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looking to buy furniture for his newly purchased house, a three-story structure on rue Carnot. “It was a veritable bewitchment,” Nézondet said, trying to describe the sense of camaraderie that the two bachelors shared. “I could never find the cause of this voiceless attraction that drew me towards him, almost despite myself and any rational consideration which would have called for me to stay out of his way.”
    Curiosity piqued, Nézondet came to see more of his new friend. Petiot was polite, eloquent, charming, an excellent conversationist, and above all, very intelligent. At the same time, Nézondet said his “exuberant vitality” could soon disappear, plunging him into severe “childlike rages and despair.” The two men enjoyed weekend trips to surrounding villages for dinner, which Nézondet always paid for. They also spent long hours at cafés, Nézondet always drinking wine and Petiot a small black coffee. Again, Nézondet picked up the tab.
    In 1926, over one of these meals, Petiot suddenly turned to his friend and said, “I think I will get involved in politics.” It was such an abrupt and unexpected announcement that Nézondet doubted that he was serious. But sure enough Petiot registered as a candidate for that spring’s council election and hit the campaign trail with ferocity. He would run as a member of the Socialist Party, which in Villeneuve-sur-Yonne, as in many parts of France in the mid-1920s, was thriving. Petiot believed that this was the party of the future. The increasing power of the “have-nots,” with whom he identified, would, he thought, eventually overwhelm rivals with the strength of numbers.
    Petiot had gotten to know many of these have-nots in his medical practice. He paid attention to his patients’ concerns and put many of them in his debt for “free” medical care. Now, if elected, Petiot promised to make the rich and privileged citizens pay for more social services, ranging from a new sewer system to playgrounds for the children. Many people listened. Petiot developed a reputation for lively conversation, both far-ranging and free-spirited, punctuated only by a bizarre unrestrained laughter that came at unexpected or awkward moments. It was compared to the howl of a shipwrecked man who had lost everything.
    So far from hurting his chances at election, Petiot’s eccentricities sometimes proved beneficial on the campaign trail. He was a night owl who slept little and often had great difficulty winding down. He poured this restless energy into the campaign. His mind always seemed to be racing ahead to solve the next problem. In the meantime, he continued providing free and discounted medical service to patients, thereby building his practice and political base of loyal supporters, all the while keeping on, secretly, being reimbursed for his services by the state.
    Petiot, no surprise, won the election; the only surprise was the margin of victory. It was a landslide. Marcel Petiot, only thirty years old, was about to be inaugurated as mayor. He would soon follow up this success by winning an election for Yonne’s
conseil général
,the approximate equivalent of a US congressman. When one friend congratulated him, Petiot was blunt. “That’s nothing. I am going to go very far.”

3.
PRELIMINARY FINDINGS
    A LL EVENING , I HAVE RECEIVED TELEPHONE CALLS AND REPORTS . I T IS CLEAR THAT WE ARE IN THE PRESENCE OF A STRANGE AFFAIR WHOSE SIGNIFICANCE IS GOING TO INCREASE .
    —Amédée Bussière, prefect of police
    I T was the afternoon of March 12, 1944, that the first printed account of the sinister discovery on rue Le Sueur hit the streets. The brief mention in
Paris-Midi
managed to garble the few facts known at the time. According to this report, employees of the gas company, investigating a gaslike odor, entered the building and discovered “the charred remains of two people in the boiler.” No other information was provided, other than the equally false statement that