Beekeeper

by J. Robert Janes

  ‘The office, I think,’ said Kohler, ‘so that we can clean this mess off our shoes, eh? You’ve nothing else planned, have you?’ he asked Danielle and saw her shake her head.

  The morning grew, the rays of feeble sunlight at last finding the streaked and grimy outer windows of the office. Juliette de Bonnevies tried to clean the windowpane in front of her, to stare better at freedom, but it was no use. Behind her, she knew the others sat or stood waiting, too, to hear what the detectives had to say.

  Father Michel would be looking inwardly, his gnarled fingers moving the beads of his rosary as he silently recited the decades. Frau Hillebrand was sitting next to Herr Schlacht who, though impatient, would have to let the detectives proceed.

  Honoré de Saussine would be pale and silent, nor would his gaze meet hers or anyone else’s, except but briefly.

  ‘Mesdatnes, Mesdemoiselles et Messieurs,’ said St-Cyr, and there was a watchfulness to him she sensed right away. ‘A bottle sits alone on a desk for but a few hours. We now know how it got there and what happened those few hours later. We also know that the gates to the apiary and the garden, and the door to the study were locked that afternoon and would have had to have been opened had someone other than the immediate family or Father Michel poisoned that bottle. Frau Schlacht wanted our beekeeper to add the oil of mirbane so that she could give the Amaretto to you, Herr Schlacht, but by then you knew what your wife had planned. Using miliciens to question and torture my partner on Saturday only confirmed your worst fears.’

  ‘Get on with it. Verdammt, I haven’t all day!’

  ‘Louis, he had the set of keys he and Frau Hillebrand had removed from the studio.’

  ‘Yes, certainly, mon vieux, but were they used that afternoon by himself, his secretary, or M. de Saussine?’

  ‘I didn’t do it!’ shrieked de Saussine. ‘I couldn’t! I … I was too afraid Alexandre wouldn’t drink it. Mon Dieu, how the hell did anyone know he would? He didn’t like that stuff. His was always the …’

  ‘Yes, yes, monsieur, but you had been offered a million francs and I have your signature to this statement as proof!’

  ‘I signed it under duress. You forced me!’

  Schlacht had taken a bottle of cognac from his desk and had set out several glasses which he now filled, laughing as he did and downing one after another. ‘So, bitte, meine lieber Detektivs, will you join me?’ he asked, enjoying his little joke and causing Juliette to shudder as she turned at last to face them.

  ‘Of course,’ said St-Cyr, and taking two of the glasses, crossed the room to where the ones called Giselle and Oona sat tightly holding each other by the hand. ‘Relax,’ they heard him say gently. ‘I think we can settle this.’

  Impulsively the one called Giselle leapt to her feet to kiss and hug him and let her tears spill down his cheek while the one called Oona smiled faintly and said, ‘Spain. It’s not possible for me, Jean-Louis. You know it and so do I.’

  ‘This murder,’ said St-Cyr, when the two had downed their cognac. ‘Always there has been the problem of its being intended and yet also accidental. Had de Bonnevies not panicked and thought you had done it, madame, he might well have recovered, had he taken only a sip and spat it out. But he downed a good sixty cubic centimetres, and the rest of what he did only speeded up his demise.

  ‘Mademoiselle Danielle, you were always a suspect. First with my partner, and then myself. You had continually left candles for Father Michel and yet had denied any knowledge of the whereabouts of this factory. You had, I think – and this is crucial – firmly believed for some time that your brother would return.’

  ‘Back in November of last year, Madame de Trouvelot asked to see me and revealed that she had paid for Étienne’s release but that it would, of necessity, take much time.’

  ‘Chérie …’

  ‘Maman, I couldn’t tell you. Madame de Trouvelot made me promise.’

  ‘You believed,’ said St-Cyr, ‘and Father Michel sensed this and also came to believe that the boy had, or would, return but that, for very good reasons, you hadn’t told your mother.’

  ‘Papa would have had him arrested. Everyone knew this. He made certain of it and I … I shuddered every time he yelled it at me.’

  Oh-oh, thought Kohler, now it’s coming.

  ‘On Thursday, mademoiselle, you stated that you left at just after curfew, that your father was already at work, and that the bottle was not present.’

  ‘That is correct.’

  ‘What was he wearing?’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘Mademoiselle, you know exactly what I have asked and why.’

  The sand, thought Kohler. The kid had realized it, too, or that something she’d done and forgotten about had come to light.

  ‘A flannel shirt. A waistcoat, jacket, scarf, beret and fingerless gloves. Old tweed trousers, two pairs of socks, the gumboots he used when working with the hives. A laboratory coat also.’

  ‘And what did he demand of you?’

  ‘He … he asked for a clean shirt. He … he said, “You know I have to do my rounds and that that woman is coming to see me this evening.”’

  ‘And your mother, mademoiselle, could she not have done this for him?’

  ‘She was asleep but would have silently refused as you well know, so why, please, do you ask?’

  ‘Just tell us, mademoiselle. Leave nothing out.’

  Why could he not simply accuse her? wondered Danielle. Why must he insist on making her say it? ‘Though he knew I had to leave very early to get past the controls, my father was too filled with his own concerns and wouldn’t listen. I washed a dress shirt for him and hung it up but he said it wouldn’t dry and that I would have to light a fire in the stove and could use some of our old frames for this. Afterwards, as it was then about six, I … I hesitated to leave the city. One has always to be so very careful. I …’

  ‘You knew Frau Schlacht was coming that evening to collect the bottle she had yet to give him.’

  ‘Yes, I knew, and may God forgive me.’

  ‘You also knew or felt that Father Michel, thinking it best, would go to the Salpêtrière to give Angèle-Marie the taste of honey that would bring on one of her attacks and convince the doctors she wasn’t fit to return home.’

  ‘I … I did not specifically know this, Inspector, but yes, I did believe he might do something like that. Mon Dieu, the house was in a constant state of crisis. No peace. Never a kind word or any love, just a hatred I could no longer stand. I had to leave before the day grew light. Many times I told myself something terrible would happen and that I should not leave, but … but Étienne might finally arrive at Soisy-sur-Seine and I … I knew I had to warn him.’

  ‘Mademoiselle, the notes you left at the studio clearly stated that you hadn’t been anywhere near the place in three and a half weeks and yet … and yet you have just said, “might finally arrive?”’

  ‘It … it was not safe for me to visit the country house too often. I … I had to force myself to wait.’

  ‘For three and a half weeks?’

  ‘Yes! There are those who watch for me. I … I was afraid of them and for him also.’

  ‘And before you finally left the house in Charonne at … What time was it, please?’

  ‘Six a.m. I listened to my father’s harangue, Inspector, listened as he cursed Frau Schlacht and Étienne and everyone else, including maman whom he said was fucking – that is the word he used – fucking every man she could at the Hôtel Titania and enjoying it. Enjoying it!’

  The girl was desperate and so very afraid of the truth, but it would still be best to force it from her. ‘You arrived at the first control at about what time, please? It can and will be checked.’

  ‘Inspector, what more do you want from me? That I stayed in the city but kept out of sight? That I went to the Salpêtrière and while hiding among the milling crowd saw Frau Schlacht hand that bottle to my aunt? That I saw papa take it from her and then … then, later, set it
on his desk? That … that it was then that I listened to his hateful harangue and how he cursed me for loving my brother? I … I knew papa would have Étienne arrested and shot. I knew that bottle had to have the poison added to it – yes, yes, a thousand times yes, damn you! But … but …’

  Tears filled her eyes as she hung her head in despair. ‘But if you had added the poison,’ said St-Cyr, ‘and your father hadn’t drunk from the bottle – indeed, why should he have – Herr Schlacht, who did like liqueurs, would have done so and died.’

  ‘And every member of your family, including yourself and your half-brother,’ sighed Kohler, ‘would have been taken in reprisal. That’s the law.’

  Louis poured a glass of cognac and gave it to the girl, and as the kid took it, she looked up at him and tried to smile. ‘Merci,’ she said. ‘Oh mon Dieu, I’ve been so afraid and ashamed. I left that bottle untouched, Inspector. I could have taken it with me that afternoon when I rode all the way to Soisy-sur-Seine, but I didn’t. I found Étienne’s things in the shed. I was so excited. He’d understand how I felt and wouldn’t blame me, but … but he wasn’t there. He wasn’t.’

  Louis poured her another cognac and then handed one to the mother who quickly passed it to Father Michel and said brittlely, ‘Drink it, mon Père. I greatly fear you are going to need it.’

  ‘God is my comfort, my child, and as God is my witness, I could not do it. I, too, knew that if Herr Schlacht had been poisoned, Inspector, Alexandre would surely be blamed and that would mean Étienne and he would go to the firing squad, Danielle and Juliette into deportation. Oh bien sûr, I wanted Alexandre dead. He had become a monster even I could no longer tolerate. The bottle was there in the study and I knew this because I’d seen him bring it home from the Salpêtrière and take it into the study to leave it there before going to the brothel. And yes, I could so easily have done it had I fiddled with the lock and opened that door, but …’

  ‘But someone came in through the garden,’ sighed Kohler. ‘A very attractive German lady. Not Frau Schlacht but another.’

  One who would later go to the Society’s meeting with a loaded Beretta in her purse.

  ‘Oskar, stop them. I did it for us.’

  ‘Don’t worry. These two have been told to leave me and my affairs out of things. Oberg won’t allow it.’

  ‘Your wife, mein Herr,’ said Louis, ‘was to have been accused of buying the Amaretto and attempting to kill you. That would, I think, have been sufficient for your courts to have given her a lengthy sentence and you the divorce you so dearly wanted.’

  ‘She’d have had an “accident”, Louis. Don’t be so kind,’ snorted Kohler. ‘Frau Hillebrand would then have become the courier to Switzerland, and the happy couple could have continued to salt away as much as possible for everyone.’

  ‘And now?’ cautioned Schlacht.

  ‘We’ll have to arrest her, mein lieber Bonze,’ said Kohler firmly. ‘Our reports will go in – we’ll cite extenuating circumstances. That speech de Bonnevies was to have given. Very much against the interests of the Reich, et cetera. If she’s lucky, they’ll pin a medal on her. Right, Louis?’

  Hermann always liked to have the last word, but was not the law – the law; truth sacred – and yet … and yet the Occupier a formidable presence? ‘Right, of course,’ he sighed. What else was he to have done, especially when they still had two arrests to make? That of the custodian of the catacombs, and of Madame Héloïse Debré, both of whom the French courts would be only too happy to deal with.

  Two glasses were filled with the Bonze’s twenty-year-old cognac. ‘One for you, mon vieux,’ said St-Cyr, ‘and the other for … Why, for your chauffeur, I think. Yes, the title suits and the Citroën is, of course, mine to drive, at least until the toes heal. How are they, by the way?’

  ‘Perfect.’

  ‘Good.’

  When he held the second-class tickets out to Juliette and Danielle, Kohler felt his fingers trembling at the loss and knew that for Oona and himself, and Giselle and Louis, there could only be more of the Occupation.

  ‘Take care,’ he said, and felt the kid’s lips as she kissed him warmly on both cheeks.

  ‘Madame,’ said Louis, ‘you will travel only as far as Orange where, leaving your suitcases behind, you will get off the train during its brief stopover. Buy a copy of Le Provençal if possible, but if one is not available, then simply wait beside the news kiosk with your daughter always on your left. When someone asks if you’re from the north, don’t answer or look around. Simply follow this person at a distance towards the toilets. There’s an office near them, and then an outer door to freedom. It’s all been arranged. A farm in one of the remotest parts of the Cévennes, a few hives, a new start.’

  Gabrielle had contacted friends in the Résistance. ‘We can’t trust Herr Schlacht, madame, nor can we trust Oberg and the SS,’ said Kohler. ‘You’re carrying five million francs and are just too easy a target.’

  ‘We know too much,’ said Danielle sadly.

  ‘All but fifty thousand will be taken by your passeur to be used by others,’ said St-Cyr.

  ‘And Father Michel?’ asked Juliette.

  ‘Has been sent to a monastery in the Haute-Savoie and has already left the city.’

  ‘Then it’s goodbye,’ she said. ‘You two … ah mon Dieu, how can I ever thank you?’

  ‘By being the friend this one needs,’ he said, and helped them on to the train.

  They watched, they waited, these two detectives, as the train began to pull out of the Gare de Lyon. They would not leave, thought Juliette, until certain they had done everything possible to get them safely away.

  ‘Louis, when you were up in the gods of that factory and calling down to them and to our Bonze, you knew Schlacht would compromise and save face by saying Oona had to stay in Paris. You knew he’d let those two go, at least for the time being.’

  ‘By keeping Oona here, Herr Schlacht still believes he has a hold over us, Hermann, should we ever think to let the Kommandant von Gross-Paris know what’s really been going on. I admit, however, that I also had self-interest at heart, for with Oona here, I can depend on you to be the person you are. Giselle as well, of course, for she’d give you up in an instant if she felt you had become at all loyal to the Occupier.’

  ‘Then read these!’

  Je Suis Partout’s and Le Matin’s thin and heavily controlled newspapers shrilled outrage in bold black letters: TERRORISTS DYNAMITE HEADQUARTERS OF QUARTIER DU MAIL ET DE BONNE-NOUVELLE MILICE. FOUR DEAD, FIVE TERRIBLY INJURED.

  ‘It’s those gazogéne lorries, Louis. Their lousy gas tanks invariably leak. Smoke a careless cigarette or cigar near one of them and you damn well know what’s likely to happen.’

  ‘Candles … They say the lorries were loaded with them and that the fire volatilized – that’s a big word for the Occupation’s Le Matin, but no matter – volatilized the beeswax causing it to explode as well as …’

  ‘As the dynamite their fertile imaginations felt must have been necessary. Mein Gott, don’t those idiots in the press know anything about wax? Now read this little item my boss so thoughtfully ripped out of yesterday’s rags.’

  ‘I didn’t know Walter had the time.’

  ‘It’s Gestapo Boemelburg to you, mon fin, and don’t ever forget it even if you did work with him on international police business before the Defeat!’

  Paris welcomes the General Unruh, the Hero’s Friend, who has set up offices in the Hôtel Majestic.

  Unruh meant, literally, trouble!

  ‘He’s already begun a thorough review of the Palais d’Eiffel, Louis. Apparently the Führer has had his eye out for slackers for some time.’*

  ‘And Schlacht?’

  ‘Is still looking for his little badge and now trying to explain to the authorities how honey and wax could have been stolen by him from under the noses of armed Wehrmacht guards and air-raid sirens that shouldn’t have sounded. He’ll just have to go along with the rest of
the staff. After all, there’s a war on.’

  And the Führer is always right.

  ‘Now read this.’

  It was a telex from Pierre Laval, no less. The Premier, in Vichy, the internationally famous spa and home of the Government of France in these terrible times and since June of 1940.

  Flykiller slays mistress of high-ranking Government employee in Hall des Sources. Imperative you immediately send experienced detectives who are not from this district. Repeat, not from this district.

  ‘Not from his jurisdiction?’

  ‘Outsiders. Of course it smells just like one of those lousy waters they insist are so good for you, Louis, but who the hell can be killing flies in winter? There aren’t any!’

  But apparently there were.

  * Early in 1943 General Unruh arrived in Paris and within a few weeks had disbanded the staff of the Procurement Office and closed it.

  Acknowledgements

  All the novels in the St-Cyr-Kohler series incorporate a few words and brief passages in French or German. Dr Dennis Essar of Brock University very kindly helped with the French, as did the artist Pierrette Laroche, while Professor Schutz, of Germanic and Slavic Studies at Brock, helped with the German.

  A very special thanks must also be extended to Dr Cynthia Scott-Dupree, of the Department of Environmental Biology at the University of Guelph, for her very kind assistance with the technical aspects of beekeeping. Should there be errors in any of the above, they are my own, and for these I apologize but hope there are none.

  Turn the page to continue reading from the St-Cyr and Kohler Series

  1

  Ruefully the line, which stretched alongside the waiting train, advanced one footstep: bundled-up, grey travellers in all but complete darkness, colds, coughs – sneezes – and, under a dim blue wash of light, two railed walkways below a distant signboard that read in heavy black letters on white: HALT! DEMARKATIONS-LINIE, and in very polite but much smaller French, Êtes-vous en règie? Are your papers in order?