Flykiller

Beneath the knife there was a card on which the motto of Les Jeunes de France had been printed: Toujours Prets. Always Ready. Beneath that, and folded tightly, was the letter the Ministry of Education had sent Albert’s parents, telling them the boy was unfit for the Chantiers de Jeunesse, the young men, the over-twenties of France, who had each to do their national service of five months of physical training, community service and rural tasks, in lieu of service in the Army which, of course, now no longer existed, even as the much-shrunken Army of the Armistice.

‘Albert couldn’t have read it, Inspector, and probably believes he really is one of les Jeunes,’ said Blanche.

The date was 13 March 1941.

He’d been twenty-one then, thought Ines, was now nearly twenty-three. Turning swiftly aside, she threw up the grey National she had had with weak ersatz coffee at 5 a.m., and the nuts and dried fruit she’d palmed in the kitchen.

Just emptied herself, poor kid, thought Kohler. Couldn’t have stopped, but sympathy ought not to be allowed to intrude.

‘Come on. He must have gone into the cellars.’

Guinea fowl made their racket, quail too, and ducks. A peacock shrieked.

‘Inspector,’ spat Hebert, turning swiftly to block the way, the wind tugging at the blue smock, the open black cable-knit cardigan and black felt fedora. A large bowl of feed was in the crook of each arm, the cages just beyond him. ‘That Richard woman and those other bitches have it in for me. Always gossiping, always the little tete-a-tetes with Madame la Marechale at their “committee meetings”. Committee of what, I ask? Of dried-up housewives who are terrified of losing their meal tickets!’

Ring-necked pheasants croaked and beat their wings, a bantam rooster cocked its head. ‘Monsieur …’ began St-Cyr, only to hear Hebert retort as if stung, ‘Please let me finish! Oh for sure, in 1924 and ’25, when they were not together in Paris, I allowed my friend Henri Philippe Omer Petain and Noelle Olivier to meet in secret here to spend a few quiet hours in each other’s arms. What else are friends for when the dice have already been cast? Auguste-Alphonse had been told many times by myself and others that the Marechal was not the first of her lovers. Mon Dieu, he was too busy at that bank of ours, too concerned with squandering our money on bringing a modern telephone exchange to Vichy. Officers … for years we’ve had a military hospital. Not the badly wounded, you understand. Colonials mostly. Convalescents and men on special leave who came, and still do, for the cure. Noelle would often help entertain the boys with games, walks, thes dansants and concerts, bals masques and cabaret nights in which she loved to take part and was always the favourite. Le cigare, la figure, the black stockings, eh, and garters. The bawdy songs and gestures.’

He paused. He waited to see if his words had sunk in, so one had best let him talk it out!

‘Please remember that Auguste-Alphonse was away for all but a few weeks during the ’14-18 war, Inspector. Four years can be an eternity to a young woman who is tres sensuelle, tres adorable et elegante and outstanding even among the Parisian hautes mondaines who came to Vichy for la saison des curistes after that war. Men were always at her feet – Auguste was well aware of this and proud of what he’d married. Ah yes, he loved to show her off to friends and business associates! But is it any wonder then that she found what she wanted in the buffet he himself had provided?’

Cage after cage faced the sun, each with its shelter, the tiled roof of the barn extending well out for further protection.

‘The bank, monsieur. You said, “Our bank”.’

Hebert continued to the nearest of the enclosures, that of the guinea fowl, whose little tribe hurried relentlessly round and round it.

‘Oui. It was his and mine and that of others,’ he said, turning sideways to look, not directly at him, but slightly downwards.

‘During the war I had to take over in his absence and things went well. It was only later, when he returned, that the problems started. A fortune I lost when that bank went bust in ’33. A fortune!’

‘And now?’

‘Now I am little different than the cuckold himself!’

Fresh hay had been strewn about the enclosures, their shelters insulated with it.

‘Ah bon,’ he said. ‘Albert never forgets – one doesn’t need to remind him, Inspector. Once a task has been assigned, he does it. Look … the snow has even been swept from each of the cages!’

‘The telephone exchange, monsieur?’