The Forest Secret - Chapter 6

They presented their credentials to the uniformed officer in charge of the yellow security tent. The place was alive with components of both the National Police and the Gendarmerie, whose duties covered a vast range of military and defence responsibilities.  With no terrorists responsible for the Notre Dame fire, it was a measure of the cathedral’s significance that the military arm of policing was nevertheless present and in charge.

“I have been instructed by our Ministry of Security to permit you safe passage through a ruined building that is not yet safe.  It is fair to say that I am not comfortable with the request.”  He was officially piqued and his military bearing only made the moment tense.

“I’m sorry,Capitaine,” Stephanie said in English, as mildly as possible.  “We are merely trying to do a job assigned to us and I know that our supervisors are cooperating with yours.”  Both she and Charley put on their best smiles, but years of rigid military training proved impossible to overcome.

“Because I have been ordered to comply, there is nothing I can do but assign the safety officer to you and ask that you follow her every instruction.  Can you do that?  And you must sign these liability certificates so that we won’t be held responsible should you fall.”

“Of course,” Rebecca replied, as the officer turned, mumbling something the Timesalways getting what it wanted, and left them under the direction of a female officer no more inclined to cooperate than the man who had just left.

Ironically, she escorted them in the very door through which Aramis had entered a mere two day previous.  The smell of smoke was everywhere and water continued to drip from the deluge that had emanated through numerous firehoses during the worst of the conflagration. Stephanie fetched some clear plastic bags from her backpack and unfolded one of them around her Leica camera. Then she tightened it around the casing with the help of some elastic bands until she was ready.

The three women ascended the stairs that had elevated the old guide to his final moments.  Though no one knew that fact, Stephanie nevertheless took a series of digital photos with her expensive camera.  The Leica excelled in low-light situations.

“This staircase survived because it was attached to the walls through a series of bolts and it was made of metal, making it impervious to the heat and flames.  But you still need to watch your step in case debris has fallen on the steps.”  The female officer seemed a bit more amenable now that her senior officer wasn’t in the area.

“Did I hear correctly that you might be back for another visit tomorrow?” she asked the two journalists.

“Possibly,” Charley answered.  “Today’s visit is to familiarize us with the setting.  What we are ultimately trying to discover has little to do with the fire but more to do with the man who died up here.”

“Ah, Mr. Caron,” the officer said.

“You knew him?”

“No, I didn’t mean to imply that.  I’m sorry. It seems as though many who worked here knew him very well, however.  When the name was made available to the media, a number of his former co-workers arrived, and, like you, attempted to understand why he was here.” The woman now seemed fully into the story, no longer distant.

“Do you have their names - the co-workers, I mean?” Charley pressed.

“No, but the Cathedral office does.  They have all the background information you will require.  They are still in the regular office at the rear of the structure, since it was little affected by the flames.  They will help you, I’m certain.”

Charley nodded as Stephanie asked, “Where was the body of the old man found up here?”

“Ah, yes,” the officer replied, pointing down a long passageway with a path lined by thick boards. A hasty handrail of wood strips had been nailed in placed to provide a measure of safety.  

As they stepped on to the planking, Charley happened to look down and had to steady herself.

“Yes, please be careful,” the officer urged.  “It is 70 metres to the floor of the sanctuary down there - solid concrete.”

Stephanie began holding the Leica at odd angles in a church full of them and took a series of photos of the vast expanse between the rickety platform and the floor far below. It was covered with debris that had not only fallen through the process of firefighting but had been swept up to make passageways through the rubble.  Teams of vested officials could be spotted weaving their way through the network of paths, looking more like ants than humans.  

Eventually they arrived at the passageway that formed a transverse between the path they were navigating and the sides of the peaked roof supported by the great beams.  Many of them had collapsed or had broken away at one point or another.  On the north wall in front of them was one of the three rose-coloured stained glass windows. The trio of medieval artifacts had somehow survived.

“He was there, face down against that large beam,” the officer noted.

“Can we get closer?” Stephanie asked and received a hesitant nod in response.

Debris was everywhere, but Charley thought she could detect the form outlined in the ashes from where the dead man breathed his last.  While Stephanie continued getting her shots and quizzing the officer with pertinent questions, Charley knelt on the planking beside were the man had been found and felt strangely overcome.

What is your story?  Who are you? she asked quietly to herself.  This was a death scene, not a crime scene, and that distinction made it easier to enter into the man’s final moments.  He must have known how precarious it was at this height, yet he had dragged his form past the perimeter of flames to what … die?  That made no sense.  Despite the simplicity of the scene, something special had happened here - something no one would ever know.  Unless she uncovered it, as Sandra has suggested back in New York.

Again, she felt the tears fill her eyes as she imagined what the end must have been for the man. The medical report had stated that he had died of smoke inhalation prior to the flames charring parts of his body, so there was some sense of relief in that.

She looked around the area, saw where the floor beams had joined the massive roof rafters, but saw where parts of the lead roof had broken through, covering the expanse with debris.

Charley stood then and looked at the two women.  “I think I’ve seen enough … for now,” she said, her face sunken in sadness.

The officer had picked up the woman’s pain and quietly felt a moment of deep humanity for her. “You will tell his story?” she asked.

“I will try, but I have much to discover yet.  Your assistance has been invaluable; I know it wasn’t easy for you.”

The woman placed her hand in Charley’s shoulder.  “It will have been worth it when I read your story.  According to the people that worked with him, he was a special man. You will discover that, I’m sure.”

She led the way along the ramparts to the top of the staircase where they had first arrived. All of it - the smells of carnage, sounds of water moving endlessly on its descending journey, the muffled voices of the workers below, the rush of the wind through the openings in the roof - failed to register with Charley.  Her mind remained focused on this man called Aramis and the remarkable journey he had taken on the last day of his life.  Somehow, in some way, she had to tell his story so that the world would know.