by Pirate Irwin
The colonel grimaced ever so slightly, but taking a deep breath he opened his top drawer and withdrew a piece of paper. He glanced to his right, opened a folder, and then scribbled down in neat and precise handwriting the address before handing it over with a look in his eye that registered no sympathy whatsoever.
She was at least in Paris, in the mental asylum St Anne. It was a safe haven for both the patient and their families, largely of bourgeois extraction who didn’t want their embarrassments out in public, and thought they were doing a good deed by visiting the member of the family they had sent there once a year and then pretty much forgetting about them.
It was over on the Left Bank in the 14th arrondissement near Montparnasse, not that far by car from the Crillon, and Lafarge decided he would go there first and then look in on Berenice; besides he had the time now he knew de Cambedessus was leaving to join de Gaulle.
De Cambedessus looked at him as if to ask what he was doing still standing there.
“Will you be gone long, Colonel?” Lafarge asked after a pause.
De Cambedessus sniffed and stroked his moustache as he gathered up some of his files and placed them in a battered old brown leather suitcase.
“Only a few days, I believe, though it will be quite an emotional experience. There were would you credit it at least 50,000 people who turned out for the General in Toulouse,” said de Cambedessus.
“Anyway, I don’t see what my plans have anything to do with you, Chief Inspector, charmed as I am that a member of the police force is looking out for my interests. I think our business association is concluded don’t you?” he said, though the way the question was put sounded very much as de Cambedessus meant it rhetorically.
Smugness was a characteristic that Lafarge loathed and he was tempted to physically remove the look from de Cambedessus’s face. He knew for the moment that was not feasible but he vowed that that day would not be long in coming and he looked forward to it with great pleasure.
“Well I hope your wife is appreciative of your onerous duties taking you away just a few days after she was raped,” said Lafarge unable to contain himself.
De Cambedessus looked furious but bit his tongue.
“I don’t think that’s any of your business, Lafarge. My private life and my professional life are no longer part of any investigation as far as I am aware. You know where the door is, please leave rather more quietly than you arrived,” said de Cambedessus curtly and with that he turned his back to him.
****
“Hey, Chief Inspector, stop right there!”
Lafarge was heading towards the swing doors to exit the Crillon when General McLagan hailed him, his deep voice rebounding off the marble walls of the lobby and attracting irritated glances from the other people engaged in their own business.
Lafarge’s knowledge of English was quite good but he wasn’t going to let General McLagan know that. He stood smiling dumbly across the lobby at the General, thankful to his parents for their insistence on him learning English for it was about to at last come in very handy. His parents had sent him and his siblings to England during the school summer holidays to learn the language and customs of their island neighbour.
As he joined him the general said he would like to buy him a drink. Lafarge looked up at the clock – he rarely wore a watch hence his tardiness for appointments – which was above the hall porter’s desk and saw it was barely gone half past nine.
Even for him that was too early to start drinking, but wishing to humour the general, whose drinking habits were, as he had thought when he first met him, a round-the-clock exercise, he agreed to join him in the luxurious hotel bar.
Lafarge shouldn’t have been that mystified about a French military intelligence officer conversing with an American general. They were allies after all – or those who had escaped and joined de Gaulle were at any rate – but he wanted to know everything he could about de Cambedessus and his associates and an alcoholic general could prove to be a fount of information.
Compromising on his original thought that it was too early to drink Lafarge reasoned that with what lay ahead of him at the asylum it would probably be best to fortify himself, so he ordered a cognac, but to soothe his conscience a touch he also ordered a coffee.
“I can’t be drinking that cognac stuff,” it makes my belly ache something terrible,” growled McLagan.
However, he made up for his dislike of cognac by withdrawing a silver hip flask from inside his uniform jacket and poured a liberal dose of its contents into a glass when it was brought to him by an obsequious looking barman.
“Hell, they don’t have any bourbon on sale here yet, so I have to keep on refilling my flask from our own rations – thankfully, they are well stocked,” said McLagan grinning.
Lafarge smiled and sipped at the cognac, not his usual style, and reminded himself even if McLagan appeared to be an alcoholic, or a drunk at best, he wouldn’t be on Eisenhower’s staff unless he was highly capable. Eisenhower was a keen golfer but looking at McLagan it didn’t seem very likely he knew what a round of golf entailed, so if he wasn’t Ike’s hired golfing partner then he must be of use in some way.
They made some idle chitchat, Lafarge deliberately thinking long and hard before answering in English and slipping in some misplaced words, although sometimes it was genuine. However, he was beginning to feel he was only there because he had simply been walking through the lobby when the general, needing a drinking partner, had spotted him.
He was impatient to get moving as aside from visiting his sister, if she was really there or hadn’t already been moved as he didn’t trust de Cambedessus, he needed to begin his renewed charm offensive on Berenice. It wasn’t the worst task he had ever been set but he needed to be subtle and therefore initially sober. Also the threat of Drieu was dogging him and the thought he could suddenly pop up and make his damaging allegations didn’t put his mind at rest.
Thus nice as it was to sit keeping a lonely drunk company in a bar in a smart newly re-opened hotel in Paris, Lafarge was desperately keen to get on so he made a move to get up.
“Whoa! Sit yourself back down, Chief Inspector. You may think I am a rambling old drunk but there was a point as to why I asked you to come and have a drink,” said McLagan, his tone of voice not quite menacing but forceful enough to persuade Lafarge to abort his exit.
“You were in the Vichy police force then?”
Lafarge was taken aback by the directness of the question, though in a way it was only natural as de Cambedessus had so helpfully revealed that that had been the case.
“Yes I was. I re-entered the service after I was released from the prisoner of war camp where I’d been held since the debacle of 1940,” said Lafarge wishing to underscore the fact he had done his duty by joining up, though to his and his comrades’ eternal shame using the term ‘fighting’ would for the most part have been an exaggeration, so quickly had the front collapsed.
“Don’t worry, Chief Inspector, I’m not here to pass judgment on you. I’m just interested to know how it was and what it must be like to twice end up on the losing side in the space of a matter of years,” he said.
Lafarge reddened and was stunned at the offensiveness of the remark as well as the sudden change in McLagan’s attitude towards him.
“I think, General, you are treading a dangerous path and have chosen the wrong person to address like that. I would try and justify your offensive comments as being down to having already drunk too much, but I think that would be giving too much credit to bar room bores,” hissed Lafarge so he couldn’t be overheard by the other people in the bar who were largely dressed in military uniform.
McLagan sat back in his chair and grinned with, it appeared, great satisfaction.
“I see your English is much better than you let on in the earlier part of the conversation, Chief Inspector. I always find provoking somebody makes them give away something, so excuse the remarks I made but there was something gnawing away at me that yo
u were trying too hard to be polite and in fact speak English far better than you let on,” he said.
“However, I would add that you French will have to get used to the plain speaking manner of us Americans. We are not like the English. We don’t hide our true feelings behind some diplomatic rubbish so as not to openly offend people. Plain speaking can prevent so many misunderstandings,” he added winking at Lafarge.
Lafarge accepted his apology, such as it was, but also reproached himself for having underestimated the general. He may have a serious drinking problem but he was devious and capable of seeing when he was being taken for a fool.
As for the plain speaking, well it would make a change to the serpentine manouevrings he had become accustomed to from the likes of Bousquet and now de Cambedessus. He welcomed it for if McLagan was being straight with him, and the general felt he could trust him, then things might become clearer much faster.
He accepted a second cognac and coffee, McLagan pouring himself a generous dose of bourbon, and settled back to see where the American wished to take the conversation.
The general suggested they dispense with being too formal and address each other by their first names, adding that unlike most American families, where one addressed one’s father as ‘sir’, in his once he had reached the age of six he was on first name terms with his.
“It’s probably our Irish roots – no respect for titles!” joked McLagan.
“We were quite the opposite. Us French are quite the sticklers for respecting rank and seniority in the family. Makes you wonder what the revolution was for,” replied Lafarge smiling.
“Quite so, so what is your first name, Chief Inspector?”
“Gaston.”
“Hmm, that is a nice traditional French first name. Anyway, Gaston, returning to something I remarked on earlier I wondered what the mood is among those French, who unlike people such as Antoine, stayed and lived under Vichy and the Nazis? Would you say they are relieved, overjoyed or totally apathetic to the arrival of the good guys?” asked McLagan.
“You may find it odd that having just met I would ask you such a question, but it may be a stroke of luck you bursting your way into Antoine’s room. He is very well informed – well he should be as he is in intelligence – but he has not lived here for four years. You on the other hand have and it would be useful to me, and therefore Ike, to know the mood of the people, so as we don’t make any huge errors and turn them against us.”
Lafarge thought it a very good question but he didn’t really know the answer to it. Even on his return to Paris from the prisoner of war camp and his resumption of duties he hadn’t had too much contact with ordinary people, although being a detective did not encourage open conversation and even on his side he would have been reluctant to make any unguarded remarks lest he say the wrong thing to the wrong person.
“It is not a question I would feel qualified to answer, Miles,” he said, explaining why it was impossible to do so.
“However, I will make some observations which may already be obvious to you.
“At least now the people will feel they can speak more freely – you should like that with your attitude to plain speaking! I am sure there will be many who are delighted the Nazis appear to have been removed forever from large parts of France.
“Life for many under them and Vichy was no Utopia.
“For us as a nation who are rightly proud of its agricultural heritage it seemed like it had disappeared overnight. There were queues throughout Paris for the butcher, who rarely had anything to sell especially towards the latter part of the Occupation, and even the bakers had to turn people away.
“French people have always seen the price of bread as indicative of the health of the nation, indeed it was a major grudge held against the regime of Louis XVI that the price went up leaving the poor to scramble around for mere crumbs. The difference was that the Revolution succeeded because it opposed a weak and vacillating regime, whose organs of security and repression were either incapable of dealing with the uprising and feelings of bitterness and resentment, or defected to the revolutionaries.
“This sort of reaction was totally impossible under the Occupation as far as I could see. If there was one thing the Nazis were good at it was keeping control of the security services and maintaining an aura of terror throughout all spectrums of society. They were masters at manipulating people to their own ends, and when you issue orders that for the life of one German you are going to take the lives of up to 20 Frenchmen and women, even children, it is no wonder people were reluctant to rise up.
“However, obviously there were people, sadly far too many, who benefited enormously from the patronage of the Nazis,” said Lafarge.
McLagan nodded and stroked his chin, deep in thought, before speaking.
“Well, let’s narrow down the term ‘people’ to those who worked under Vichy and the Nazis, people like yourself in the police force, and don’t take it the wrong way this time. Your English is fine!” he added grinning.
“I would reply in the same manner. However, the Nazis were very good at having those they saw as less than wholehearted supporters weeded out by their French superiors. Wisely they didn’t want too many people with doubtful loyalties going around with guns in their hands. There were some who managed to play both sides, but for the large part, regretfully, the majority fulfilled their duties with great enthusiasm,” said Lafarge sadly.
“Like you, Gaston?” asked McLagan, his tone neutral.
Lafarge didn’t like the question but he knew it had to be asked.
However, he wasn’t going to give him the whole answer or the reasons as to why he had returned to duty; it pained him too much to think about it as it had separated him both geographically and personally from his family. He was racked by guilt, especially as he blamed himself for what had ultimately happened to them.
If he hadn’t played judge and jury in what he saw at the time as his gesture for the resistance and the oppressed they would probably still be living a gentle enough life down in Nice.
“Yes, I guess you are correct. However, I have always been devoted to the pursuit of justice; my parents were distraught that I chose the police as a career and didn’t instead become a lawyer. They saw it as being beneath my family’s station in life. That’s the French bourgeoisie for you!
“However, I preferred the more active side of the law and bringing the criminals to justice and then leaving them in the hands of the legal profession to turn our evidence into fail-safe convictions. Truth be told sometimes I felt I would have made a better lawyer than several who presented our cases!
“Anyway, returning to the central point of your question, I re-entered the force because I thought that criminals remain the same whatever the circumstances. There will always be, how would one term it, ‘normal everyday crime’, and there has to be people around to solve the crimes and bring some justice to the victims.
“Little did I realise what I was doing was actually serving the interests of the biggest criminal organisation France has ever had the displeasure to have running the country,” said Lafarge bitterly.
McLagan stayed silent while he assessed the answer Lafarge had given him.
“So, Gaston, do you thinlk that these two polarised groups of people can be brought back together again in the near future? I mean I have seen reports of some terrible settling of accounts, not just in Paris, but throughout the parts of the country that have been liberated.
“A major sent in a report the other day that he had entered a village, in the Drome region, and found 10 corpses of civilians lying against a wall, and another 10 hanging from telegraph poles and the roofs of houses. When he asked to speak to the mayor, he was told that he was standing not 20 yards from where he had been strung up and hanged.
“When the major made a remark of ‘Bloody Nazis!’ the man laughed and said it wasn’t them who had carried out the executions; it was because of his collaborating with the Germans he had been hanged b
y his own villagers! The man added that they should shed no tears for him or the other 19 corpses as they had also connived in treating with the enemy.
“So if this small village is a reflection of the mentality in France that means we could be in for a whole host of bloodletting. That is why I would like to ask you, a senior member of the Paris police, whether it is more likely there will be a civil war than a coming together and forgetting the excesses of the past dark period?”
Lafarge was appalled at the story McLagan had just related to him. He thanked the gods his father and mother had managed to leave with Petain for he feared they could well have suffered the same fate if they had been left behind. People blinded by vengeance rarely took into account people’s sex or ages, and why should they given that Vichy had not been selective when dispensing their own form of justice?
“Again, Miles, that is a question which I as a Chief Inspector, a senior rank perhaps in the police but not when it comes to running a country, am not really qualified to answer. I haven’t been back, for the second time in the police force, for long enough to gauge the mood.
“All I can say is that in certain stratas of society there appears to be a febrile mood, people jockeying for position, so that they can be in positions of power when the music stops.
“If when that happens the new regime wishes me to continue in my post then fine, if not well I won’t object. I have had so many narrow escapes in the relatively short time I have been a detective that I can’t complain if I am offered a more secure and peaceful life.
“All I will say is that France and the French people need a strong man to lead them out of this dark period. However, one also who has the power to bring them, as you put it, together, a unifying force. I am not for one moment suggesting that the worst of the criminals who passed laws so they could justify their crimes should be allowed a free pass. They should face justice, if they are ever caught, but a major colonial power cannot be left to fester with an open wound for too long.”
McLagan nodded sagely.
“Gaston, you do yourself a grave disservice. I think that the rank of Chief Inspector is not befitting of your perspicacity and analysis of the situation. I mean that really,” said McLagan slapping him on the shoulder.