Waiters hustled the heavy trays or took away the empties, while thick on the air and emphasized by the half-light, the tobacco smoke had all but overwhelmed all other scents. Ackerland was on tap, Spaten Dunkel too, and Dortmunder Union, each glass or stein overflowing.
‘There’s even Einbeck Dunkel, Louis, and a Bock and Double Bock I’d recommend. The Führer may not like it that this brasserie of choice hasn’t been shut down as ordered, but he sure does know his boys like their beer. It’s flown in every day or sent by rail.’
‘Hermann …’
So popular had the Boeuf sur le Toit been to the avant-garde and Bohemian wealthy of the Roaring Twenties, its fame had spread and in the autumn of 1940 it had immediately been adopted by the Paris SD, SS and Gestapo.
‘You’re late,’ said Louis.
‘I was held up.’
‘Which table then?’
‘That one at the very back that has two empty chairs facing the life-size bronze nude from the former location.’
Svelte and on tiptoes with uplifted breasts, the nymph had one arm extended high above her to release a dove of peace.
‘The table with what look to be two Grosskotzkerls,’ said Hermann, ‘but don’t be fooled, not by those two.’
The big vomit boys, those who, like Reichsmarschall Göring, would eat and eat. Both sinister, and like him in that as well. ‘Berlin must have sent them.’
‘Kaltenbrunner, I think.’
‘God always frowns, Hermann, but our garde champêtre is taking the soup as if a last meal. Ah bon, he’s afraid of what I might well do to him.’
‘Just don’t mention the shoes.’
‘The what?’
‘The ones he wanted for Évangéline.’
She of the plunging neckline, radiantly beatific and licentious smile, and the drenchings of one of Lanvin’s latest.
‘It’s called Mon Péché,’ said Hermann.
And on a first-name basis with her too. ‘Me, I think I understand.’
‘You’d better.’
Uniforms were everything to the Occupier, no matter how humble the station, felt St-Cyr. To the basic Luftwaffe blue of these two had been added the stiff-collared walking-out white shirt, black tie and vest, all of which indicated that they were Göring’s. One even wore the Deutsche Jägerschaft badge of the hunting association and medals to prove deer had been shot and killed at exceptional range, the other no doubt fiercely jealous. Both, however, wore the party’s golden badge of honour and red armband with white circle and gold-lined black swastika, indicating that Hitler also had a definite claim to them.
‘Uniforms tell you only so much, Louis. They may even hate each other.’
Party functionaries and dyed-in-the-wool Nazis.
Neither bothered to even look up from the oysters in the half, the pâté, bread and wine. Indeed only Rocheleau seemed to have noticed their arrival and that of his wife. Having dropped his spoon and splashed his uniform, he had knocked over the glass of the red, which was now finding its way to his trousers. ‘Évangéline …’
‘Eugène, mon cher, mon brave.’
Kisses of repentance were necessary—was it really repentance? wondered St-Cyr. Joyously the woman trailed trembling hands over that husband of hers while Ludin, having quickly downed yet another shot of the stomach bitters, gazed leadenly at them and said, ‘Sit,’ but in Deutsch, of course.
It was Hermann who dragged from his coat pockets a pair of shoes to ask, ‘Would these be what you’re looking for, Kriminalrat?’
‘Eugène, mon cher, they’re a little tight but it was wonderful of you to have risked so much for me, the young girl you married fifteen years, seven months and four days ago.’
‘Those … Those, they are …’
‘Beautiful and me, I would love to have them anyway. Dancing will loosen them up. Dancing in Paris, Eugène.’
‘It’s not allowed. It’s against the law.’
‘But there are lots of places where it does happen. French musicians and their ensembles play nothing but the latest tunes. Hermann took me to one. “Douce Georgette” is by Joseph Reinhardt and his ensemble, but Hermann, he says the piece, it is really called “Sweet Georgia Brown.” “Irene,” it is terrific, too, and very dreamy. André Ekyan and his ensemble do it marvellously. “Palm Beach” as well, and Monsieur Hubert Rostaing’s clarinet, it is just as good as Monsieur Benny Goodman’s in the “Saint Louis Blues” or was it “Smoke Gets in Your Eyes”? No, that one was Tommy Dorsey and his orchestra. A trombone, I think.’
Hermann loved to dance and listen to the Voice of America whenever possible, and he did like such music as did those ensembles, and of course they played in clubs and bars and even held outdoor concerts the Occupier also loved, though all of it was verboten.
‘Tell the slut to shut up,’ said Ludin to the husband who was now trying to claim the shoes he’d found had been of a darker shade.
‘Eugène, mon cher, they are exactly the ones you told me of. The imprint, it says so. Hanan, wasn’t it? Hanan of New York, at 43 avenue de l’Opéra.’
And no longer there since the Führer in his wisdom had declared war on the Americans on 4 December 1941.
‘Are those the shoes?’ grunted Ludin, clutching at a spasm that must have wrenched his gut.
‘What else would they be,’ said Louis in Deutsch, ‘since they came from my coat pockets and we save everything we can from every case we have to investigate and this one, if I must remind you, is still very much a murder inquiry and not some circus.’
‘Rocheleau, you idiot,’ said Ludin, ‘take that slut and get her out of here. Go home to where you belong.’
Somehow they understood.
‘But first a little visit,’ said the master of ceremonies, tucking three or four big ones into the woman’s hand, she giving him a kiss on the cheek and the playfully lingering touch of her tongue.
Ludin lost all patience. ‘These gentlemen have come all the way from Berlin to talk to you, Kohler, so you had damned well better listen.’
Blitheness was called for. ‘And are they aware that you’ve a Spitzel aboard that gazo, one whose presence you’ve already advertised enough without having them come all that way?’
‘One that may well need your help, is it, Kohler?’
‘Hermann, let’s hear what they have to say when they’ve finished eating.’
Unknown to her, for sure, Anna-Marie had just brought down the wrath of the Reich on them, felt Kohler, and reaching for the empty bottles, held two up for one of the waiters.
‘Ah, the Châteauneuf-du-Pape, the 1921, Hermann. Of course, neither Herr Ludin nor these gentlemen could have known that after the Great War, the market was flooded by fake bottles of it, so much so that Baron Pierre le Roy de Boiseaumarie led a campaign to safeguard the name and his own. Ask for the Châtau Latour. Any year you like, but let’s drink a toast to their health.’
And to that of Anna-Marie Vermeulen.
Frans was in the room and at the bed. He had given her an hour and a half to get to sleep and was now going through her pockets to find that coin and her papers. He had to know the name she was using in Paris.
Unable to find either, she heard him draw in an exasperated breath and then gingerly slide a hand under her pillow and her head. There … there … have you found them now, Frans? Have you?
Quickly leaving, he softly eased the door closed, but now if they did manage to get into Paris, she would have to make him follow her, for only then could Étienne, Arie and Martine be saved, since he must tell no one else anything until he had been forced to tell the right ones everything.
To the Boeuf sur le Toit, felt St-Cyr, there was nothing but increased noise and laughter, to this table with its two visitors from Berlin and Heinrich Ludin, but the desperate. All three seemed to be waiting for something or someone. Herman
n had explained their having followed that truck’s route to its link-up with the bank van and murders, but Ludin, sour and troubled as always, had been far from satisfied, the others simply belligerent.
‘Eine Halbjüdin?’ swore Ulrich Frensel. ‘Eine Mischlinge, Kohler?’ Angrily, he stabbed an already loaded fork into the braised red cabbage that accompanied the roast pork and potatoes he’d been devouring. ‘Are you and that verfluchte Franzose telling me that you know nothing useful yet and are letting a verdammte Hure get the better of a person such as myself? Die Schlampe will be stripped naked, I tell you! Naked, Kohler!’ He jerked a butcher-size thumb back to indicate the bronze behind him. ‘All questions will be answered. If not, I will personally see that she shits through her nose.’
Liebe Zeit, was he about to have a heart attack? wondered St-Cyr. Red in the normally florid and fleshy cheeks with double chin and brew-master nose, Frensel knuckle-wiped the Führer-like moustache that went with the haircut before lowering that fist to stab the fork in again.
‘The black diamonds, Kohler,’ seethed the other one, slab-faced and dark-eyed, and with the boeuf bourguignon and side dishes of caramelized onions and braised chestnuts. ‘She knows where they are, I tell you! That filthy Schweinhund Meyerhof told her. That is why we had to let her run. That is why this Sonderkommando!’
And wouldn’t you know it, thought Kohler, the myth of the so-called black diamonds, and both of these two from Berlin in on it but hating each other.
‘Ach, this other one is Johannes Uhl, Louis, and none other than the person who almost single-handedly during the Blitzkrieg captured 940,000 carats of rough industrials, so pleasing the Führer that he …’
A long-fingered, agitated fork-hand was acidly raised for silence, sauce dribbling. ‘Bitte, mein Lieber. Bitte. There were an additional 290,000 carats of Congo cubes and other industrials I personally took off Belgian vessels in Antwerp’s harbour. The Führer …’
‘Was ecstatic, Louis, and gave him this medal and a photo spread in Signal.’*
Having leaned over the clutter, Hermann pressed a forefinger to one of the awards, and turning away as if to ignore it, said to the other visitor, ‘And you must be in charge of gem diamonds. Herr Uhl of the industrials is from Frankfurt, Louis, where on the day we started this investigation, the RAF and USAAF did a round-the-clock, levelling a good part of the city and leaving more than 500 dead.
‘Herr Frensel, is from Münster where, on 6 July 1941, and in three nights, that same RAF flattened a good quarter of the city, so like our Kriminalrat, they both have that added reason for wanting us to solve this mess they’ve created.’
Shock brought silence and then from Ludin, not looking up from the vichyssoise that had finally been set before him, ‘As does Reichssicherheitschef Kaltenbrunner, Kohler.’
There could be no smile, felt Frensel. Instead, he would simply spear a chunk of pork and offer it to this verfluchte Kripo who was nothing but trouble. ‘In Berlin, mein Lieber, though a million have been evacuated, we who are left still pray for the zoo to be hit. Lion testicles in a sauce perhaps, or elephant teats in their cream—it’s said to be very rich. Some maintain that the giraffe will be stringy and must be tenderized by pounding as we do the war bread we are now having to eat with the turnips instead of potatoes; others that when plucked, stuffed and roasted, the ostrich will be a bit gamey, but a meal to walk on its legs. I believe, and you can correct me if I am wrong which I seldom am, St-Cyr, but didn’t the population of Paris eat their zoo animals during the Franco-Prussian War we most certainly won?’
‘The boa constrictors were said to be tasty. Grand-mère always swore that her portion was exquisite, like eel served with mustard, so, too, the Indian cobra, but fortunately without the poison sacks.’
Ach, gut, he had finally got their attention, thought Frensel. ‘I, too, have received such a medal and commendation—five of them to be precise. In the Netherlands alone, Kohler, and well after having relieved those diamond firms and traders of all they said they had, you understand, I took from those held for transit at Westerbork and Vught more than 250 million guilders of gem diamonds.’
Even at 10 guilders to the pound sterling, that was still 25 million pounds and Louis would have figured it out too.
‘Or at 4.4 American dollars to the pound, Hermann, about 110 million dollars or roughly now on the black bourse, at let’s say 100 French francs to the dollar, 11 billion francs.’
‘And more than enough, eh, to pay the Reich the 500 million a day they are now demanding in reparations, which are then, of course, immediately used to buy up all the loose diamonds and other things on offer.’
‘You’d be surprised where some of those Schweinhunde thought to hide such things,’ said Frensel, ripping off a chunk of baguette to mop up juices. ‘A specimen of no name, but bare and bent over the table, had 187 carats up the one and 356 up the other, and both coming out her eyes.’
Oona and Giselle were at the mercy of such, Chantal and Muriel, too, and Gabi but neither Louis nor himself could dwell on this. They had to push these two and Ludin to get what they could before it was too late. ‘And you’ve been keeping the traders in Lisbon, Madrid and Zurich happy, have you?’ he asked Frensel.
The laugh was rich and full, felt St-Cyr, for Reichsmarschall Göring had insisted on fencing such stones, the Reich desperately needing foreign exchange and gold, since few, if any, countries would accept Reichsmark. ‘Tungsten from Portugal and Spain, Hermann. Watches, microscopes and other precision instruments from the Swiss. Ball bearings, too, and machine tools.’
‘Guns, Louis, even those on the Messerschmitt ME 109s that fired the cannon shells Oona and her husband and children had to dodge during the exodus. But the Swiss do need our coal to keep warm and to run things, so fair’s fair and we’d better not question the matter.’
‘Wolframite, Kohler,’ said Johannes Uhl, sucking on a tooth.
‘The name tungsten goes by,’ said Frensel, stabbing a potato to slice off a morsel to add to the cabbage. ‘Tungsten carbide is next to diamond in hardness and it, and its steels, if I may say so, are fast replacing many of the uses of industrial diamonds and putting certain people out of work. Grinding powders, Kohler. Grinding wheels, too, and wire-drawing dies. All formerly done by using industrial diamonds. I personally have it on the best of authority—the Reichsmarschall himself, you understand—that the Luftwaffe are having great success with tungsten-carbide, armour-piercing shells. Instantly they destroy the Russian T-34 tanks, making the Soviets shit themselves.’
‘But … but there isn’t nearly enough of it,’ interjected Uhl, lifting the spoon he had taken to using on the sauce. ‘The supply is vastly limited and the cost astronomical, especially when smuggled into France and shipped to the Reich. Wolframite concentrate’s price just keeps shooting up and up and now fetches more than 130,000 Swiss francs a tonne, so the industrial diamonds I attend to still have a very definite place in our war industries.’
‘An iron, manganese tungstate, Hermann, containing the industry-accepted sixty percent tungsten oxide. The British own some of the mines in those supposedly neutral countries of Spain and Portugal, and as a result it often has to be carried in sacks on the back and sometimes across not one but two borders at night and in the rain if lucky.’
‘Or if you wish it,’ went on Uhl, ‘28,886 American dollars, so you can, I trust, understand why the Reichsmarschall, who is also my friend and superior officer, requires what that girl knows and is carrying.’
And yet more information, felt St-Cyr, knowing Hermann would have felt the same.
Timidly dipping a crust into the vichyssoise, Ludin thought to sample it. Instead, he reached for the bitters and said, ‘Josef Meyerhof also gave her, and this we know, Kohler, his family’s life diamonds.’
He having had to cough up the information probably. ‘And knowing this, even though you and that no-name SD colon
el had a Spitzel aboard who left dribbles of coins for you to follow, you let her leave Amsterdam?’
‘We had to wait until Meyerhof’s contact person was finished dealing with her,’ said Ludin.
‘But by then she was already on her way?’
‘In a stolen Wehrmacht truck, but this we did not learn of until later.’
‘And in another note left for you by that Spitzel?’
‘The first such note, yes, but one that I didn’t leave with the coins for that Jew-lover Oona of yours to find.’
‘Louis, that’s why all the so-called secrecy. That’s why it hasn’t kept Rudy de Mérode and his gang from trying to follow us everywhere we go. That was Sergei Lebeznikov who just ducked into the kitchens, wasn’t it?’
After having had a good look at who had come all the way from Berlin. ‘He’ll be asking the waiters if anything further can be added to what he has already discovered, Hermann.’
‘They and the other gestapistes français must be wanting a share, or maybe even all of it if they can get to her first.’
Lenz and Mérode could well be useful, thought Ludin. ‘Meyerhof was director of the Amsterdam protection committee, Kohler. As such, he had the names and locations of all those they had blacklisted for selling to the Reich. He also made frequent trips to Paris before and even right up to and into the Blitzkrieg, so would have had plenty of opportunity to illegally bring diamonds here to hide.’
‘Thousands and thousands of carats, Kohler. Gems—industrials, too, of course,’ said Frensel, having shoved his plates aside to rest forearms on the table, hands clasped tightly. Big hands, swastika knuckle-dusters in gold too.
‘Millions,’ said Uhl. ‘I personally have uncovered the lies in the record books of all such firms. Each paper of high quality industrials, each packet or cloth bag, was to have been weighed and recorded, you understand, but many were not and I have recovered thousands they attempted to hide from me.’
Taking out a silver toothpick, Frensel went to work as he said, ‘As I have myself, Kohler. Those diamond Jews were a close lot. All decisions were done in committee and no one else was ever allowed in, but no longer, of course. Now we have put a stop to it and to them.’
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