The Crown Prince of France - Chapter 92

Chapter 92: The Arrival of the Cousin!

Joseph reviewed the cases handled by Vezinier from start to finish and discussed them at length with Fouché and others. However, he found that there were no leads to follow.

Some cases might yield clues if investigated further, but that would certainly take a long time.

Just as everyone was at a loss, Eymond leaned in and whispered, "Your Highness, if we don’t leave soon, we’ll miss the police academy class."

Joseph rubbed his temple. It seemed that finding a weakness in Vezinier would take longer, so he decided to attend the tactics course first.

He stood up and walked towards the door. After a moment's thought, he turned back and called for Fouché, planning to discuss the matter further on the way.

Fouché hurriedly grabbed the large stack of documents on Vezinier and quickly followed. However, after only a few steps, the papers scattered all over the floor with a loud rustle.

Fouché awkwardly put down the files and signaled for those nearby to come and help pick up the letters.

Joseph glanced at the hundreds of letters on the floor, waved his hand and said, "Let’s go, no need to pick them up. After all, there’s nothing useful in them..."

He sighed and shook his head in frustration. "If only a few of them had incriminating evidence."

At this point, he suddenly stopped in his tracks, feeling as though he had just had a flash of inspiration.

Since he didn’t have any evidence, could he find a way to make Vezinier write something that could serve as evidence?

He quickly ran through the materials he had just looked at in his mind, then suddenly turned around. From Fouché’s pile of files, he pulled out a few sheets and laid them out on the table.

One of the documents was about Valéan, and then he looked at the information about the father of the murderer, Lunaix, from the recent murder case.

Though the two had no direct connection, they did share one thing in common—they were both from Caen.

Joseph lowered his head in thought. Perhaps he could use this small link to move things forward... and then lure him into a trap...

If that were the case, no matter how cautious Vezinier was, he would inevitably fall into the pit!

He then grabbed the document on Vezinier’s maid, glanced at it again, and excitedly asked Fouché, "Are there any handwriting experts in the police department?"

Fouché nodded. "There are several, Your Highness."

"Good, have them come over immediately," Joseph said, pointing at the letters on the ground. "See if you can find any letters from Valéan."

"Ah? Valéan?" Fouché thought for a moment, then remembered that Valéan was Vezinier's close friend. He hurriedly bent down and began searching.

After a moment, he held up a letter and said, "Your Highness, here it is!"

Several handwriting experts arrived at the office one after another. Under Joseph's instructions, they referred to the letters from Vezinier and Valéan, attempting to imitate their handwriting to write several passages.

Joseph selected the two who had done the best imitations, and then had the experts collect all the letters from Valéan and pass them on to the intelligence officers to analyze for any hidden messages or codes.

With the preparations complete, Joseph told Fouché, "Select a few capable individuals and send them to Caen immediately."

"Caen?"

Joseph nodded. "Go and investigate Valéan’s background in detail, then set up the plan accordingly..."

After giving the instructions, Fouché clearly had an epiphany. His eyes lit up, and he nodded repeatedly. "Yes, Your Highness, I will take care of it right away!"

Joseph then discussed the matter with Fouché in greater detail, making sure every aspect was considered. Only after ensuring everything was covered did he leave the police department with ease and head towards the police academy.

However, considering the time, the tactical course must have already ended.

...

A few days later.

On the Left Bank of Paris, in a small villa on Mouffetard Street.

A noble couple in their forties sat gloomily on chairs, both with their heads lowered, lost in thought, occasionally sighing with despair.

On the table in front of them were stews, bread, and vegetable corn soup, but the food had long since gone cold, untouched.

A knock on the door startled the couple. The maid hurried over to open the door slightly and asked, "May I help you?"

"Is this the home of Viscount Monterie?"

"I’m here."

The man inside stood up tiredly and walked over. He frowned at the unfamiliar face and asked, "Excuse me, who are you?"

"Silvain, it’s me," the newcomer said enthusiastically, slapping Viscount Monterie on the shoulder. Seeing the latter still confused, he smiled and pointed to himself, "Longé, don’t you remember? Your cousin."

"Cousin?" Viscount Monterie looked bewildered.

Longé seemed a bit displeased. He shoved the gift he was holding into Monterie’s hands, took a step back, and said, "My mother, your Aunt Angélique, do you remember her?"

Monterie suddenly understood, nodding rapidly, "Aunt Angélique is well? Oh, dear cousin, how did you find me here?"

The so-called Longé was, of course, not his actual cousin, but rather an agent from the police department.

The police department had previously visited Monterie's hometown, Caen, and made extensive preparations, specifically choosing one of his distant relatives as a starting point.

Longé took out a copy of the "Caen News" from a week ago from his pocket and unfolded it to show Monterie. "I saw the news about Lunaix’s nephew. Oh, how unfortunate."

The article in the newspaper was about the recent "Lunaix Grilling Murder Case," which had been taken over by Vezinier.

Monterie’s wife also walked over, covering her face with her hands and tearfully saying, "My God, even Caen knows about this..."

Longé hurriedly reassured them, "My mother saw the news too, and immediately said I should help you. So I came right away."

"Oh, by the way, how’s the case going? Has the verdict been announced?"

Viscount Monterie shook his head. "Not yet. But the judge in charge refuses to meet me, and I think... there’s no hope left."

Longé smiled and patted him on the back. "I’m here for that."

"You? You have a way?"

Longé nodded. "The person I’m working for has some connections with that judge, and I’ll help you smooth things over."

"Of course, this might require a considerable amount of money."

Viscount Monterie and his wife were so excited that they almost knelt before him, repeatedly saying, "We’ll find a way to get the money. As long as it’s not the death penalty, we’ll agree to anything. Please, we beg you!"

Longé sat them down on the chairs and asked, "Please, tell me the details of the case."

After a long while, Viscount Monterie finally recounted the case in detail. Longé asked some more questions and then immediately stood up.

"Alright, I’m off to the High Court. Wait for my good news."

Forty minutes later, Longé’s carriage stopped outside the side door of the Paris High Court.

He glanced at the sea of protestors in front of him, sighed, and pushed his way through the crowd.

Soon, inside the largest office on the third floor of the High Court, he finally met the target of the operation—Vezinier, the Chief Judge.

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