Tapestry

by J. Robert Janes

  Suzette Dunand had typed up the following for the Scapini Commission and must surely have been worried this Sûreté would find it:

  Madame Adrienne Guillaumet, wife of prisoner-of-war Captain Jean-Matthieu … et cetera.

  Thursday, 11 February 1943: Subject leaves residence at 131 rue Saint-Dominique on foot at 1410 hours. Couple’s children are left alone, but Concierge Ouellette reluctantly reveals that she checks on them from time to time and that this is not the only such occasion but one of many.

  Proof positive of marital infidelity, eh?

  Subject walks to the Deutsche Institut on the rue Talleyrand, entering it at 1430 hours.

  And not far from the flat.

  Subject pleads for an advance on part-time wages. Said advance denied. In distress, subject hurries from the building and makes her way on foot to bathhouse on the rue Las Cases but decides at last moment to go into the Église de Sainte-Clotilde.

  Behind which the bathhouse, serving the bourgeoisie of the quartier des Invalides, was located, but why the need to pray, why the douche chaude?

  Subject is forced to wait for shower bath and doesn’t leave until 1610 hours.

  And always the delays in such establishments. Though her flat, unlike so many, had had a bathtub, there’d been no provision for hot water since the Defeat. She had obviously wanted to be as presentable as possible, even though it must have cost her a good fifty francs she didn’t have. Five it would have cost before this lousy war. Five and no more!

  Subject takes métro to place de l’Opéra and enters Café de la Paix at 1655 hours where she meets and conspires—Why not confers?—with subject Marie-Léon Barrault and that one’s daughter Annette. On recommendation of the Barrault subject, Madame Guillaumet hires vélo-taxi Prenez-moi. Je suis à vous, which is to pick her up outside the École Centrale after classes at 2115 hours and drive her to the Hôtel Ritz, there to wait until again needed. Wait estimated at from two to four hours. ‘As long as is necessary,’ subject stated to driver.

  A half-hour to three-quarters becomes such a different length of time?

  Subject then leaves Café de la Paix at 1756 hours, catching the métro to the École Centrale where she arrives at 1827 hours in time for her classes to begin.

  There was nothing else. It was as if the rape, the vicious assault on her person, the savage beating had never happened.

  The signature was firm but hasty. Salauds, that is what this gang were. Shark to the woman’s in-laws, shark to the husband and the Scapini, shark to Madame Henriette Morel, too, and the ‘subject’ no matter what but he was racing now. Marie-Léon’s ‘dossier’ was thicker and there were photos. One of Gaston Morel and the ‘subject’ at a table in the Café de la Paix, his expression one of deep concern or, as implied, one of, Don’t worry, chérie. Go on up to the room. No one will ever know we’ve been together.

  Another of the photos revealed her waiting for the lift at the Hôtel Grand.

  There was a shot of the manager of the Cinéma Impérial who grinned, leered and sucked on a damp fag end: ‘Of course I took what she offered. When it is presented in such a package, one cannot be impolite. Pay … ? What is this you’re saying? She came to me often.’

  How much had Garnier bribed him? Five hundred?

  A copy of Father Marescot’s damning letter to the Scapini Commission was enclosed, even a photo of the priest, and one of the ‘subject’ entering the confessional at the Église de Notre-Dame de Lorette, and another of those who were waiting to do exactly the same thing, including Annette Barrault, who looked to be all but in tears.

  Still it wasn’t enough to link the agence to any of the attacks and if he heard about the break-in here, as he well might, Boemelburg would hit the roof, as would Oberg. Where was what was needed? Something … there had to be something more than these.

  ‘Forged tobacco cards?’ blurted St-Cyr, having opened the desk’s central drawer, that catchall of things detective and otherwise. ‘Fifty of them at least. Evidence … I’d best take a few.

  ‘A tube of Veronal … ?’ Now why would Garnier have such a thing? Old wounds? A girl, a woman he used regularly? So many filles de joie would use drugs of one kind or another if they could get them to dampen the discomfort of too much sex, but …

  ‘Noëlle Jourdan,’ the whisper came. ‘Sergeant Jourdan of the Fifty-Sixth Chasseurs à pied, and from one old soldier to another.’

  To compound their troubles, beneath the desk’s green blotting pad there was a list, in pencil, of names with lines through some to indicate that they had already been executed at the Fort du Mont-Valérien or sent east to camps. Beside these, and still others, though, there were also ticks. M. Flavien Garnier had been busy nailing résistants at one hundred thousand francs apiece, the going rate as advertised by the Occupier, but was there still more?

  Ignoring the lights, the girls and the action, Bob laid his chin on the table’s edge, his mournful gaze on this Kripo as the wedding ring spun itself to silence. ‘ “Louis-Maurice Artur, Colonel and Élène Nadine Lemaire.” ’ Two hearts cut in gold to overlap till death do us part. ‘ “Paris, 27 September 1939.” ’

  Kohler had found her. There was even the mist of sentiment in his eyes, or was that merely the effects of too much Benzedrine? wondered Delaroche. Too little sleep in any case, or simply those beers from home and a clap-sized dose of nostalgia.

  ‘She would have been sixteen,’ Kohler went on as if lost to it. ‘Probably didn’t know her mind or heart—a shop girl most likely, and feeling damned desperate, wouldn’t you say; the boy eighteen, who knows? Off to war in a hurry anyway and maybe glad to be avoiding the financial responsibilities of a pregnant wife, but as one old soldier to another, Colonel, it wouldn’t have been the first time for that to have happened, would it? Must have lied about his age, though, since twenty-one was usual for France then and now two metres down or in one of the POW camps. Which is it?’

  The mist was gone. There was nothing but an emptiness in that gaze, but why hadn’t St-Cyr shown up? Why hadn’t Jeannot or one of the others sent someone to the table to warn him? Were they all after St-Cyr? ‘I know nothing of this, Kohler.’

  ‘Then how is it you knew of the ring?’

  ‘I didn’t. Not really. I only assumed.’

  ‘A connection with the other killings and rapes? The beatings and handbag snatches—the mugging of men like Gaston Morel?’

  ‘Now look here …’

  ‘No, you look. You’re a regular at the Lido. You’ve seen that girl with Judge Rouget plenty of times, have sat at his table, had him to this one. A beauty, wasn’t she? Très charmante and with all that it takes, eh? Places like this don’t hire girls unless they have it.’

  But were Kohler and St-Cyr looking for veterans of that other war?

  ‘A pillar of the establishment runs around with a racially tainted chorus girl, Colonel, when everyone these days had better be more careful, but mein Gott, you don’t even notice? The lonely wife of a POW—wasn’t that what she was?—and there’s Judge Rouget going on and on about how Vichy has toughened the adultery laws and that such women … Ach, let me find it for you.’

  The Gestapo’s little black notebook was hauled out, its pages thumbed.

  ‘Ah, here we are. That those errant POW wives “need a damned good lesson in morals and should have their heads shorn and their breasts bared in public.” ’

  Hercule … how could he have said such a thing in front of Kohler?

  ‘And this from a man who has definitely been breaking those laws.’ Kohler found another page. ‘ “Time and again it’s the POW wives who are conducting themselves in such a shameful and disgustingly unclean manner.” ’

  Vivienne had said that. Kohler had been to the house. Merde, why had Hercule not stopped him? ‘Kohler, where did you find …’

  ‘The judge. Let’s stick to him for a moment, eh? A fellow member of the Cercle Européen that meets here at least once a week over dinner …’

  �
�I’m not a member. That’s only for …’

  ‘Of course you aren’t. You don’t need to be. It’s for businessmen, bankers and others of the establishment whose private lives you and that agency are paid to pry into and they know it, too, some of them, probably. Hey, it’s good for business to sit here, especially over the cinq à sept. Don’t try to tell me it isn’t. While you’ve been keeping an eye on me and another on Bob, you’ve been nodding to friends and acquaintances, male or female, and worrying over what they might be thinking or might have overheard. You’ve been taking in the whole of this place, especially its entrance and coat check. Who’s with who, who’s leaving a little early or hasn’t yet shown up, who’s staying a little longer than usual and not with you-know-who. That’s an art, my friend, and as a detective of long standing, I have to admire it. Now give. I want some answers.’

  Had Gestapo Boemelburg not warned Kohler to leave the Agence Vidocq out of things even if he and that partner of his did happen to stumble on to something—had they?

  ‘You live with two women, Kohler. Surely you are concerned about them?’

  ‘Is that a threat?’

  ‘Not at all. It’s merely a statement of fact.’

  Giselle … Delaroche hadn’t touched his apéritif. One of the girls came with cigars and automatically he started to make a selection only to think better of it.

  ‘You and Judge Rouget are members of the Cercle de l’Union Interaliée, Colonel.’ This wasn’t known for certain but …

  ‘That’s no concern of yours. Surely you’re not so stupid as to suspect anyone who belongs to the Interaliée?’

  ‘We’ll get to it, won’t we? Vivienne Rouget hired you to watch over her Hercule. If you ask me, I think that woman knew all about his philandering but things had gotten out of hand. He was spending far too many evenings and nights away from home and not just with Élène Artur. The Folies-Bergère, the Casino de Paris, the Apollo, the Naturiste and Chez Éve—it’s interesting that bare breasts keep cropping up, isn’t it? Especially at La Source de Joie in Pigalle.’

  The bordel of Régine Trudel. How had Kohler found out so much in such a short time? ‘Hercule is under a great deal of stress.’

  ‘Président du Tribunal spécial …’

  ‘Résistants, Terroristen. Their sentencing. Vivienne …’

  ‘Was it that Élène reminded him of a petite amie he’d once had?’

  The framed poster above the mantelpiece, the constant reminder of a stunning conquest and possession: Une nuit à Chang-Rai, 7 March 1926, at the Magic City. Kohler had definitely been to the flat.

  ‘Hercule is at that age,’ said Delaroche. ‘The libido doesn’t fade, n’est-ce pas, but as one grows older, one can no longer command that same stiffness nor does the érection last. A remedy is needed. That’s all that girl ever was. A reminder of how things once were.’

  ‘That other showgirl. The one in that poster.’

  ‘Oui, oui. What has happened to Madame Artur, Kohler? Come, come, don’t be so free with the insinuations and the veiled threats. Karl Oberg is a member of the Interaliée, Walter Boemelburg not quite yet, but on the list and likely to be voted in at …’

  ‘Ja. Ja, mein lieber französischer Privatdetektiv, the avenue Foch and the rue des Saussaies are using that agency of yours and Louis and me have been told to go carefully. Point is, you’d best help us out, or is it that you want us to go right back to Boemelburg and dump the lot of what we now know into his lap?’

  Kohler would do it too. Boemelburg would then have to go to Oberg and hadn’t that one insisted that Hercule be totally above all such extramarital activities and hadn’t Vivienne, foolish as her little outburst had been in front of this one, been only too aware of what the Höherer SS und Polizeiführer expected of Hercule and desperately afraid of what must happen should he not see the error of his ways and fall from favour?

  Élène Artur’s fitted case was set on the table, Kohler gripping its edges before springing the catches—why hadn’t it been taken? Why had it been left for this one to find? ‘Bob, stay. STAY, Bob. There’s my soldier.’

  The half of a carrot stick was found. To be fair, what with all the other smells of pâté, et cetera, around them, Bob couldn’t be blamed for not refusing it and was one damn fine dog. ‘Was Élène really the wife of a POW, Colonel? Let’s get that straight, just for the record.’

  Had the salaud not even known? ‘Oui, I … I believe she was. Did she suffer?’

  No answer was given. The case was opened, Bob watching closely. A hand mirror and comb and brush were deliberately set to one side, Kohler watching, Kohler knowing that they couldn’t see what was still in the case unless they got up and came round the table.

  Beneath these items and such others, there would be the felt-covered pasteboard tray to which they’d been fastened. This tray was hinged and Kohler now lifted it up and out of the way.

  ‘Judge Rouget knew that wife of his was having him followed, Colonel. Maybe it had happened before, maybe someone was kind enough to have told him. Point is, he backed off and left that girl alone. Élène didn’t know what the trouble was. She knew, though, that she had done something that must have upset him, but didn’t know how he could possibly have found out about it.’

  ‘Go on. Please continue, since you seem to know everything.’

  ‘He’d taken to giving her his little gift beforehand in the Lido here and then not showing up at that flat of his. Kept her waiting night after night. That’s not good for a girl, is it?’

  ‘Get to the point.’

  ‘Certainly. When Lulu was taken, that daughter of his had come down here to ask if he would like a lift home, which he damned well should have done had he any sense. They argued—they must have. Maybe Élène caught sight of them and put two and two together, maybe Denise Rouget stormed the dressing room to confront the girl first. Something delayed Denise and gave Élène time to move. Germaine de Brisac got impatient and left the car running and Lulu alone in the backseat while she came here to find out what was the matter.’

  ‘And Élène knew where that dog would be because she had seen it often enough. You should be working with us, Kohler, but I won’t try to buy you off, since there is no need.’

  ‘You let the judge know that wife of his had hired you to follow him.’

  Must Kohler continue to look for trouble? ‘Once I knew the extent of the problem, I felt it my duty as a friend and fellow member of the Interaliée to inform him of Vivienne’s concerns. Life with Hercule hasn’t been easy. That girl was but one of many.’

  ‘But he agreed to back off?’

  ‘For the time being, yes.’

  ‘Are you familiar with that flat of his on the rue La Boétie?’

  There must be no hesitation. ‘Certainly, but are you aware that Judge Rouget has put it on the block and offered it also to our friends—your fellow countrymen? I, myself, was with him when he handed a set of keys to the estate agent.’

  Louis would have appreciated the attempt. ‘Which one?’

  ‘I’ll have to ask our secretary. She’ll have gone home by now, but you can have it first thing on Monday.’

  And no problem. ‘That’s good of you. I’ll keep it in mind.’

  A change of blouse and slip, still neatly folded and beautifully laundered by the girl’s mother, were taken out of the case, a change of underwear and pair of white woollen socks, slippers, too, that Élène Artur had sometimes worn between sets and sometimes even in that flat, but had Kohler found the two thousand francs Hercule would have given her? Had the girl put it there and trusted that the others wouldn’t steal it? Had she done so in haste, realizing that it had to be saved and would be taken from her?

  A candy-striped tricolour leg warmer with laddered runs and holes at the heel and toe, was dragged out—something she had been too ashamed to take home to that mother of hers to mend. Bob fidgeted. Others noticed the stocking. Eyebrows were raised …

  ‘It’s odd, isn’t it?’
said Kohler. ‘Detectives like Louis and myself are always searching for the little things and when we find them, we not only ask ourselves about them, but begin to look beyond the obvious. One stocking but two legs. Where’s the other one?’

  ‘Ah, mon Dieu, I have absolutely no idea. Stockings? How could I have?’

  Louis had better not be in trouble. Louis had better be finding out all he could. ‘That dressing room, Colonel. Stockings like these are always chucked out of the way when a girl’s hurrying to get dressed. Frequent visitors like yourself must have seen the girls wearing them between sets if time allowed or at dance rehearsals. Bob even recognizes it, don’t you, Bob?’

  The head was immediately lifted. From deep within him the answer came and with it a long and mournful baying that was as much of grief as it was of anything. ‘There, you see, Colonel. Bob loved her, didn’t he?’

  ‘Idiot, he’s friendly with all of them. She was just one of many.’

  ‘Ach, then let’s use him, eh? Let’s let Bob to find her other leg warmer.’

  9

  Again and again St-Cyr tripped the light switch. Fortunately the match didn’t shower sparks as he set the open packet on Hubert Quevillon’s desk, one every bit as tidy as Flavien Garnier’s. Here, though, the in-tray was empty—Quevillon must have been in earlier to clean it out. The other tray held a single file folder, thin and as if waiting for more.

  ‘The boys?’ he heard himself blurt.

  Sickened, he blindly groped for another match as he stared at the photo. Downcast and in tears, they were lined up on the pavement, and behind them was the house at 3 rue Laurence Savart.

  Returning Sonja Remer’s handbag hadn’t been enough. The names of Antoine Courbet’s sisters were on another slip of paper. Lovely girls Madame Courbet would never have allowed to fraternize with the enemy, Claudette, the oldest, having promised herself to a young man who was now in one of the prisoner-of-war camps.

  A further note, in a different but far more professional hand, gave only, Standartenführer Langbehn, 1000 hours Monday, ave­nue Foch, the note transferred by Quevillon from his in-tray, but had Gabrielle been taken to dinner and then arrested? The note had been signed by a Jeannot Raymond whose office must be next door.