‘Have you a collection of them?’ he asked. She didn’t answer but only glared. ‘I’ll give it to you later, then. For now it’s all the evidence we need since my report is on the Kommandant von Gross-Paris’s desk, awaiting his perusal at an hour you wouldn’t understand.’
Grâce à Dieu, Hermann had realized that his partner would have used just such a lie, but had they grown so close, their lives, their very beings were now welded into one?
Squeezed, Louis, Hermann would have said. Like canards à la presse.
‘Mademoiselle Germaine de Brisac?’ he said, using his Gestapo voice.
Terrified, she looked at Hermann, who continued. ‘Tell them what you told me of Jeannot Raymond.’
Her overcoat fell to the carpet, her wrist was favoured. Alone before them, she knew her dress clung to her, that she mustn’t pluck at it, mustn’t even try to tidy the hair that was plastered to her brow, that to do such would only be considered unseemly of her, betraying a cowardice she didn’t wish to expose.
‘Abélard knew him from before the Defeat, from that other war, I think. The victory then. The Cercle de l’Union Interaliée, too, in the early thirties when he … he was living there and Monsieur Raymond had come home from Argentina to stay.’
‘But always the cool one, that right?’ prompted Herr Kohler, nudging her, she drawing away from him sharply. ‘Never anything else,’ he continued. ‘Dangerous—wasn’t that what you said when I asked it of you? Damned dangerous?’
Again he touched her. Again she pulled away. ‘Well?’ he demanded.
‘Dangerous and brave. When flying over the Andes Mountains, he and … and the other pilots of that airmail service he worked for had to draw their own charts and make their own repairs if forced down by bad weather or engine failure.’
‘Or walk out, Louis.’
‘He … he had two ranches. The one much nearer to Buenos Aires was for cattle and horses, while the one far to the southwest in Patagonia was for sheep. He …’
‘Had a wife and two children,’ said Madame Rouget, sucking in a breath and waiting to see their reactions. ‘A wife who betrayed him.’
Had she tasted it? wondered Kohler, Louis too.
‘Maman, that is only a rumour,’ blurted Denise. ‘You know he mightn’t have done what Abélard told you and Madame de Brisac.’
‘He did! He didn’t make that night flight he was supposed to, but returned to his cattle ranch, Inspectors, and took care of that wife and the lover she had taken behind his back!’
‘He … he cut Rivière’s throat first as that one slept and then … then made her watch as he cut those of the children,’ said Denise, unable to keep the sadness from her voice, the heartache of it, thought Germaine. ‘Rivière was his boss. Only then did Monsieur Raymond cut her throat and burn the hacienda to the ground.’
‘She … she had repeatedly begged him to let her and the children return to France, was terribly lonely and didn’t even speak Spanish, but he … he wouldn’t listen,’ said Germaine emptily.
It was Denise who said, ‘He refused to give up everything for her.’
‘A rancher, Louis. Sheep and cattle. Successful and then broke, a naturalized Argentinian who had adopted the country as his own and then had to run because he was unable to stay.’
‘And what of Flavien Garnier, mademoiselle, and Hubert Quevillon?’
Had this Sûreté asked it thinking the worst of her, having seen it so clearly? ‘I felt more comfortable with Garnier than with his subordinate. Garnier is very direct, very thorough and businesslike. He … he doesn’t try to force himself on a woman, has a wife and grown children, is very professional and is not in any way …’
‘Threatening?’ prompted Louis gently.
Denise leaped to her feet, the look she gave pleading with her not to say anything, thought Germaine.
‘We know,’ grunted Rouget, tossing his cigar hand in dismissal. ‘What you two do in private is disgusting, in public …’
‘Hercule …’
‘Vivienne, that daughter of yours had best deny it right now. No men in her life beyond those first few unfortunate and fleeting attempts at normality? Mixed swimming parties and afternoon dances she didn’t want to attend and was mortified when she had to suffer through them and was pawed by some boy who only wanted to get his fingers sticky? Did you actually believe I wouldn’t notice her tears? A daughter of mine?’
‘Papa …’
A fist was clenched, the cigar stubbed out. ‘Just deny it. Don’t and I will disown you.’
Homosexuality wasn’t only against the law but a definite no-no, especially if admitted in front of an SS. ‘Garnier’s not like Quevillon, Louis, but is a veteran like the others. So where has the Agence Vidocq got Oona Van der Lynn, Standartenführer, or are we to read about it in the press?’
Kohler’s attitude would never change. ‘That you will have to find out for yourselves on Monday at 1000 hours, the avenue Foch.’
12
They were now alone in the judge’s flat. ‘Oona, Louis,’ said Hermann. ‘The boys on your street. Your boys, mine too.’
They had perhaps a day, didn’t even know where any of the Agence Vidocq lived. Bien sûr, Delaroche must have been told by Oberg to take Giselle, and when Garnier and Quevillon had failed—if they really had—Oona had been necessary.
‘Let me have that Sûreté blunderbuss of yours and the spares. Don’t argue.’
Fingers were impatiently snapped. Clearing things away on the judge’s coffee table, Hermann broke the Lebel and emptied it and the ‘brand-new’ packet of 11 mm, black-powder 1873s whose cartridges rolled about until silent. Spreading them, he muttered, ‘Verdigris. No wonder you people lost this war.’
It wasn’t a moment in which to disagree. It was 0422 hours Sunday, 14 February 1943 and they had until 1000 hours Monday. Shoving most of the cartridges to one side, Hermann chose six to reload and that … why that, of course, left only five as spares. A folded handkerchief was produced, a girl’s, a woman’s—clean, white, ironed and decorated with a diligent bouquet of beginner’s needlework.
‘Lupins,’ he said, smoothing it out. ‘Oona dropped this in the foyer of Madame Guillaumet’s building. She left it for me, Louis. Deliberately.’
It was the handkerchief her two children had presented to her on her birthday, days before the Luftwaffe’s Stukas had repeatedly bombed Rotterdam on 14 May 1940. ‘You’re in love with her and deeply, I think.’
‘Just don’t relay that to Giselle if we find her. If, Louis. Germaine de Brisac let it slip that there had been two involved in the kidnapping of Adrienne Guillaumet outside the École Centrale. One to wait with the bicycle taxi and, though she didn’t say it, to later commit that assault, and one to call out Adrienne’s name as classes were let out and to lead her through the crowd to that very taxi.’
‘Two at place de l’Opéra and now another two, one of which was common to both.’
‘That one having a wedge of shoulders and big hands. She also made a point of telling me that Delaroche could call on some of the municipal sewer workers.’
‘Most of whom are decent, hardworking men who consider themselves a breed apart, but the Church of Saint-Nicholas des Champs is very near to the École Centrale and opposite it, one of the main entrances to the sewer system. Boats can be hired …’
‘Men can come up and go down at will and later rob a stamp store, eh? Two and two and two, Louis, the one down under the streets gathering a little mud while the other one was attacking Adrienne Guillaumet in the passage de la Trinité. Old soldiers, admit it!’
‘With another to undertake the Drouant mugging, having first assisted with the taxi theft. Veterans, yes, it’s quite possible, but I don’t think the two who isolated the owner of Take Me in place de l’Opéra’s street urinal and then stole that taxi were sewer workers. They’d have had their waterproofed suits and hats and have had no need of using fish-oil margarine.’
‘Unless wanting to keep
their identities to themselves.’
‘Walter uses the Agence Vidocq from time to time, not knowing they’ve been working against him and are on their own agenda.’
‘But does Oberg now know what they’ve been up to?’
‘Has he offered them absolution if they get rid of us?’
‘The Fräulein Remer now being nothing but insurance, Louis, Standartenführer Langbehn having been told only so much?’
‘And the agency absolutely confident nothing will be pinned on them, they having the protection of the SS, as does the judge.’
Suzette Dunand heard them leave. Clutching Teddy, she had run to the door, had stood before the two detectives in her nightdress, ashamed, terrified and embarrassed until Herr Kohler had said, ‘Please don’t cry. We’re here to help.’
They hadn’t stayed more than a few minutes. She had told them everything she could about Jeannot Raymond, most especially that he was the one who always handled the recovery of stolen property and was often away from the office for days on end.
‘The Einsatzstab Reichsleiter Rosenberg, Hermann,’ the Sûreté had said. ‘Jeannot Raymond is the one who hunts down the owners of that property and then the agence help themselves.’
‘Flats are kept for clients who need a place to stay,’ she had said.
‘Four, five—how many?’ the one called St-Cyr had asked, they both dismayed to find she didn’t even know where any of them were other than this one and the one downstairs.
Admit it, said Teddy. You couldn’t stop thinking about your date with this Jeannot Raymond. Nine o’clock this morning, Suzette? Isn’t that a little early if you are then to be taken to lunch?
‘The Chinese gate. I … I had thought perhaps a walk afterwards through the Institut National d’Agronomie Coloniale.’
And now? he demanded.
‘I was wrong. He … he was going to kill me.’
Hiking the hem of her nightdress, she blew her nose and wiped her eyes, must be brave, must do exactly as the detectives had told her.
Fortunately her tears hadn’t splashed the laissez-passer and sauf-conduit Herr Kohler had given her, he glancing at the one from the Sûreté for further agreement before filling in her name and the town of Dreux, the chief inspector saying, ‘Hurry, Hermann,’ but had a part of them been lost? Had the passes been for someone else?
‘Pack a few things, mademoiselle,’ he had said. ‘A small suitcase. Carry a shopping bag with whatever food you can gather for the journey and a little extra to help out at home—not too much, though. Bringing food into Paris is illegal and contrary to the rationing, so taking it out with all the shortages will only raise eyebrows.’
‘Remember that you haven’t been home since the Defeat,’ Herr Kohler had said, ‘and that you’re very worried about your mother and how she’s managing without your dear papa.’
‘Make sure you emphasize he’s a prisoner of war and an excellent garage mechanic and that he has found lots of work in the camp and is pleased. Tell them how many brothers and sisters you have. Has your mother a medal?’
‘The silver,’ she had said, their advice coming so fast it had been as if spoken by one.
‘Ah, bon, there are eight of them, Hermann. Be brave, mademoiselle. Open your suitcase only when asked by the control. Try to remember to say, “Jawohl, Herr Hauptmann,” especially if he’s a private. They like it when a little Deutsch is used and they’ve been flattered.’
‘Put in some extra underwear,’ Herr Kohler had said. ‘If he fingers it, don’t worry.’
‘Just look away, as if embarrassed.’
‘If he steals it, let him. Underwear is in short supply at home and is valued most.’
And then? asked Teddy as the bottle of cognac Herr Kohler had brought from the flat downstairs and reluctantly parted with went into the shopping bag.
‘You and the cognac will be seen, Teddy. If they take the one, I’m to say nothing.’
And if they should also take me? he asked.
‘I will kiss you good-bye, as the friend you’ve been, and will walk on through the control to the train. I won’t be able to look back. I mustn’t. I’m not to hurry, am to walk steadily away and then step up into the carriage.’
She was to leave the flat well before nine and to take the earliest possible train, was to give herself time but not too much. ‘You don’t want to be noticed hanging around the station,’ the one from the Sûreté had said. ‘Act naturally. You’ve the necessary papers. Be positive about them. They’re good and have come from the very best of sources.’
‘Don’t even think of them as being false,’ Herr Kohler had said and given her five hundred francs in small bills. ‘I’d give you more but we don’t want it attracting attention. Split it up. Keep only two hundred in your handbag, the rest in pockets but not those of your overcoat.’
St-Cyr had said to make sure she bought a return ticket; Herr Kohler, that she was to use her looks if necessary but wasn’t to go so far as to hesitantly touch her throat or plead with her eyes. ‘Those people on the wickets can be bastards,’ he had said. ‘Some of them are in the pay of les Allemands and can, by pushing a little button under the counter or giving some other signal, summon help.’
‘For cash,’ St-Cyr had said. ‘Yours especially.’
At 5.00 a.m., 4.00 the old, the rue Laurence Savart began to stir but they had no time to watch it come alive even though parked and sharing a cigarette outside the house at Number 3. ‘We had to do it, Louis. We had no other choice.’
Oona and Giselle, if the latter was alive and if the two could be rescued, wouldn’t get their laissez-passers and sauf-conduits, nor would Gabrielle and her son or even Hermann. Antoine Courbet and Dédé Labelle would leave the city via the Gare Saint-Lazare to begin what would be the longest journey of their lives, to the farm of Madame Courbet’s sister. Bien sûr, their destination was near Rouen, which was being bombed repeatedly by the RAF. There’d be incendiaries and high explosives. Certainly the boys would be fascinated but …
A drag was taken, the cigarette returned. ‘Admit it, Louis. They couldn’t have stayed here.’
The boys were to ‘help with the spring planting’ and had been ‘excused from school.’
Hervé Desrochers and Guy Vachon would travel south to a farm near Dijon, they leaving the city via the Gare de Lyon and bearing a similar, officially handwritten letter that had been signed by the Kommandant von Gross-Paris and forged by Hermann. And didn’t the Occupier love to have his pieces of paper, and didn’t one hope that Von Schaumburg wouldn’t discover the forgery and that no one would question its not having been written on official letterhead?
That the boys might never come back was one thing, that they were only ten years old, another, and that they had had to grow up overnight, yet another.
‘Suzette Dunand, Hermann. That girl still worries me because she knows far too much.’
Though she hadn’t been able to tell them much about Jeannot Raymond, what she had said had confirmed their worst fears. In October 1940 there had been at least 150,000 Jewish people living and working in Paris, nearly half of all those in the country. Only a quarter had been of French descent and citizens, but with the continued arrests and deportations, that total had since plummeted to around seventy thousand.
Elsewhere in the country, it was approximately the same. The pecking order that had been initiated at Vichy’s request had focused first on the immigrants, especially those who had been refugees from the Reich, but now it was directed at those who were left, the French citizens, many of whom had been veterans of that other war, as had many of the immigrants.
Citizen or not, Jewish or not, for there were also many other unfortunates, résistants among them, it hadn’t and wouldn’t matter to the ERR’s Aktion-M squads, and yes, Jeannot Raymond and the Agence Vidocq were not the only ones helping themselves. ‘But as flats and houses here in the city are emptied, Hermann, Delaroche must be having his pick of them.’
‘Whi
ch he then furnishes to his taste and at absolutely no cost or very little.’
‘Thereby setting aside an ever-growing store of wealth few if any will know about.’
‘And when the Occupier has to leave?’ asked Hermann.
The cigarette was taken, ash flicked to one side. ‘The agence’s targeting of delinquent POW wives will put them in favour with the sympathies of many.’
‘Admit it, Delaroche will claim they’ve been secretly working for the Résistance.’
‘Having just as secretly betrayed many of them.’
Hermann took a deep drag. ‘And enough, probably, to have silenced all disclaimers.’
‘But Walter can’t know of their having targeted those wives and fiancées.’
‘And Oona could be in any of those flats or houses, Louis.’
‘Ah, oui, oui, but isn’t it more likely that she has to be held somewhere that is absolutely secure and where no one, no concierge no matter how much in the pay or how loyal to the cause, will question her having been brought there or say anything of it later?’
‘The Lévitan furniture store in the rue du Faubourg Saint-Martin is huge. There’ll be guards and not just a few of them, dogs, too.’
And 0900 hours at the Chinese gate would come soon enough and couldn’t be missed.
Birdcages, dishes, pots, pans, sheets, beds, blankets, furniture of all kinds … ‘Clocks, Louis. Jésus, merde alors, look at them!’
They went tick-tock, tick-tock, rang if off the hour or were silent, but didn’t just line the many aisles in regiments. Categorized, sorted as to species, they were stacked on shelves to the once white-painted, embossed tin-plate sheathing of a ceiling that fell to pseudo–Louis XIV plaster cornices before descending to a floor whose stained tongue-and-groove was store-worn.
‘Philippe had needed a crib,’ Louis had said as they’d sat a moment in the car—it had just been one of those dumb things a partner would say before taking the plunge, any plunge into the unknown. ‘Marianne wanted me to make the choice for her, but I had to work, so I made her take care of it.’
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