The Marble Mask by Archer Mayor

others. That was his job, sure, but he was family.”
    I had no choice but to grant him his insider’s knowledge, although I found his comments raised more questions than answers.
    Gary moved on. “How ’bout the opposition you mentioned? What did that consist of?”
    “They’re the ones we finally concluded killed Jean,” our guest admitted. “At least the majority did. And it does make sense. Deschamps wasn’t the only one to come out of the war rich, or the only one to see big potential in the postwar crime business. The U.S. was suddenly top dog in the world, hungry and ambitious, and we were right next door. There were criminal power struggles happening all over Canada. The Deschamps had some real problems keeping control—everybody was scrapping for a piece of it, from little guys to the more organized types.”
    “So who made your top-five list of suspects?” Gary persisted.
    Chauvin laughed. “Suspects for what? We didn’t have a body, and the family hadn’t reported a death. What I’m telling you never left the bull-session stage.”
    And wasn’t treated too seriously in any case, I thought. Whether it was because they were overworked, undertrained, apathetic, or corrupt, the cops back then apparently thought the death of any crook—for any reason—was simple good riddance. Not a reason to launch a major investigation.
    I retreated a couple of steps. “You said Deschamps’s business was very dependent on the United States. Do you know if he ever traveled or owned property there? In Stowe, for example?”
    “We know he used to go there, especially in the early days when he was smuggling. As for owning property…” Chauvin shrugged. “We didn’t keep track of that, but it’s likely. It makes sense to keep money outside the country. But he probably would have used fake names anyhow.”
    There was a long pause while we considered what we’d learned.
    “Mr. Chauvin,” I finally asked, “when did you retire?”
    “Nineteen sixty-two.”
    “In the years following Jean’s disappearance, as you and your colleagues worked against the Deschamps family, did you notice any cracks developing in their structure? Any indications that things weren’t quite as tightly run as they had been under Jean?”
    “No. Like I said, Marcel was a natural. Maybe he was twenty-one when he took over—really young—but his old man would’ve been proud. He kept things running, he changed with the times, he made deals with people like the Angels. The operation should have died with the founder. Instead, it only got bigger.”
    “Which made you personally suspect, with hindsight, that Marcel killed his father instead of the competition,” I suggested. “Do you think he was helped by Guidry and/or Picard?”
    Chauvin shook his head. “Guidry rode Marcel’s coattails. He wasn’t smart enough to do more. And Picard’s position never changed, so for him there was no advantage in killing Jean.”
    I still couldn’t shake the idea that two second fiddles had gained top ranking with Jean’s sudden disappearance.
    “How about some of the old-timers, retired like yourself?” I asked. “Could you recommend someone in or near the family who might be willing to talk to us?”
    I’d expected him to say no. Instead, he reflected a moment and then said, “Lucien Pelletier. He’s about my age. That would take you to a few years before the war. He’s not related by blood, but he worked pretty closely with Jean.”
    “Why would he talk to us?”
    “He’s been out of the business for forty-five years. I don’t think Marcel liked him much and moved him out. There haven’t been any connections since, I don’t think. He’s just an old man with memories now.” Jacques Chauvin smiled and added, “Like me.”
    · · ·
    I got up from the table after Chauvin left and crossed to the window to admire the view of the metal warehouse.
    “Well, gentlemen,” Lacombe said, closing the door on our guest. “Was that of