Fulcrum of Malice

by Patrick W O'Bryon

  The man in motorcycle leathers settled back in the armchair. He’d been stuck for almost twenty-four hours in that apartment, whittling down his supply of stale food, drinking ersatz coffee boiled on the hotplate, chasing its bitterness with brandy. He supported the binoculars with one hand, his elbow braced on the worn velvet of the chair as he observed the mansion across the street from the unlit room.

  His vigil had paid off with the appearance of the first young woman. He’d seen the flash of the pistol at the upper window, and the slender blonde and the boy disappearing behind the huge front door. There was no sign of the two men he had also expected to see, one taller, the other a bear of a man with a limp. He’d briefly seen the blonde at the windows, wiping her eyes, and knew she would have found the bloodied dress of the little girl. Minutes later, the young boy appeared briefly in front of the drapes, watching the street. And that was it. Eventually they would all have to leave, and his instructions were clear. It would be good to be on the road at last, looking forward to a real dinner and the rich payback for all their troubles.

  chapter ELEVEN

  Bayonne and Biarritz, Occupied France

  29 August 1941

  Just shy of the train station they spotted an occupied taxi stand. The driver was a stubby, poorly-shaven man with his cap pulled low. He curtly acknowledged his availability as he stoked the fire. Leo thought the gazogène engine a swell machine. The driver became friendly enough when Maman paid him in advance for the ride south.

  Leo wished he could sit at the window rather than wedged between his mother and the concierge, this Madame Trouget with the frightening loose teeth. He tried to keep some distance as he thought about Sophie. He was worried. Maman looked away at any mention of the children, and spoke only to his reflection in the dark window. Perhaps they wouldn’t be finding his friends soon.

  Other than a few lamps burning behind private drapes, the city slept. Businesses were already shuttered for the night and traffic consisted mostly of Boche military trucks. On the outskirts of the city the roads narrowed and the woods encroached. Once he thought he saw a deer bound into the foliage beside the roadway, and later a badger disappeared into a ditch at their noisy approach. But then the taxi neared the coast and the fog thickened, making it hard to spot anything.

  Other vehicles became rare. A fast-moving police car warbled toward town with red light flashing. They came up on a military transport, glowing cigarette tips flitting about under the canvas cover. Soon a motorcycle overtook them. The cyclist peered into the rear of their cab before accelerating on.

  Leo remembered huddling in a sidecar, encased in a wool blanket and tucked between his mother’s legs. Herr Lemmon was with them, goggles masking his eyes as he guided the motorbike into the onrushing night. Then the image faded, and once again that scariest of thoughts returned to haunt him. Maman now carried two pistols—he had seen her quietly check them back at the city house. He forced the disturbing idea from his mind, staring instead at the blurry roadway ahead, hoping to see another animal despite the fog. Moments later they passed the motorcyclist parked on the shoulder. The man looked their way and brought a match to a cigarette as they rattled by.

  They had left poor dead Madame Nicole upstairs. “There’s nothing more we can do for her,” Maman had said, and he believed it was so. He had made certain the cat had fresh water and a few scraps from the burnt casserole, and promised the kitty it wouldn’t be home alone for long. He hoped he was right. The cat wove around his ankles, trying to distract him from leaving, then meowed plaintively when the old woman shut the door in its face as they locked up the mansion.

  Madame Nicole had finally seemed more cheerful on their way to find Sophie. Despite his mother’s protests he felt personally responsible for what had happened, and a troublesome suspicion tugged at his mind. He tried to bury it in a field of other worries. Then there it was, back to nag him. He dared not ask, at least not out loud. But still it troubled his thoughts. He had seen the flash in the window and heard the pop of the gun, but why would she shoot herself simply because Sophie wasn’t home? Maybe she shot at someone else. And then Maman came down without her and had both pistols in her pocket.

  Did Maman kill Madame Nicole?

  There, out in the open, shoving other thoughts aside. She might have. He remembered how angry she was with Nicole at the warehouse when his Gestapo father and those secret policemen tried to kill them all. She did carry that blackjack hidden in her clothes. He knew Maman always did what she must to protect him, so maybe Madame Nicole had been a danger to them both, so she had to die.

  But how was that possible? She seemed so nice. So pretty. It made no sense—why would she have killed herself? If she’d only waited a little longer she’d be with them now in the cab, about to find her little girl at last. Or so he hoped, despite his mother’s strange attitude. Then he wouldn’t be avoiding this unpleasant old woman with the bad breath, and Nicole would still be smiling. And alive.

  Life was terrifying. You went about your daily business and then people chased you, or arrested you, or even tried to kill you. Without his mother and his uncle René and Herr Lemmon, he’d probably be dead already. That’s just the way life was.

  Leo had told the grown-ups everything he knew about the kids at the Bayonne house. It wasn’t that much. Pierre was older and shy. He claimed to be ten, but Leo suspected maybe only nine, short and very quiet. One day the police took away his parents while he was in school in a city called Pau. And then a secret policeman brought him to Bayonne to live with the other three kids and the governess. Jacqueline was Leo’s age and had one missing tooth. Leo’s teeth wouldn’t even budge yet. A matter of time, Maman would say. Jacqueline said her family was in a camp somewhere. Her schoolmates in Foix said it wasn’t a fun kind of camp. Leo liked her blond pigtails and freckles and might even marry her someday. Together they had looked after Sophie until Leo’s Gestapo father took him away. He knew the least about Jakob, the youngest other than Sophie, except that he wet himself and cried himself to sleep at night and never said much about anything.

  Maman had said nothing at all about the kids when she questioned Madame Trouget, and that was very strange. She always did that, asked all the questions, demanded all the answers, and clear answers, too, not fuzzy ones. Uncle René said she was ‘mining,’ digging and digging and never happy until she knew all there was to know. So why didn’t she ask about the children? Right then she was ‘mining’ the concierge again, this time in hushed tones, asking about the mean Madame de Brassis. Leo would be happier never to see the woman with the pinching fingers again.

  The taxi eased slowly onto gravel as it left the paved provincial road. At a break in a high wall of hedges, stone columns supported heavy iron gates. Only garden tools crowded the guard house beside the entrance. A broad circular drive curved up to the main structure silhouetted against a bank of encroaching fog. The stone porpoises decorating a large fountain no longer sent water into the chill autumn air. The three-story mansion dominated a steep escarpment above a long beach.

  The estate spoke of old money now depleted by Occupation and war. Erika pictured fine carriages gathering in prosperous times of old when attentive servants encouraged guests to join the festivities and dance to waltzes. Several meters beyond the gate she asked the driver to stop and handed him an extra hundred francs. “Please wait. You’ll be well-rewarded.”

  “Yes, madame.” He tipped the bill of his cap and stuffed the bills into his vest pocket. “I’ll keep this beauty fired up for as long as the fuel holds out.”

  She had barely stepped from the taxi when Leo was at her side. “I’m coming with you—”

  “No, you’re not. You’ll stay right there with Madame Trouget.” Erika left no room for argument, and Leo pouted as he slunk back onto the car seat. “Don’t worry—I shouldn’t be long,” she assured him.

  She buttoned her coat against the strong breeze and headed up the drive. The evergreens swayed and dried leaves scudd
ed underfoot. The grounds appeared deserted in the muted light of a veiled moon. Once beyond sight of the cab she made certain the safety was off, then slipped the smaller pistol into the top of her right stocking beneath the garter clip. Nicole’s handgun remained in her coat but firmly in her grip. The house was clearly occupied—lamps burning at windows on two floors and the entry door illuminated—but nothing stirred behind the drapes, and no guards patrolled the front of the property.

  The image of the blood-stained child’s dress drew her on. She would get to the bottom of this monstrous act and punish those responsible for the horror. She would avenge Nicole. Having circled the mansion and satisfied herself that the coast was clear, she felt strong and ready as she returned to fetch the concierge and Leo.

  She had them wait beside Madame Trouget at the foot of the steps while she ascended to the front terrace. The taxi still idled down the drive, its rumble barely audible over the howl of the rising wind. Erika rang the bell and within moments the front door swung inward. Leo greeted the woman with enthusiasm: “Mademoiselle Agnès!” He gave her a big smile and raced up to greet the governess who had treated him kindly in Bayonne, but she ignored Leo and spoke instead to Erika: “Please enter, madame. What took you so long?”

  Erika saw the governess looking past her and followed the woman’s gaze. A Browning automatic gleamed under the portico lamps. The weak-seeming concierge was now armed and a threat. Erika understood the danger in the blink of an eye but kept calm, her hand tensing on the weapon in her pocket. “My word, what a surprise, Madame Trouget! I’m sure you’ve many more up your sleeve!”

  “More than you can imagine, my dear, but do come on in. You, too, Leo.” Erika felt the Browning in the small of her back and duly raised her arms. Now the old woman spoke clearly to the governess, her teeth in full control: “You’ll find a pistol in her right pocket—felt it when she roughed me up at the flat.”

  Erika surrendered her handgun to Agnès.

  “Now let’s go make ourselves at home in the parlor,” said the governess, taking the lead. The two women appeared related, sisters perhaps, too similar for chance.

  “But Mademoiselle Agnès—” Leo eyed his mother’s raised hands nervously, his brow furrowed. “Aren’t you glad to see us?”

  “Of course we are, Leo. More than you can imagine.” She smiled and patted his shoulder with one hand, the pistol snug in the other.

  As they crossed the foyer, Erika reassured him: “Everything’s fine, Leo. Don’t worry, we’re just going to have a little chat.” She kept Leo on her left, her right hand free to go for the pistol in her garter. “Isn’t that so, ladies?”

  “That’s correct, Frau von Kredow, but your little chat will be with Madame de Brassis, not with either of us.” Agnès led them down the hall, the concierge bringing up the rear.

  Ornate double doors opened to a grand parlor flanked by two curved staircases. Seascapes hung on walnut-paneled walls, architectural moldings framed the space, and an immense crystal chandelier accented the coffered ceiling. A massive stone hearth anchored the far wall, and French windows would reveal an impressive view of the Bay of Biscay in good weather.

  The infamous Madame de Brassis held court on a damask-covered couch in the center of the room. “Welcome,” she said, her smile vacant and bitter. “Forgive me if I don’t rise to greet you, but I’m feeling a bit out of sorts, and we’ve wasted an entire day awaiting your arrival.” She adjusted her silk skirt. “But you’re here at last and we must make the most of it, so please be seated.” She gestured to an armchair and Erika pushed aside an embroidered pillow to make room. Leo chose a camel-skin footstool. Unbidden, the two armed women assumed posts at either end of the sofa. “Now Agnès, were we not told to expect another woman and a couple of men, as well?”

  De Brassis ignored the concierge, obviously of lesser rank in her little team of kidnappers, so Erika gave the sad news. “The other mother is deceased. She killed herself when she found the little dress.” Erika thought she heard the governess gasp. “I’m sure your concierge can fill in the details.”

  “All the better she’s gone, I suppose. And the men?”

  “Occupied elsewhere.”

  “Well, can’t be helped. Meanwhile, I’m sure you’re wondering why you’re here and what’s to become of you.”

  Erika sensed the pistol at her thigh, tempting her. But how to shield Leo? Keep the bitch talking. “An all-female operation you’re running here, is it?”

  “Not quite. We have a couple of soldiers at our beck and call.” De Brassis turned to Agnès. “By the way, what’s keeping those handsome brothers, dear?”

  “Herbert is down in the kitchen, madame, preparing a late supper, and Heinrich just came in the back way.”

  “Well, we’ll introduce you later, I’m sure.” Madame de Brassis took a look at Leo and grimaced, then turned away. “But the boy can’t possibly stay. He must join the others. Children are a nuisance, in general, but I find these racially impure ones especially off-putting.” She took a sip. “They offer nothing but future headaches.” As for you, Frau von Kredow, you shall be our guest until your husband returns to look after your needs.”

  Erika, feeling her way blind: “But you must not have heard—my dear husband recently passed—something he ate, I’m told.”

  “Au contraire. I’m pleased to say you’re misinformed.” Her lighter flared and cigarette smoke streamed from the side of her mouth. “Why, I spoke with him just last night when he told us of your possible arrival.”

  Erika’s heart missed a beat. “Impossible! You spoke with him?”

  “Indeed. He mentioned some unfortunate mishap up north, something about unreliable men and treacherous women, but you’ll be delighted to know he’s doing just fine, although now headed back to Berlin.” Her pronunciation was impeccable, her German heritage clear. “But he intends to make your experience with us unforgettable. And he gave explicit instructions on disposal of the boy. Such a considerate man, don’t you think?”

  Erika cautiously drew her hand along her thigh, slowly coaxing looser in the garter. “You’re sure it was my husband you spoke with? Horst von Kredow? We all believe he’s dead…” She was barely able to get the words out.

  “The man’s practically immortal, don’t you know.” She emptied her glass and signaled for a refill. “One more as a nightcap, Agnès.” The governess fetched the Scotch whiskey from the sideboard. “It all tastes bitter to me lately, no matter the brand. Quality does suffer during war, you know, and the imported stuff becomes so difficult to obtain. Perhaps I should switch to vodka?” She set down the drink, her hand trembling. “But then, I’m being a poor hostess. Allow Agnès to offer you a glass.”

  Erika struggled to calm her breath. Incomprehensible that Horst could have survived the cyanide.

  De Brassis asked again, “A drink for you, Frau von Kredow?”

  “No, no thank you, I’m fine.” Erika straightened her shoulders, setting aside the incomprehensible riddle. A dreadful mystery for later. But for now, she had to save herself and Leo. “You mentioned the children?” She prepared for the worst, and it came.

  “Ah, yes, the children. Well just consider this—they had no further value to Herr von Kredow, what with his returning to Berlin as we speak. And it’s not as if we really have a choice. Surely you must understand. These mongrels burden the purity of our race and Reich. They’re vermin, actually, and just as troublesome. So our two young men helped them on their way.” She took another drag. “The others are off to join their families, you might say.”

  The alcohol was taking its toll, the woman’s jaundiced eyes blinking rapidly as she observed Erika. The cigarette ash threatened to fall and Agnès set an crystal dish on the cushion beside her. “It was Herr von Kredow’s suggestion that our men leave you a little clue in town, just to bring you out here to find me.” Her lips appeared to tighten, accentuating the wrinkles of her upper lip. “A pink pinafore, as I recall? A bit worse for wear when you
found it, perhaps.”

  Erika steadied her voice: “All of them, then?” Leo was listening, watching, far too intelligent not to understand.

  “Indeed. Well, at least the remaining three. One little Jew-boy left the same day your husband picked up this one.” Her hand languidly pointed toward Leo. “But the other three are long gone now. My soldier boys said it was quite painless, if that means something to you. One here—” she pointed to her head, “and a second here.” She tapped her chest. “A simple process, and—pouf—all nuisance gone, and our Aryan race all the better for it.” De Brassis threw Leo a dismissive glance.

  Erika saw Leo’s glare and willed him to remain silent, to bide his time. She suppressed her tears in the face of this callous barbarity. Strength was needed now. “How did you…how did von Kredow know we would come here?”

  “Oh, he wasn’t completely sure you would, but the man’s always a step ahead, you know. He suspected the other one might hunt her daughter down. And Herr von Kredow said your boy here is clever—for a mongrel, that is—and might remember enough about the Bayonne house to find his way there. So he set up a watch, and now here you are.”

  She gestured again for a refill and the liquid disappeared in three long gulps. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m feeling a bit off and will head to my rooms. Agnès and her sister will deliver your boy to the soldiers for proper treatment and then make you comfortable in the wine cellar.” The woman moved unsteadily, working her way forward on the couch. “Such a pleasure to have made your acquaintance,” she crushed the cigarette in the ashtray, “albeit short.” Madame de Brassis rose on unstable legs, drew herself up and then lurched to the floor in convulsive spasms.

  Erika saw her opportunity in the unexpected collapse of the drunk. She was shouting to Leo before the woman hit the carpet: “Run, run!” He disappeared through a side door without looking back. In one motion Erika grabbed for the pistol at her garter, slid from the chair and crouched low, ready to drop both sisters during this sudden distraction.