated at her dresser. She
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