Flykiller

‘Verfluchte Kripo, Verfluchte Franzosen …’ Cursed Kripo, cursed French … ‘ Vermehrende Idioten.’ Breeding idiots … ‘Alle Halbheit ist taub, Kohler.’ Half-measures are no measures. He can’t be ‘dieser Fliegentoter. The Flykiller. But better in ‘den Zelleri’, than free.

‘Jawohl, Herr Oberst.’

‘Gut,’ but you’ll … not find him in the cellars of the Hotel du Parc … ‘Dieser Handkoffer, Kohler,’ this case … was open. That father of his can’t … can’t find him either. Ah no!

‘Bitte, Fraulein, go through your case. Damage, theft … we must know of this.’

Her valise … She must empty it for them … ‘Oui, monsieur. I … I had forgotten Albert’s father was looking after it for me.’

Kohler translated what she’d said. Gessler lit a cigarette and offered one to Herr Jannicke. The kid lifted out the tray … The phial of almond oil now held only dregs, just dregs. Had Albert sampled it? he wondered. Wet … the tray was wet and reeked of bitter almond. The mask, swaddled in its white linen cloths, stared up at them.

She nodded. Faintly she said in French, ‘Nothing has been taken or damaged. Albert must simply have wanted another look at the portrait and … and accidentally emptied the phial when putting it back.’

Herr Kohler translated.

‘Then please be more careful in future.’

‘Bernard … Bernard,’ sang out Madame Petain as Dr Menetrel came into the restaurant on the run only to stop dead at the sight of Gessler and Jannicke. ‘Bernard, the Chief Inspector St-Cyr was just telling us of Paris. Not a word about those dreadful murders or your part in them.’

Stung by her words, furious with her and with them, no doubt, the portly doctor turned on his heels, collared the maitre d’ and bent his ear before retreating to the lobby and the Hotel du Parc.

It was the maitre d’ who, on coming to their table, quietly confided, ‘Mademoiselle, the doctor wishes you to present your portrait to the Marechal for his appraisal tomorrow morning at 9.50.’

‘Where?’ she asked, her voice far from strong.

‘Why here, of course. Behind that.’

The screen that kept the great one from prying eyes while he ate.

‘Right after his breakfast briefing. A few minutes can be spared, mademoiselle. No more.’

A few minutes … ‘Yes. Why, yes, of course. I understand perfectly. Merci.’

10

As the dining room was cleared, the detectives again sat alone at their table. Blanche had remained at hers, Sandrine at Madame Petain’s. And I? mused Ines silently. I sit to the far side looking beyond hurrying waiters and across vacated tables to Herr Kohler, and he at me. Kripo that he was, Kohler had realized exactly how terrified of arrest and torture she’d been. He had watched her closely as she’d taken the valise with her and had set it carefully on the floor at her feet. He’d known she’d been silently repeating Aves; had known she had all but run from Gessler and the other one.

Madame Petain and Madame de Fleury had gone to dress for the trip the detectives had insisted on to the clinic of Dr Normand and his patient, Julienne Deschambeault. Sandrine Richard would drive the two ladies to the clinic. And I? Ines demanded and answered, I must go in either car. And Blanche? she wondered. Would Blanche come with them or …

Herr Kohler nodded at her. ‘Gessler’s just given us a reminder, Louis. Having sealed the town off and put the Sonderkommando to work scouring the countryside, he and Herr Jannicke will quietly let us do the job here. If we foul up, we’ll get the blame; if we succeed, he’ll take the credit.’

‘Merde, this investigation, Hermann. Vichy is like a Pandora’s box and Chinese puzzle all in one. Every time we lift a lid, there’s another waiting!’

Tobacco was needed; crumbs from the meal were carelessly scattered on the tablecloth. Did they have the bits and pieces arranged before them again? wondered Ines. Would St-Cyr insist on the plodding, methodical approach in spite of the need for haste?

Would Herr Kohler’s impatience get the better of them both?

When it was time to leave, they refused to let her travel with Madame Richard and the others. Though it couldn’t be so very dark outside the Hotel Majestic, due to the snow cover, everything was jet black to her. No details at all, no silhouettes. Just nothing but an empty, empty darkness, she wanting desperately to reach out and feel her way yet knowing she mustn’t, that she must hide the blindness from them at all cost.

Suddenly she went down hard at an unseen step, Herr Kohler grabbing her. ‘Easy,’ he said. ‘Don’t worry so much. You’re not under arrest.’

Arrest? Ah, Sainte Mere, why had he to say it? No lights were on that she could see but she knew there must be the blue-blinkered torches of pedestrians, those of the tail lights and headlamps of velos, velo-taxis and horse-drawn carriages. Wasn’t that a cyclist she heard call out a warning?