by Pirate Irwin
Lafarge was exasperated by her attitude. It was a bit too precious and selfish for his taste.
“I think perhaps you could set aside your afflictions and go and see him,” he said tartly.
“He is your husband and he needs you. You were very comfortable with your life in Vichy and that was thanks to my father, now you seek to distance yourself, hiding behind poor excuses, as he finds himself in dire circumstances and that I find unconscionable.”
She glared at him and was on the point of replying, the sharpness of her tongue had not been blunted even with the passing of the years and the crushing defeat, when there was a knock on the door.
It was Beatrice, a middle-aged good-looking woman who had remained loyal and had followed her mistress into exile, but she withdrew as quickly as she had appeared and in walked Lucien provoking Antoinette to let out a shriek.
Walked was an understatement it was more of a swagger as if he had just been out for a stroll post lunch, not been away for five years and imprisoned in a POW camp. Lafarge thought he looked gaunt which was understandable but overall very well considering his years of incarceration. Antoinette’s criticism of rations at Sigmaringen would have been ridiculed by POWs who were fortunate to have two meals a day.
Antoinette tried to rise but found little strength in her legs, she was in a state of shock, so Lucien, dressed in an ill-fitting brown tweed suit, bent down and put his arms round her whilst kissing her on both cheeks.
Lafarge was delighted to see Lucien, not only because he was alive but also it completely changed the dynamic of the atmosphere in the room as Antoinette’s demeanour was transformed in a flash from fury to delight that one of her sons had returned safely.
“Oh Lucien what joy! I had given you up as dead,” said Antoinette, her voice breaking as she started to cry.
Rochedebois frowned and leant down to again hug his mother, who dabbed at her eyes with a lace handkerchief.
“But I wrote to you as regularly as was possible! Didn’t you get any of my letters?” he asked sounding non-plussed.
She shook her head and said it had been three years since they had news of him.
“Well I’ll be blowed! I’m so sorry mother, but I was assured that all letters, censored of course, would be posted. Bloody Germans, if they’d been as accurate in delivering letters as their bombs then you and probably a lot of others wouldn’t have been left in such a state of flux,” he said.
“Oh well darling, you’re back and that’s what is important and you have made one mother very happy!” she gushed.
Lafarge and Lucien embraced warmly too, they had always enjoyed friendly relations despite the disparity in age and had ended up in the same prisoner of war camp after the 1940 debacle -- his step-brother helping him when he investigated the murder of a prisoner.
Antoinette rang the little bell that was on the table beside her.
Beatrice reappeared again, Lafarge wagered she hadn’t been this busy since the return to Paris with the comings and goings, and Antoinette asked what there was to eat as her mistress wanted to celebrate the return of her adored eldest boy.
She reeled off a list of foods that would have been the envy of most Parisians, who could only dream of a confit de canard or a roast chicken with the vegetables and potatoes to go alongside them, before Lafarge interrupted and said he would not be able to join them as he had to swing by his office at the Quai des Orfevres.
Antoinette feigned disappointment. Evidently his criticism hadn’t been forgotten despite the euphoria of Lucien’s return.
“I don’t smell that bad do I Gaston!” said Rochedebois laughing.
“Come to think of it Lucien … no, but it would be nice for you two to spend your first evening home together. Why don’t you give me a call tomorrow? The phones are about the only thing working in the building, and that includes the humans!” said Lafarge.
Rochedebois grinned and took Lafarge’s card, whistling as he saw he was now a Chief Inspector, and suggested they have dinner tomorrow night.
Lafarge said that would be great but he couldn’t guarantee it as he was over-burdened at work. That wasn’t wholly true. He had had a rare few days where he hadn’t had to investigate a murder. Those that had occurred had been passed down the chain of command as they had been regarded as run-of-the-mill and not of a sufficiently challenging nature for his talents and rank.
He hated the term run-of-the-mill used by his superiors, murder was murder and for the families there was nothing routine about coming to the morgue to identify a body. But that was the way of the Paris crime world these days, murders were rated according to the political dimension or the profile of the victim.
No, tomorrow he would be dealing with the future safety of his father, and he hoped what he brought to Fresnes would be enough to assure that, though he had his doubts.
Chapter Five
“So when did you get back Lucien?” asked Lafarge, who to his great surprise had received a visit from Rochedebois early the next morning at his flat in Pere Lachaise and was now driving him in his battered black Citroen to Fresnes.
Rochedebois, who looked as if he had had a long night sitting up with Antoniette and was still wearing the same clothes, said he had come in the previous morning after a marathon train journey which had taken so long because of the damage done to the railways in Germany. They had stopped for hours on several occasions, waiting for the track to be declared free of either mines or unexploded bombs.
“You should have seen the cities Gaston! Well it is hard to claim they are cities still, just a pile of rubble, the country is completely devastated and the people look just as battered. Aside from those crippled by the bombing or the fighting, the others mope around eyes fixed on the ground,” said Rochedebois, his tone one of regret.
Lafarge glanced across, surprised at the sadness in Rochedebois’s voice. He had never taken him for being a sensitive type.
“Well Lucien, they brought it upon themselves. If they had won I don’t think too many of them would have been expressing sympathy for the plight of their defeated opponents,” said Lafarge.
“Well I’m not sympathetic to them Gaston, it was merely an observation,” replied Rochedebois, sounding defensive.
Lafarge didn’t want an argument so he resisted the urge to tell his step-brother how appallingly the Germans had behaved in his absence, and so he switched the topic to what he could expect when they saw his father at Fresnes.
“Mother said you were going to bribe the guards to ensure no harm comes to dad? Do you think that is a wise move Gaston?” asked Rochedebois after being filled in on the state of both Lafarge senior and his defence to which the Chief Inspector had also not omitted his criticism of his strategy.
Lafarge bit his bottom lip, annoyed at the patronizing tone of Rochedebois.
“Yes, I’m satisfied what I’m doing is the correct way to deal with any potential danger to father, whether it be real or imaginary. Having had close contact with Bousquet during the Occupation I can tell you he is vindictive and not even being imprisoned makes him any less dangerous,” said Lafarge.
“Laval’s motive against father might be more personal, perhaps a slight he feels was done to him in their goldfish bowl of a world, but Bousquet would be getting at me by harming him,” he added, before enlightening Rochedebois as briefly as he could on why Bousquet had revenge on his mind.
***
Rochedebois whistled as Lafarge came to the end of his story. It appeared to the Chief Inspector that this was some sort of nervous tic his step-brother had developed during his years of captivity.
“Well it sounds as if you don’t choose your enemies well Gaston. I don’t know anything about Bousquet but I can tell you Laval was unpopular with the POWs. Amazingly Petain never lost his standing with them, anything that went wrong was blamed on Laval,” said Rochedebois.
“What do you mean by wrong? I take it you’re not referring to the Germans suffering defeats on both fronts? I me
an you’re not suggesting the POWs were a hotbed of Vichy support?” asked Lafarge aghast.
Rochedebois laughed.
“Well those prisoners who were working on the farms and having their way with the wife of the farmer, who was away fighting, are furious the war is over. So yes there was a certain selfish groundswell of support for Vichy. They would have had the rural vote!” said Rochedebois laughing uproariously.
Lafarge too laughed and reflected that it was indeed good to have his step-brother back. Someone whose company and humour he could appreciate on a regular basis. His circle of friends had been reduced like many others by the war, dead, missing, banged up or gone into hiding in fear of being arrested and charged with crimes committed during the Occupation.
“Were you among the lucky buggers working on the land Lucien?”
Rochedebois stopped laughing and took a deep breath.
“Yes, I was until unfortunately Herr Streicheim returned unexpectedly from the front and found me the master of the house and his wife,” he said, his tone changing to one of bitterness.
“Bloody hell, did he catch you in bed together?” asked Lafarge.
“No. He came across us in the barn. He had fortunately left his gun in the house, so he took up a pitchfork and chased me off the property. I was completely naked, so it didn’t take the police long to find me. Not many men walking round stark naked even with the privations,” said Rochedebois.
“Jesus he called the police! What happened, did they give you a slap on the wrist and re-assign you to another farm?”
“Sadly not, old chap. Those things were taken very seriously by the local gendarmerie. Consorting with the enemy meant the wife was arrested and taken to god knows where, and I was sent to some godforsaken camp near Lubeck and placed in solitary confinement,” he said.
“Ah now I see why the letters never arrived. You weren’t allowed to write,” said Lafarge.
Rochedebois sighed and looked out the window.
“Yes exactly. The Red Cross weren’t encouraged to visit us, the Nazis didn’t want them interfering. However, I didn’t want mother to hear such details, it would only have upset her and she’d also probably not been too amused by my gallivanting around with the farmer’s wife. She can be a bit of a puritan when it comes to such matters,” said Rochedebois.
“Yeah well don’t worry I won’t be telling her. So was it tough solitary confinement?” asked Lafarge.
Rochedebois didn’t respond immediately, withdrawing a silver hip flask from his coat pocket and taking a swig from it before offering it to Lafarge. The Chief Inspector sniffed at it and smelt the reassuring fumes of cognac, and gulped down a generous portion.
He couldn’t care less if the guards smelt alcohol on his breath even at 10 in the morning, for a lot of people these days it was the only consolation, a way of escaping early from their memories of the past few years. Besides he’d wager the guards plied themselves with drink throughout the day, as an anesthetic to the tedium of the job of guarding a group of ageing technocrats and politicians, Bousquet and Joseph Darnand, head of Vichy’s militia the vicious and brutal Milice, being rare exceptions.
“Yes and no. Sometimes it was quite nice to be alone and not have to put up with the brutishness of the guards and the squabbles of ones fellow POWs as was the case in the Oflag where we were until you got your lucky pass,” he said.
“At other times, indeed the majority of the time it was boring and you have to be damn strong up here,” he said tapping his head.
“There were several of us who went crazy, understandably so if you are cooped up on your own without any light for all but an hour a day. That was if you were lucky, because sometimes the guards wouldn’t let us out during the day. They claimed it was for our personal safety in case the locals stormed the camp angry at the damage done by the bombing. As if! The thing that most impressed me was the orderliness of the civilian population, no uprising no rebellion just a pathetic obeisance and willing to go down with the ship,” he added, his tone one of disbelief.
Lafarge remained silent. Solitary confinement hadn’t been a pleasure visited on him when he had been in the POW camp, although he had been threatened with it when his investigation entered sensitive territory, but it sounded as if he wouldn’t have coped well. As for the Germans and their refusal to rebel well that was their affair, unable to cut the ties with the regime which had led them at first to victory but ultimately to catastrophe and shame.
There had been no such compunction on the French people’s behalf in 1940, the military especially the High Command hadn’t earned their loyalty so abject had been their leadership, and perhaps there was something to be thankful for as France hadn’t all been reduced to a pile of rubble.
***
“So how did it all end for you, the guards just let you go?” asked Lafarge.
“No they mostly melted away, by the end they were either elderly or had been invalided out of the Wehrmacht and all they really wanted was to go home and see if theirs were still standing, and the British liberated us,” said Rochedebois.
“Then it was a case of waiting and waiting for a ticket back here, bloody dull I can tell you! Tempers frayed as you can imagine as with so much of Germany destroyed we were kept on a tight leash, you could say there was little change to our routine apart from the uniforms of the guards!
“Lubeck took a heck of a pummeling from the air during the War so it wasn’t as if there was a great selection of restaurants or bars to go to and there were strict regulations on fraternising. I had been burnt once and I wasn’t going to risk it again. The British have a pretty no nonsense attitude to breaking the rules, quite similar to the Germans in fact!
“Anyway that’s enough about me. If you wish to know more we can talk about it at dinner later. What I think is of more importance is this idea of buying off the guards. I have no problem with that but what I think would be better is that I deal with it, as I am not sure a senior policeman should be going round bribing fellow public servants!”
Lafarge objected forcefully to the suggestion, pride more than anything else as it had been his idea and in some small way he wanted to feel like he was personally protecting his father.
However, Rochedebois would not countenance his step-brother dirtying his hands and perhaps opening himself up to repercussions from his superiors or even being blackmailed by one of the guards later on.
“What if one of the guards, several of whom are clearly from what you have said dodgy characters, were to get into trouble with the law and used your name as a get out of jail card? I say that for you personally it is too risky a strategy,” said Rochedebois.
“I appreciate that Lucien, but believe me while you have been a guest of the Germans and enjoying the flesh of a well-built farmer’s wife, I have had more dirt on my hands than one would wish for in a lifetime,” said Lafarge.
“I am touched you are concerned about the possible repercussions but I think that this is not one of those situations which will spiral out of control. I have enough faith in my superiors, on a personal level perhaps not on a political one, that they would understand my reason for buying the guards,” he added.
Rochedebois chuckled and shook his head before taking another gulp of the cognac, Lafarge following suit.
“I see you have lost none of your stubborn streak Gaston! Very well I will provide you with security as I did when we were in the camp together, it will be just like old times! Perfect therapy for me to return to normal life!” he said laughing.
***
Lafarge did, though, allow Rochedebois to choose the two guards whose hands they were going to grease, the younger man reasoning that while the Chief Inspector probably looked at everybody as if they were capable of committing a crime he was more positive about human nature and given his long years of captivity he had got to know the type of guard who was open to taking a backhander.
Lafarge was quietly amused as he watched Rochedebois first observe the six who we
re on watch and then chat with them before ambling back and indicating his choices calling them the Duponts after the hapless detectives who featured in the Tintin comic books.
“Any of them could fit the bill, but these couple of bozos should be fine,” said Rochedebois, who added he regretted their funds would not cover all of the guards.
It was time for Lafarge to perform his part, so he prised the two away from their duties, which largely involved sitting around in the staff room. Occasionally they would do the rounds of the prisoners’ cell walkways to check they had not committed suicide, but it was at least during the day a relatively relaxed regime and inmates were permitted to visit each other.
Lafarge wasn’t satisfied with this routine at all but his duties and responsibilities did not allow him obviously to interfere in the running of the prison. He was slightly surprised at Rochedebois’ choice as the guards looked to be exact opposites from their appearances.
One was old, perhaps a bit younger than his father, with rheumy eyes and burst blood vessels on his nose, suggesting he was a heavy drinker and would gladly seize on one of the bottles of cognac Lafarge had. He also had two bottles of bourbon sequestered from the black marketer Jean Darval, who had established connections with an American Army lieutenant.
The older man, whose stale breath when he introduced himself as Henri Fayette forced Lafarge to take a step back, had it seemed given up on his professional life as his uniform was crumpled and stained, the tie screwed to the right of his shirt collar. Lafarge didn’t wish to judge him as a loser for given the evil of the past few years he may have endured a lot rather than been inflicting the pain.
The other guard, whose name was Etienne Vandamme, was young, in his late 20’s conjectured Lafarge, good looking with polished teeth, fresh breath, well clipped sandy hair, a muscular physique and his uniform was in pristine condition. Rather than being reassured by his appearance it set alarm bells ringing inside Lafarge’s head, perhaps he was just too much on edge he thought but the young man seemed out of place in Fresnes.