End Games in Bordeaux

by Allan Massie

  ‘Police business.’

  Lannes thought: we’re like fencers, each looking for an opening, hesitating to lunge, wary of the riposte if our stroke is parried. Well, to change the metaphor, why not put a card on the table?

  ‘My business is crime,’ he said, and passed the photograph of the advocate with the little girl to Edmond. ‘I hoped the count might identify the girl.’

  ‘And of course he didn’t?’

  ‘Of course he didn’t. Whether he could have is another matter.’

  Edmond took a bottle of Armagnac from a cupboard, poured two glasses and passed one to Lannes.

  ‘Crime, as you say, is your business. I understand that, but hasn’t it occurred to you, Jean, that just at present, the sort of crime this photograph represents is – how shall I put it? – irrelevant, pre-war? We are engaged, caught up in, something much bigger and more dangerous. I repeat my question: why do you suppose Fabien directed your attention to Labiche? Not on account of his doings with little girls, however sordid, disgusting, criminal such behaviour may be. Fabien would care nothing about these matters. You can be sure of that. You hope, I assume, that if you can find this girl and she is willing to testify against the advocate, you can take your case to an examining magistrate – you may even have a sympathetic one in mind – and obtain a warrant for Labiche’s arrest. Well, it’s a long shot, I would say, and I am by no means certain it is what our friend Fabien would wish. It’s politics and political manoeuvring that concern him. You may have heard of the Liste Cortin?’

  ‘Yes,’ Lannes said. ‘I’ve heard of it … the list of members of the Cagoule discovered by the Sûreté in Paris, or handed over to them, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Just so. But what is less generally known is that the Liste Cortin was incomplete, and not only because it was restricted to members based in Paris and the Ile-de-France. There were other lists, nobody doubts that, one of members here in Bordeaux and the Gironde and parts of the Midi. Or so it’s said.’

  And are you on it, Lannes thought.

  ‘Such a list would mean trouble for a good many people, including some close to de Gaulle perhaps, certainly some who hope to play a role in whatever regime emerges from the Liberation. And of course others too. It’s my belief that Fabien thinks Labiche has it.’

  ‘And Fabien wants it?’

  ‘Undoubtedly.’

  ‘And hopes that I can find it for him?’

  ‘It seems likely. That list represents power. Better, don’t you think that a friend has it rather than Labiche?’

  ‘If he is indeed a friend.’

  ‘That, Jean – my brother whether you like it or not – is something we have to take on trust. Not a word I often employ, but, with things as they are, you have to put your stake on red or black, odd or even.’

  ‘It’s an interesting suggestion,’ Lannes said. ‘This is very good Armagnac.’

  ‘I’m pleased that you approve of it. One other thing, Jean: Labiche is a clever man, and can read the weather as well as anyone. No doubt he has, as you say, made arrangements to seek a refuge in Spain. But only as a last resort. He’s the kind of man, I suspect, who will always back a horse each way. So I would be surprised if he hadn’t built bridges with the Resistance too. If you have any friends there, that’s something else you might look into.’

  X

  Friends in the Resistance? Lannes sat smoking on a bench in the Public Garden, the very one where he had sat with Schuerle, the German liaison officer who had so improbably become his friend, and who was now, he feared, dead or in prison as one of the conspirators who had failed to kill Hitler. They had talked, he remembered, of the roots of evil, of the moment in a life when beliefs, emotions, desires become pathological. Is anyone born a criminal, born evil, Schuerle had wondered. Even Hitler was once a little boy, perhaps cherished by his mother, and – he had laughed – there’s no evidence he was the kind of small boy who tears the wings off flies or tortures animals; indeed even now he’s devoted to his dog. And likewise Lannes had no reason to believe that Labiche had been born malignant. Perhaps he didn’t even hate the Jews, and his anti-Semitism was adopted to further his career. If so, then Edmond’s suggestion that Labiche might already have forged links with some elements of the Resistance made sense. There would be many who were changing sides or seeking the means to do so, many also who would have seen the wisdom of backing, to use Edmond’s illustration, both red and black, odd and even. And wouldn’t there be those who would judge that as a policeman he was himself a faithful servant of the regime, doing his duty as Vichy commanded?

  The sun beat down but the garden was almost deserted. It was a summer which nobody yet dared to enjoy. He closed his eyes, and thought, I’m so tired of it all, so tired of dishonesty, hatred and death. Clothilde pined for Michel who, if he ever returned which was unlikely, would not be the boy who marched with such blithe and gay stupidity to war, a boy with a radiant smile who had chosen the dark side. And if Alain came back to them, wouldn’t he too have learned what a boy of his age shouldn’t know? There was a chatter of bird song. Not fifty metres from where he sat, a boy of Alain’s age in the first weeks of the Occupation had shot a German soldier, off-duty and perhaps simply taking pleasure in the garden which may have reminded him of some public garden in his home town in the Rhineland or Bavaria.

  He remembered how years before the war Laval had said that France would always have a frontier with Germany and that consequently the two nations must either fight a war every generation or come to an accommodation, even, he implied, some form of union. He himself had survived the trenches, had survived Verdun and been wounded there; he had fought blindly because that was what he had been required to do. It had been terrible, came back to him horribly at nights even now, but this war was worse, more corrupting because it had been all but impossible when you came to the crossroads to be certain which path to follow. And those who had taken what proved to be the wrong path – like Edmond de Grimaud, he supposed – while believing they were serving France, would be charged with a crime which had not been a crime when they followed the arm of the signpost pointing towards Vichy. Of course Edmond still hoped – it was clear he hoped – that somehow he might work his passage back. And was such a hope dishonourable? Was it vain, absurd? He had looked his idea of reality in the face, and now that face was turned against him. He had, as he admitted, tried to have him shot, and now extended the hand of friendship which Lannes could not refuse.

  ***

  The brasserie was almost empty, only a couple of tables occupied. An elderly couple sat at one of them. The man, who wore the ribbon of the Légion d’Honneur, had tucked his napkin into his collar; the woman wore gloves. They ate in silence. Perhaps they lived in silence, either because over years of marriage they had exhausted conversation or because anything either might have to say was better left unsaid.

  Jacques however approached Lannes with a smile.

  ‘The old man’s himself again. Whatever you said to him seems to have done the trick. I’m grateful.’

  ‘I don’t recall saying anything of value. Is he in?’

  ‘He’ll be back soon. Are you eating?’

  ‘I’ve no appetite. Some bread and cheese perhaps, if you have cheese, and a glass of beer.’

  ‘Fine.’

  He sat down to wait. The elderly man had picked up a chicken leg and was gnawing it. Drops of juice fell on his napkin. His face was flushed.

  ‘I’d a visit from young Karim,’ Jacques said. ‘He was asking if I’d seen you.’

  Lannes sighed.

  ‘He’s not a bad lad, you know,’ Jacques said, not for the first time. ‘He gave me a message to pass on if you came in. Said he could help you, which sounds unlikely, I know, because in the past it’s been your help he’s needed, hasn’t it. Anyway he said you could get in touch with him at Chez Jules. I wouldn’t like to venture in there myself. Ah, here’s the old man.’

  Fernand raised his hand in greeting, went behind
the bar, and picked up a bottle of Armagnac and two glasses.

  ‘Jean,’ he said, handing him a glass, ‘here’s to Liberation.’

  ‘A bold toast, even now. How’s the new girl? Still with you?’

  ‘A perfect peach, old boy.’

  Lannes fingered his glass.

  ‘I’ve been hearing things about you.’

  ‘Nothing bad?’

  ‘That you’ve become active.’

  Fernand laughed, downed his brandy and poured himself another.

  ‘Cautious as ever, aren’t you, Jean? And not even drinking. It seemed about time, that’s all. The Boches are pulling out. I’ve done well out of them, as many others have. So it’s a good idea to get myself on to the winning side. I don’t give a damn about politics, you know that. Vichy were idiots. You know that too. And the new lot may be bastards. All the same I’ve joined the Party, better to be with them than against them. You should do the same. You’ve heard what they are calling themselves – the party of twenty thousand martyrs. They’re taking all the credit for the Resistance and indeed they’ve done most of the fighting, most of the sabotage, or so I’m told. And they’re going to come out on top, not that comic general from London. So I’d rather be with them than against them. Besides the peach has been a party member for years.’

  ‘You surprise me.’

  ‘Surprised me too, but she was born into it, seems her father’s a big shot, big enough to have spent the war years in Moscow, wise man. So when she suggested I sign up, I thought, “Why not?” Like I say, you should do the same. Besides my lot are all right, good kids most of them, eager to line up collaborators against a wall. I’d rather be on the side of the firing-squad. What about it, Jean?’

  Lannes smiled.

  ‘Good luck to you, but it’s not for me. But I heard a strange thing the other day.’

  ‘What was that?’

  ‘That our friend the advocate Labiche has taken the same route.’

  ‘Labiche? Don’t make me laugh. He’s one of the first my boys would string up.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘No doubt about it.’

  ‘Not if I get him first, they won’t. But if you hear anything to the contrary of what you’re saying, you’ll let me know, won’t you?’

  ‘Naturally. But someone’s pulling your leg, Jean. Believe me, the boys wouldn’t accept the likes of Labiche if he approached them waving the hammer and sickle and swearing blind that Stalin is his cousin or boyhood friend. The comrades have their faults but they can recognise a stink when it’s near them, and our friend the advocate stinks to high heaven.’

  XI

  You never saw Germans in the streets now. They had been pulled back into barracks, and the word was that they were preparing to retreat, fight their way North. But the Milice were still active, and for the moment ruled the streets, reason enough for careful people to stay at home. They had shot up a café yesterday, killing three men believed to be in the Resistance and a couple of others, pensioners who had merely dropped in for their usual glass of wine.

  Jules hadn’t taken Lannes’ advice to shut his bar for the time being. He was there behind the counter, fingering the wart on his cheek.

  ‘I’m still waiting for the Americans,’ he said. ‘Or the English. You said they would be better customers, even though the Americans have more money.’

  ‘Did I? But what do I know about the Americans except from the films? And I don’t recall seeing a bar like yours in any Hollywood movie.’

  ‘Well, we’ll see. Armagnac, I suppose, and I suppose you’ll expect it on the house. Why not? I’m always happy to help the police as you know. But actually, superintendent, I’ve had no reason to close up. I’ve got protection. To my surprise, the Doc over there has turned up trumps.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Ask him yourself.’

  Lannes turned and saw Dr Solomons sitting at a table in the corner with the curly-headed boy – what was his name? Miki? – whom the Milice lieutenant had tried to arrest.

  He put a note on the counter, and said, ‘I’ll pay for my own drink, thank you, and bring the Doc and the boy whatever they’re drinking.’

  ‘My dear superintendent, what a pleasant surprise. No longer suspended, I trust? I wondered what had become of you – your friend Monsieur Chambolley said only yesterday when I took the good lady another supply of morphine that he hadn’t seen you for weeks. We were both anxious. When people disappear these days, they seldom emerge again.’

  ‘No? I’ve been fortunate then.’

  But he felt guilty. The shameful truth was that since he was released from prison he hadn’t dared to visit the bookshop in the rue des Remparts for fear that he would find that Miriam had died.

  ‘How is she?’

  ‘Stronger, astonishingly, I believe she may survive, and, soon, we should be able to get her treatment in hospital. I’m not convinced it is cancer, though I can’t be sure.’

  ‘That’s a relief. I’m grateful to you.’ When Jules had placed their drinks on the table, a Cassis for the doctor and orangeade for the boy, and returned behind the bar to finger his wart and gaze into the distance, Lannes said, ‘Jules tells me you’ve arranged protection for him. I’m puzzled.’

  ‘He puts it too strongly. You wouldn’t think it to look at him, but the man must be an optimist.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Do you have such a thing as a cigarette, superintendent? Thank you. I really shouldn’t, but at my age I ask myself what possible harm can it do. It’s an amusing story. This pretty boy here,’ he leaned across and tweaked his ear, Napoleon-style, ‘proved not to be the innocent I supposed – you supposed? – when you intervened to save him from being beaten up, and perhaps worse, by those thugs in the Milice. Quite the contrary. They had good reason, hadn’t they, my dear?’

  Lannes looked at the boy who smiled, sipped his orangeade and then flicked out his tongue to lick his upper lip.

  ‘I thought I’d had it,’ he said. ‘I was so scared I wet myself. I couldn’t believe my luck when you stepped in and lied about me. Thanks. I reckon you did us a good turn. I knew what they’re capable of and I was afraid I would talk before they killed me. I can’t say I wouldn’t have. Actually, afterwards, I wondered if you were in the Resistance yourself, but the boss said you weren’t, to his knowledge anyway.’

  ‘You surprise me,’ Lannes said.

  ‘Tell you the truth, I surprised myself. My father used to say I was soft, and I believed him. But I’m not really. I fancy girls too – sorry, Doc – but that’s not the point. You maybe think a boy like me can’t be a patriot and, to be honest, it’s not a word I like. Seems to me everyone calls himself that. The Marshal said he spoke for France and my mum and dad believed him. Maybe they still do, I don’t know. But I couldn’t stand seeing the Germans swanning about here in Bordeaux as if they owned the city and all of us, and as for these fuckers in the Milice, I’d be happy to string them up. Anyway I joined the party a couple of years back when it was still deep underground because my dad said they were scoundrels and low-lifes, which is how he thought of me. And I was right because it’s the Red Army that’s winning the war, isn’t it? I’m quite tough really, you know, I’ve discovered that, even if I did wet myself that day when they took me by surprise. Sorry, I don’t usually talk this much, do I, Doc? But I reckon I’ve you to thank for being alive still, so I wanted to explain myself. You go on, Doc.’

  ‘There’s not much to add. May I take another cigarette? Thanks. It’s quite simple. After that little incident, Miki confessed to me – I won’t say where – that he was indeed active in the Resistance. I was astonished and then excited. And then the chief of his Resistance group was wounded, shot, when an attempt to lay a bomb on the railway went wrong. He needed a doctor, and Miki had the good sense to call me in. I extricated the bullet and patched him up, and that’s that. It helped that I’m an old Party man myself recruited years ago by the old tailor we spoke of, Ephra
im Kurz, long before he lost the faith which I have never done, quite, and have now found it, I have to say, revived by the Occupation, not to speak of young Miki here. So when Jules got nervous about what might happen here when the Boches pull out, I was able to arrange that the Comrades would keep an eye on the place, which is what those two gentlemen across the room are doing. No, superintendent, don’t look at them, it would really embarrass them. Like most of the comrades, they’re stern moralists, and think people like me decadent bourgeois perverts, even when we are loyal Party members. They would normally disapprove of Miki too, even despise him, but actually he’s their blue-eyed boy. You wouldn’t believe the risks the child has run.’

  ‘Don’t listen to him,’ the boy said. ‘He exaggerates. It’s because he’s a romantic. A Jew, a queer and a romantic, some combination.’

  ‘You talk nonsense yourself,’ Solomons said. ‘There’s not an ounce of romance in my body. But tell me, superintendent, did you find my poor Aurélien? And how deep is he in trouble?’

  ‘I found him, and the only trouble he is now in is being himself.

  Thank you for an interesting story, and thank you for what you have done for Miriam. As for you, young man, you’ve evidently done what you needed to do, and proved yourself. But just remember this. When the Germans have gone we are going to have to live with ourselves and with each other, Frenchmen with Frenchmen, in something like concord and normality. We don’t need more deaths, and, if you forget this, then remind yourself what would have happened to you if I hadn’t chanced to be here. And do you know what prompted me to speak up and tell a lie on your behalf? Pity, simply pity for one in misfortune. It’s not an ignoble emotion, pity, though there are many who think themselves strong who despise it. And now I must have a word with Jules. I wish you both well.’ At the bar, lowering his voice, he said, ‘I’d a message that Karim wanted to see me. Tell him to come to the bar he knows of behind the station tomorrow afternoon at three o’clock.’