by Simon Toyne
Less than a month after the first transportation of six thousand, two thousand more Jews arrived from Poland, another thousand from Germany, a thousand from France. The chronic overcrowding helped nurture and spread disease; typhus and cholera were as much a part of camp life as the random executions. And so it went on: the population grew, disease and starvation worsened, the population reduced again. Expansion followed by contraction, like the camp was some hellish organism, breathing in life and breathing out death.
To the Nazi High Command, Artur Samler was a hero and Die Schneider Lager a great success, providing an efficient solution to the twin problems of cheap manufacture and management of the Jewish population. It was the first of the Nazi camps to use a crematorium to dispose of the dead, and in a horrible twist of ingenuity, Samler had his engineers run water pipes through the furnaces and used the heat to create steam to drive the ancient looms in the factory. We called the cloth we made on those looms Tkaniny śmierć – Death Cloth. Some believed the spirits of the dead were woven into it, and in the damp shivering darkness of the accommodation blocks we had built, where we were packed in so tight it was impossible to see where one person ended and another began, we would pray to God that the souls of the dead would curse the cloth, and that all the soldiers, airmen and seamen who wore the uniforms made from it would know only defeat and death and the cloth would be soaked in the blood of the enemy. But as more Jews arrived and the crematorium fires continued to burn, it seemed God was not listening. The factory roared on, powered by the burning dead, operated by the damned, and policed by demons in human form.
And in the midst of this hell, Samler thrived. For as long as the uniforms kept rolling out and Jews kept pouring in through the gates, no one interfered and no one asked questions. He was a king in his own domain, killing and mutilating whomever he wanted, raping and brutalizing whomever caught his eye, feared by the prisoners and his own men alike. If Die Schneider Lager was Hell, then Samler was the Devil. And Death was his to command.
29
Amand woke to a sharp burn of ammonia at the back of his throat. He twisted away. Tried to get up.
‘Whoa there.’ A strong hand held him down. He squinted up into the concerned face of François Verbier, his friend and also his doctor. Then he remembered where he was and why he was here and tried to get up again, which made his head feel like he’d been hit with an axe. He lay back down. Took a breath. ‘How long have I been out?’
‘About five minutes. Parra called me.’
‘How’s Pierre – have you checked him over?’
‘SAMU got here just before me. They say he doesn’t have a concussion so he’s probably OK, though he’ll need to go to Albi for further tests.’
‘What about Marie-Claude and Léo?’
‘We’re still looking,’ a new voice answered. Amand glanced over at Parra, standing by the kitchen door. He could hear the squawk of an emergency radio and murmur of voices behind him. ‘Have you checked Léo’s school? The Commissariat?’
‘He’s not at school and they’re not at the Commissariat either.’
Amand raised himself up slowly and leaned on one elbow. ‘She’s got an office at La Broderie, check there too. And put an alert out on her car, it’s an old Peugeot – a 205, I think, red but faded-looking. Get Henri to pull the registration.’
‘I’m on it.’ Parra walked into the kitchen, already dialling a number.
Verbier pressed a finger into Amand’s neck. ‘How many tablets have you taken today?’
Amand shook his head and something sharp and jagged seemed to roll around inside his skull. ‘I don’t know – a couple.’
‘A couple, like “two”? Or a couple, like “more than two”?’
‘Two.’
Verbier checked his watch. ‘Not yet eleven and you’ve already popped two pills.’
‘I’ve had a bit of a morning.’
Verbier nodded. ‘I saw your car. Looks like bears have been humping on it.’ He glanced at the kitchen door and lowered his voice. ‘You can’t be running round like this, raising your blood pressure and chewing pills to bring it down again. It puts too much strain on your heart. Keep it up and I’ll sign you off work and tell everyone why.’
‘Don’t.’ Amand sat upright and the room swam a little but the jagged thing in his head stayed put.
‘I’ll have to. I’m your doctor first and your friend second. The only reason I agreed to keep your condition quiet was because you assured me you’d be better off staying active and you promised to take things easy. This is not taking things easy.’
‘Josef Engel is dead – he was murdered.’
‘I know.’
‘Pierre was attacked, in this house, and Marie-Claude and Léo are now missing.’
‘I know all of this, Parra briefed me when he called to tell me you’d blacked out.’
Amand frowned. ‘How come he called you?’
‘Because I asked him to. I told him your blood pressure was a little high and I’d put you on some mild meds to manage it, but that he should call me immediately if you became unwell for any reason. Listen, Ben, I’m telling you this as your friend more than your doctor. You need to let someone else take over this investigation.’
‘No.’
‘I know how you feel about Marie-Claude, and I understand why you might feel more responsibility towards her and Léo than to most, but that is exactly why you should step aside. Your personal feelings, your history with this family, all of it is going to cloud your judgement and potentially compromise not only your health but also the investigation.’
‘It won’t. I’m quite capable of separating personal feelings from professional duty.’
‘Really? Try telling that to your car.’ Verbier screwed the cap back on the smelling salts and slipped the bottle into his pocket. ‘You can still be part of the investigation, but on a level that is more conducive to your health. No more car chases. No more running about. You can’t piss around with cardiomyopathy. Too much strain and you’ll need more than smelling salts to wake you up again. You may not wake up at all.’
Amand nodded. ‘OK. As soon as Marie-Claude and Léo turn up safe and sound, I’ll step aside. I promise.’
Parra reappeared at the door, holding his hand over his phone. ‘Henri’s putting the details of Marie-Claude’s car on the wire now and dispatching someone to check out La Broderie. He also said to tell you we have a suspect in custody.’
‘Solomon Creed?’
‘No. Someone new. A migrant worker from one of the vineyards.’
‘OK, tell Henri we’re on our way.’ Amand stumbled to his feet and reached out a hand to steady himself against the wall.
‘Step away from this or I’ll make you,’ Verbier murmured. ‘I’m serious.’
‘I know you are,’ Amand said. ‘No more car chases, I promise. I’ll even sit down while interviewing this new suspect and get someone else to beat him up if he doesn’t cooperate. How’s that sound?’
30
He listened to the drama unfolding on the police scanner as he drove away from Cordes, sweating heavily despite the chilled air blowing out of the vents. He should never have taken such a risk, going into the house that way. It had been reckless and undisciplined and when the officer had returned sooner than anticipated, had so nearly ended in disaster.
He was tired after the long night, not thinking straight, his head throbbing with the thing growing inside it. He opened the glove compartment and rummaged through pill bottles until he found the one he needed and fumbled at the cap, desperate for the relief inside. He glanced down for a moment and a long blast on a horn made him look up again. A large truck had appeared round the corner, lights flashing and an angry driver. He yanked the steering wheel, dragging the car back to the right side of the road and his wheels caught loose dirt on the verge and the car shimmied and slipped as the truck roared past in a long mournful wail. This was no good. He was panicking. Losing control. He needed to calm down. He n
eeded to think.
He spotted a gravelled lay-by up ahead by an ivy-clad water tower, slowed down and eased the car to a halt by a row of bins. He left the engine running to keep the air cold and pressed a button to open the boot so it would look like he was dumping trash. He needed to stop anyway to stay in range of the local police scanner frequencies. There were things he could learn by staying close, like the name of the new suspect, or a fresh lead on the old suspect who was still missing. But first he had to get rid of the pain exploding through the centre of his head.
He unscrewed the lid of the pill bottle, tipped a pale green tablet into his hand and swallowed it dry. He closed his eyes and listened to the scanner for a while, feeling the cold air chill his damp skin.
A car drove past and he opened his eyes and watched it moving away across the vine-covered hills. A short-toed eagle swooped down from a power line and landed on the edge of the road, its pale feathers ruffling in the breeze. It hopped forward and started to peck at what looked like a length of rope. He realized what it was and smiled. Eagles were good omens and the sight of this Jean-de-blanc tearing at the flesh of a dead snake cheered him. It was a physical manifestation of good triumphing over evil and it reminded him of his greater purpose.
The scanner squawked as a unit headed over to La Broderie to check out the Engel unit. The police were wasting their time. He knew because he’d already searched it. He had learned about it from his background research on Josef Engel and broken in the night before his visit to Monsieur Engel. He liked the idea that Engel might suffer more, believing that his silence was protecting the low filth he called his friends, only to discover at the death that he had suffered for nothing because the list had already been found. But in the end, all he had found in the storeroom were old invoices and moth-balled clothes, the same things the police were about to find. The key to locating the list was the granddaughter, he felt sure of it. She had to know something, why else would she go missing so suddenly in the shadow of her grandfather’s death?
The scanner squawked again.
– Commandant Amand. Come in. Over.
– This is Amand.
– We’re at La Broderie now but we can’t work out which unit belongs to Marie-Claude, her name isn’t on the floor plan. Over.
He jerked forward in the car seat and the pain in his head expanded again. He had not known Engel’s granddaughter had a unit there too.
– It’s on the first floor. She sublets off some web-design company called WebWeaver or something. It’s the last door on the right at the end of the corridor. Over.
– OK, got it. Stand by.
What an idiot he had been. He could easily have broken into her unit and searched that too and the list could well have been his now.
– Looks like someone’s been here. The door’s wide open. There’s no sign of a struggle and there’s some computer gear in here, which rules out a burglary. If she did come by here she must have been in and out fast. She didn’t even close the door behind her.
In and out. And why was that? Because she was after something specific, something small and portable and easy to collect – something exactly like the thing he had wasted hours looking for the day before in the wrong place.
– Is her car there? Over.
– Negative.
– OK, thanks. Secure the room and ask around in case anyone’s seen her. Out.
The radio clicked and he looked up to see the great wings of the eagle spread and flap and lift the bird into the air, his good omen deserting him.
– Henri, this is Amand. Put out the details on Marie-Claude’s car again. Looks like she’s in it and we need to find her, fast. Out.
He watched the eagle gyre up into the air in a lazy circle around the bloody meal it had abandoned on the road below and heard the sound of a car approaching from behind.
– All units, all units.
The scanner crackled again through the hiss of the air-conditioner.
– Please be advised to be on the alert for missing vehicle registration 585 ADP 81. Vehicle is a 2001, red model Peugeot 205, owned by one Marie-Claude Engel. Urgently sought in connection with a homicide. Over.
He put his car in gear and waited for the approaching car to pass. He needed to move before he was spotted by one of the units now looking for the missing girl.
Up in the blue summer sky the eagle waited too, eager to return to its meal, just a hungry bird, not an omen at all. Then the car drove past and he realized he was wrong. The eagle was an omen, an augur of change and fortune. He stared after the faded red Peugeot – registration 585 ADP 81 – a young woman driving, a small boy with glasses sitting in the back next to a pale man dressed in a white suit and waistcoat. Then he put his car in gear and eased back on to the road, flattening the head of the dead viperine snake with a gentle bump as he drove over it.
31
Solomon remained hidden from view until they were clear of town then sat up, wound down the window and sucked in deep lungfuls of warm air like a swimmer breaking surface after a long dive. The car smelled fusty and vinegary and it all added to his general feeling of nausea.
‘You OK, back there?’ Marie-Claude glanced at Solomon in her rear-view mirror.
‘I don’t like being in cars.’
‘Well, that’s a shame because you’re going to be in this one for the rest of the day. Here,’ she tossed her phone into the back seat, along with the note from her grandfather. ‘Put Monsieur Adelstein’s address into Google Maps to see exactly how far it is. And see if you can find a number so I can try calling him.’
Solomon glanced down at the phone, felt nausea ripple through him and looked out of the window again, recalling the address in Dijon and studying the map that appeared in his head. ‘It’s six hundred and twenty-eight kilometres away,’ he said, plucking pieces of information from the torrent of facts now tumbling through his mind. ‘Around seven hours’ drive, depending on which route we take and how many times we stop.’ He concentrated for a moment and shook his head. ‘And there isn’t a phone number for Otto Adelstein at that address. There is a number, but not for him specifically.’
Marie-Claude studied Solomon in the mirror. ‘You haven’t even looked.’
‘I don’t need to. I have a peculiar mind, full of information, most of it useless, sometimes not.’
She frowned. ‘And knowing a phone number at some random address in Dijon is one of those things?’
‘Yes.’
She shook her head in disbelief. ‘Léo, you look it up, but make sure you hold the phone up or else you’ll barf.’
Léo took the note and the phone and held them above his head while he copied the name and address into Google.
‘What’s it say?’ Marie-Claude asked. ‘Is Monsieur Adelstein listed?’
‘No.’
She glanced at Solomon. ‘OK delete the name and try the address on its own.’
Léo’s little fingers tapped the screen again, his face tight with concentration. ‘I got a number.’
‘Great. Hand me the phone back, chéri, I’m going to call Monsieur Adelstein, tell him who we are and that we’re coming to see him.’
‘The number is for a private residential facility,’ Solomon said. ‘I doubt they’ll confirm Otto Adelstein is even living there.’
Marie-Claude took the phone, dialled the number and put it on speakerphone. It rang twice then a stern-sounding woman answered.
‘Myosotis-La-Fleur, can I help you?’
‘Yes, I’m hoping you can. I’m trying to get in touch with a Monsieur Otto Adelstein. Do you have someone by that name staying with you?’
‘I’m sorry, I can’t give out any information about residents.’
‘Not even to confirm if they’re resident or not?’
‘I can’t give out any information, I’m sorry. This is a strictly private facility. If you wish to contact a resident, you can leave your name and number and somebody will call you back.’
Solomon wave
d to catch Marie-Claude’s attention, shook his head and placed a finger on his lips.
‘Oh wait,’ Marie-Claude said, ‘I’m about to go into a tunnel. I’ll have to call you back.’ She hung up and looked at Solomon. ‘You knew that would happen. How did you know?’
‘Educated guess.’
She continued to look at him, her forehead creased into a frown. ‘OK, what do we do now?’
‘We drive to Dijon.’
‘But what’s the point? If they won’t tell me anything over the phone, they’re hardly going to let us talk to him if we just show up at the door.’
‘It’s a private facility.’
‘So?’
‘So there will be fences to climb and locks to pick. You get us there, I’ll get us in. There’s a left turn about a kilometre ahead. Take it.’
Marie-Claude’s frown deepened. ‘That road takes us south. Dijon is north.’
‘We’re not heading to Dijon,’ Solomon replied, ‘not directly.’
‘Then where are we going?’
‘Toulouse.’ Solomon settled back in his seat and closed his eyes.
The car swerved suddenly and they crunched to an abrupt halt on one of the tracks leading into the vineyards. A cloud of fine grit filtered in through Solomon’s open window and a black car drove past, blowing in more. Marie-Claude twisted around in the driver’s seat.
‘Toulouse!? Why the hell are we going to Toulouse? Just so you’re absolutely clear, I’m already having serious regrets about being in a car with you and my seven-year-old son and I’ve half a mind to throw you out right here and call the police on my way back to town. The only reason I’m not is because Léo trusts you and he’s generally a much better judge of character than me, and because my grandfather asked me to take that waistcoat you’re wearing to an old friend of his, which is a crazy thing to do in the circumstances, but I feel like I owe him that much and I should probably have my head examined for all of it, and if I could leave Léo with someone, anyone, I would, but I can’t, so don’t give me any bullshit. Tell me, right now, why we’re going to Toulouse and not Dijon.’