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knew nothing of the affair. Gignoux found one woman near Lyon and two railroad conductors from the Dordogne (one named Fortin) who thought the photograph of Madame Khaït resembled a woman they had seen around March or April 1942, but these, too, were written off as errors when no corroborating evidence could be found. At Plagne in the Cantal, Gignoux located the Gastons, who were distant relatives of Dr. Petiot. They had not seen him in years, though in April 1942 they had received an incoherent postcard from him—the same one David Khaït had posted—to which they had never replied.
    Gignoux concluded that Madame Khaït had not fled of her own accord. In his report he pointed out the close similarities between the Van Bever and Khaït cases: narcotics, abrupt disappearance, the reception of letters from the missing persons contradicting their earlier statements, and, above all, the presence of Dr. Petiot in both cases. Though not a handwriting expert, Gignoux compared the Van Bever and Khaït letters and concluded they had been written by the same hand. If an expert could confirm this opinion, his March 1943 report boldly concluded, it would provide “irrefutable material proof that the two cases are closely linked and may be related to the narcotics cases for which Dr. Petiot was indicted. In this event, the most likely hypothesis would be that Monsieur Van Bever and Madame Khaït are being held captive or have been murdered.”
    Olmi sat and wondered. The Baudet drug case had come to trial on July 15, 1942. Raymonde Baudet was found guilty and sentenced to the four months she had already spent in prison, and Petiot was given another one-year suspended sentence and a F10,000 fine. Petiot’s lawyer, René Floriot, subsequently managed to have the doctor’s fines from both the Van Bever—Gaul and Baudet convictions combined and reduced to a grand total of F2,400. Meanwhile, attorney Pierre Véron pursued the Khaït mystery. Upon learning of the Van Bever disappearance and of Petiot’s connection with it, he insisted that Olmi indict Petiot for kidnapping or murder. An investigation was made, but only halfheartedly, since so many people were disappearing in those days. David Khaït, himself a Jew, would vanish two years later and die in deportation.
    Véron kept pushing, and nearly a year later Olmi grudgingly consented to search Petiot’s rue Caumartin apartment. “What good is it now?” Véron asked. “Do you think he’s kept them sitting in his closet?” And even then Olmi’s search was so superficial and slovenly that his own secretary described it to Véron in shocked tones. Olmi went to the apartment only after warning Petiot several days in advance. He did not make routine inquiries as to whether Petiot rented a basement storage space in the building, nor did he check city-deed-office records to see if Petiot owned or rented other properties in Paris. He did not even ask questions when, during his search, he noticed a slip of paper lying in plain view—a fire insurance policy for 21 rue Le Sueur. Nor did Olmi search the entire rue Caumartin apartment, contenting himself with a cursory perusal of the doctor’s office and waiting room. Opening a desk drawer, Olmi found a small fortune in gold and jewels. Petiot said they had been given to him in lieu of fees by impoverished patients; he did not, however, explain how poor people could be so wealthy. When the doctor complained about the search, Olmi made light of it, claimed it was mere troublesome routine, and joked, “I am not accusing you of killing people and burning them in your stove!”
    The months went by, Gignoux’s evidence built up, Véron continued to insist that an indictment should be drawn up against Petiot. A year later, on Monday, March 13, 1944, two days after the discovery at the rue Le Sueur, Pierre Véron strode angrily into Olmi’s office.