‘A connection with another killing, Walter. A delicate matter we felt it best to discuss with you first.’
‘How delicate?’
‘Very,’ breathed Hermann. ‘The rue La Boétie. A dancer from the Lido, half-indochinoise and mistress of Judge Hercule Rouget, Président du …’
‘Ach, mein Gott, what is it with you two? The Höherer SS is going to have to be informed of this but have either of you any idea of what he’ll say to me, and it is to me who will be left the task of telling him?’
Calm was necessary. ‘Walter,’ said St-Cyr, ‘her murder was quite possibly done in the judge’s flat so that her killers could hide behind his close association with the Höherer SS.’
‘Rouget would have had to inform him of it so as to hush things up—is this what you’re saying?’
It was.
‘Two men, Sturmbannführer, one of whom was familiar with the flat.’
Kohler had found her then, not Louis.
‘The girl’s killing is definitely linked to that of the police academy,’ said St-Cyr.
‘Though she was not, in so far as we yet know, present during that killing, the girl was most likely taken from the Lido after first having been forced to telephone the press and then the police.’
‘And not killed until last night, Kohler?’
‘Killed at between 0100 and 0130 hours Friday, Sturmbannführer. The child she was carrying was deliberately removed and an attempt made to hide it from investigating officers.’
‘Uncontrolled rage, Walter, was evident also in the earlier killing at the academy and …’ Louis paused. ‘In that of the passage de l’Hirondelle of yesterday afternoon, a girl who was wearing the overcoat and hat of Giselle le Roy.’
‘Who must have discovered she was being followed, Sturmbannführer.’
‘Oberg’s choice of bait, Louis?’ blurted Boemelburg.
‘We don’t yet know where Mademoiselle le Roy is, but are working on it.’
‘There’s something else,’ apologized Hermann. ‘The Trinité victim, and both of the Drouant victims, were being investigated by the Agence Vidocq, a M. Flavien Garnier.’
‘You two … Are you both so blind? The avenue Foch and ourselves use them from time to time. Garnier is one of ours, as is his employer.’
‘The Intervention-Referat?’ managed Louis. It had had to be asked.
‘That I can’t, of course, answer, but I didn’t know the agence was keeping an eye on unlicenced horizontales. You watch yourselves with this. Don’t, and see what happens. Now get out. You have twenty-four hours and, Kohler …’
Boemelburg stubbed out his half-finished cigarette. ‘Don’t steal any more cars. It doesn’t look good for me in Berlin. It can’t, can it, especially when the Kommandant von Gross-Paris has to telephone me about it?’
‘That girl, Walter? Geneviève Beauchamp … That misguided teenager?’ tried Louis, a patriot to the last.
‘I’ll see what I can do but is it that you want me to have the boys in your neighbourhood arrested and their families?’
Instead of executing the girl? ‘Walter, we’ll solve this matter for you. We’re almost there and only need a little more time.’
‘Good. See that you do but don’t forget what I said about the Agence Vidocq.’
Again they shared a cigarette. Consulting others who must be working on blackout crime would be useless. There was simply too much hatred, too much jealousy. ‘Blitzkrieg is the only thing Walter understands at the moment, Hermann, what with Himmler and the rest of Berlin breathing fire down his back and Oberg no doubt fanning the flames.’
Oberg. ‘I’m waiting.’
‘Ah, bon. While we were on the train home, Oberg sent Walter a note advising him to assign us to the Trinité and Drouant should attacks be committed there.’
As they damned well had been. ‘And when was that written and sent over?’
‘Time 1610 hours Thursday, but there’s something else. Gabrielle was taken to dinner last night by the Standartenführer Langbehn. I think now, that in addition to wanting us to look out for her son should anything happen to her, Gabi may have been trying to warn us, but we didn’t have a chance to discuss anything.’
‘And now you tell me! We’re to take this Sonja Remer fully into our confidence so that she can report everything to this SS colonel?’
‘Who then …’
‘Uses Giselle, if found, in Oberg’s little souricière?’
‘Ostensibly to trap the very ones we’re after.’
‘And us, Louis. Us. Admit it. Oberg hates our guts and would like nothing better than to be rid of us but he can’t do that without Boemelburg’s help, and that one still needs us, so that one doesn’t quite know what’s up and has to go along with things anyway.’
Hermann always would grasp at straws, even that Walter would continue to back them. ‘Oberg must have known we were not only on that train but that Walter was planning to assign us to the investigation.’
‘That little Blitzmädel of his is one hell of a shot. Rudi wouldn’t have said so otherwise. Not Rudi. SS floodlights will make night into day in some stinking passage. That girl will be right behind us and guess who’ll come out of it smelling of roses?’
‘Informants, Hermann. Indics gave Oberg prior notification of the locations of those two attacks.’
‘The Agence Vidocq?’
‘We shall have to ask them.’
‘Oberg can’t have let the chief in on it, can he?’
And stubborn to the last. ‘We’re deliberately assigned to two assaults that give us examples of what’s been happening. Then later on in the evening are found because we are on Talbotte’s roster for the evening and fun is fun, so are sent to the academy for a further example.’
‘Only to then find that Giselle was to have been taken, Louis. She wasn’t to have gotten away.’
‘But ourselves conditioned to the severity of the problem and all too willing to go along with Oberg’s using her.’
‘Knowing that we couldn’t refuse, that an order was an order.’
‘Let’s go back through things. Let’s get it all straight if possible. The academy victim is taken at …’
‘You’re forgetting Lulu.’
‘Ah, bon. Madame Catherine-Élizabeth de Brisac, whose hôtel particulier overlooks Parc Monceau, loses her beloved terrier. The dog is held for a time that must be determined, but then has its scant remains hastily buried on Thursday afternoon at just before closing.’
‘The academy victim is then abducted at about 1930 hours, but we still don’t know from where. The Lido maybe.’
‘He escapes but briefly and is killed by 2030 or 2100 hours.’
‘Three assailants. His fingers, Louis. What did they do with them?’
‘The Seine most probably.’
‘Here, give me a drag and I’ll light us another. And at 2313 hours Élène Artur—it has to have been her—is forced to put in a call to the commissariat, having first tipped off Le Matin. The academy victim may or may not have been a pimp, but she most likely didn’t use one, and beyond those two phone calls there is, at present, only two connections with this earlier murder.’
‘The killers must have been known to each other, at least in part, and the one who wore the red ribbon was involved in both it and the Trinité assault. Earlier he took a taxi ride to size things up from the Café de la Paix, and then must have hurried to get to the police academy which implies he had an SP sticker and an allotment of petrol.’
‘Élène Artur must have been a distinct embarrassment Oberg could well have decided had best be removed, Louis.’
‘And where better to do it than in the judge’s flat.’
‘But with him finding her, not us.’
Such things were always done behind the scenes and the Intervention-Referat were very much a part of them. Hardened criminals but also men drawn from the ranks of the Milice now, and still others, especially here in Paris, from among the Parti Populai
re Français, the PPF of the fiery orator and would-be Hitler, Jacques Doriot.
‘But well before the rue La Boétie killing, Hermann, Madame Adrienne Guillaumet finishes teaching her night class at the École Centrale.’
‘And is taken to the passage de la Trinité.’
‘Time 2145 to 2150 hours. No later.’
‘The Drouant attack then takes place at 2352.’
‘With plenty of time for the one with the gut to have got there from place de l’Opéra but perhaps not enough beforehand for that one to have been involved in the academy killing.’
‘The break-in at Au Philatéliste Savant is then committed at between 0020 and 0030 hours.’
‘But with insufficient time for the Drouant assailant to have got there from the restaurant. Not on a night like that, but plenty of time for the Trinité assailant, if needed.’
‘Mud from the sewers.’
‘Fish-oil margarine, but an ample supply from where, Hermann?’
‘The black market probably. In any case, none of the killings and assaults are thought to be related to the stamp robbery, and that’s probably why we weren’t suppose to have been assigned to it.’
‘Perhaps. And early on Friday afternoon Giselle leaves Madame Guillaumet’s flat to find you. She pays Madame Chabot a little visit and …’
‘Was turned away, wasn’t she?’
‘Banished.’
‘Somehow she discovers she’s being followed.’
‘And switches her coat …’
‘She would never have done a thing like that had she known what would happen.’
‘Of course not, but that victim is then discovered in the passage de l’Hirondelle at around 2000 hours.’
‘Was it bad?’
‘I couldn’t identify who it might be beyond taking a look at the earlobes. Oona confirmed that Giselle had had her ears pierced some years ago but that they had become infected, no doubt due to wearing fake silver wires, and that she had sworn off wearing such earrings.’
‘And the little scars had then grown in place.’ How had Louis forced himself to find them?
‘Perhaps the hobnailed boots of our Légion d’honneur wearer are the same, Hermann. Armand may be able to confirm but I don’t envy him the task.’
A deep drag was taken and held for the longest time. ‘And Giselle, Louis? Was the rage shown in the passage de L’Hirondelle meant for her, or because it wasn’t her?’
It was a good question but caution had best be used. ‘I … I don’t know, mon vieux. I wish I did and that she was safely here between us.’
8
All along the Champs-Élysées, right to the Arc de Triomphe, the last rays of the sun were caught among the naked branches of the chestnut trees. Kohler eased off on the accelerator. Hadn’t Louis marched down this avenue in the Armistice Day parade of 1919 and in every one of them since until the Defeat? Didn’t he love the view?
‘Hermann, hurry up!’
And never satisfied! ‘I thought you might need to see it.’
‘A last time? Don’t taunt a patriot. You know the view’s been spoiled.’
They passed the Hôtel Claridge whose belle-époque façade welcomed generals and holders of the Knight’s Cross, especially its U-boat captains. Vélos and vélos-taxis were everywhere, but there were more cars here, of course, for hadn’t the Occupier a love of the avenue too?
‘We’ll hit the Arcade together, Hermann. You into the Lido after those who try to avoid us, myself into the office.’
And so much for his having backup. He was out the door before the engine could be switched off. He was into the Arcade, moving through the foot-traffic. ‘Louis …’
‘Quit dawdling. This is Sûreté business.’
And hadn’t one of those been impersonated?
A café, a sugar-cake from that same belle époque, formed an island in the Arcade and even though this partner of his knew of it, Louis jabbed a finger that way and said, ‘An entrance to the Lido is in there,’ as he hit a glass-and-oak-panelled door with gilded lettering, went in and momentarily disappeared from view.
The Agence Vidocq.
‘St-Cyr, Sûreté, mademoiselle. Your director first and then a Monsieur … Come, come, Herr Hauptmann Detektiv Aufsichtsbeamter, since you don’t obey orders, what the hell was the bastard’s name?’
‘M. Flavien Garnier, Monsieur l’Inspecteur Principal.’
And given like a parrot or a mouse. ‘Well, mademoiselle?’
The girl at the desk behind the stand-up counter with its little bell in brass had wet herself. Embarrassment flushed the peaches-and-cream complexion under a delightfully made-up pair of the bluest eyes Kohler had ever seen.
‘Find your voice, mademoiselle, or I’ll find it for you.’
‘Louis …’
‘Colonel … Colonel Delaroche has gone to pick up Petit Bob. Monsieur Garnier is out on an investigation and not expected back until Monday at the earliest. Noontime, I think.’
A lie of course. Sweet of her though, to have tried, thought Kohler.
‘Messieurs Raymond and Quevillon are … are busy elsewhere.’
Another lie.
‘I’ll bet they are,’ breathed Louis. ‘I’ll just have a look around and then you can tell me everything I need to know. Hermann, put the lock on before going to find … What was his name, mademoiselle?’
‘Colonel Delaroche.’
‘Ah, bon, she’s recovered her voice, but before you go, I’d better ask her where this Petit Bob is?’
Blue eyes looked at what she’d been typing. She thought to take it out and hide it, then thought better of doing so. ‘The … the toilette pour chiens. Madame Mailloux. Chez Bénédicte. It’s …’
‘Just up the avenue, Hermann. It’s been years since I last had to stop in there. Say hello for me. If that doesn’t open that one’s trap, use your Gestapo clout.’
‘Giselle, Louis.’
‘We’ll find her. Don’t worry. Just be yourself. That’s what we need.’
Petit Bob was magnificent. Though gentle, he made some of the other dogs nervous. He didn’t like having his nails clipped in front of them but understood that it was required. Dutifully he held the left forepaw absolutely motionless. Gazing up at his master who stood by but didn’t have a hand on him, he gave that one such a sorrowful look, another half carrot stick was warranted.
Tall, suave, handsome, fifty-five to sixty, with deep brown eyes and immaculately trimmed silvery-grey hair and sideburns that served to emphasize the burnished, cleanly shaven cheeks and aristocratic countenance, Colonel Delaroche wore a knotted, mustard-yellow scarf and charcoal-black woollen cloak with the air and confidence of a thirty-year-old on the hustle circa the seventeenth siècle, but his words when they came were something else again. ‘It’s all right, Bob,’ he said, the tone carefully modulated. ‘There’s my soldier. The hind paws will soon be done and then we’ll go for a walk and when we come back, I’ll take you in and you can say hello to all the girls. Bénédicte loves you like I do. We’ll only be a moment more. Good, Bob. Brave, Bob. We can’t have nails curling in on themselves, now can we?’
The voice, definitely of the upper crust, patently ignored the fact they’d a visitor.
The ears were lovingly caressed, the jowls touched. Bag-drooped eyes, of exactly the same shade as his master’s, engendered an ever-mournful look. The short-haired coat, of black and tan, gleamed. The fine touches of white on Bob’s forepaws, chest and tip of the tail were the marks of an aristocrat. Four years old, maybe five, and absolutely b-e-a-utiful.
Hair dryers of the kind used by coiffeurs et coiffeuses were going full blast as two Schnauzers basked in post-bath warmth but eyed Bob with what could only be a cruel intent. A terrier, though being stripped and plucked, felt no differently. The poodle that was being given a designer hairdo watched them all, as girls in blue sarraux dutifully clipped, brushed, groomed and swept up the hair that even from here would have a market.
The b
lanket of a heavy cologne dampened everything but the sounds. ‘Kohler, Madame Mailloux. Kripo, Paris-Central.’
Copies of Pour Elle and L’Illustration were lowered out in the waiting room, for this … this Gestapo had deliberately left the curtained doorway open. ‘I’m too busy. Even such as yourself could not help but see this.’
The hair, dyed a wicked blonde, was piled in curls that might last the week out under the bedtime net if one didn’t toss and turn too much. The cheeks were of high colour under their rouge and powder, the lips vermillion, the eyes made up and of the swiftest, darkest grey.
‘Well?’ she demanded, tightening her grip on the clippers, a nail flying off.
‘Of course, but like yourself, time is short and the work just keeps piling up. We’ve another rape and murder to deal with.’
‘We?’ snapped Madame la patronne, heaving rounded shoulders as she gestured with both hands to indicate the crowd and stood as tall as himself and Delaroche. ‘Is it that you don’t know why there’s such a rush at this hour, Inspector? No girl or woman dares be out after dark, my clients, my girls and especially myself!’
‘Herr …’ began Delaroche only to think better of it as Bob questioningly lifted eyes to this intruder.
‘It’s Inspector.’
‘Certainly, but could you not hold off for a moment? Petit Bob is almost done.’
‘WE?’ demanded Madame Mailloux again while taking off a nail.
Empty Kripo eyes met hers. ‘My partner, Jean-Louis …’
‘St-Cyr.’ She let a breath escape. Had her number come up again? wondered Bénédicte. The years had slipped by, as they will. The winter of 1937 had been and gone, with him barging in here just like this ‘partner’ of his to demand answers to his infernal questions, but that had been after too many other years had passed, the salaud having arrested her for not having had a licence to walk the streets. ‘I heard he was in Lyon,’ she said.
‘A case of arson.’
‘And then in Vichy, was it?’ she hazarded. Everyone was listening, of course.
‘We get all the easy ones but that was later.’
‘And Alsace?’ she asked, pleasantly enough. ‘Colmar, was it not?’
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