Flykiller

‘The children, mademoiselle,’ he said, having stopped her in the corridor, having taken hold of her by the shoulder and turned her towards him.

What should she say – what could she say? ‘After what happened, he wasn’t even sure they were his. Indeed, he had every reason to think not.’

‘Then Petain wasn’t the first?’

Abruptly her thin shoulders lifted in a questioning shrug but she didn’t turn from him. Wouldn’t!

‘There were others during the war. I’m certain of it.’

Jesus, merde alors, with what were they dealing? ‘And you let him know this when he came back? It couldn’t have been too difficult, could it, since you worked at that bank of his?’

‘He wouldn’t listen! Even when so many later called him a cuckold and laughed at him, he wouldn’t! “Petain and only Petain,” he’d always say and still does.’

‘And the Marechal, does he ever come here?’

‘You can’t know of our Head of State, can you? That one has probably forgotten all about her.’

‘And the house in Paris, in Neuilly? The one her grandmother left her?’

Had the twins told him of it? ‘Auguste sold it and gave the money to Les Soeurs de l’Immaculee Conception. Inspector, the room is just down these few steps. I’m not sure the electric light will work. Auguste … Auguste … hasn’t been in there since she took her life.’

Herr Kohler must be thinking, A hard man to have sold the house on the children, hard to have sent them away like that, but he did not say so. Instead he said, ‘The children’s bedrooms?’

‘Are just across the corridor. The nursery first and then … then the girl’s room and then that of her brother. Always she was close to them, always their very special friend, but even that was not enough to stop her. She was pregnant. Did they tell you that?’

‘They?’

‘Whoever told you of her suicide. Pregnant with Petain’s child!’

‘And your room?’

‘Is next to his on the other side of the staircase. One of the former guest rooms.’

A cold, bitter answer if ever there was one. The overhead light didn’t work. Crowding her, Kohler flicked the switch on and off again. ‘You knew this, didn’t you, because you had removed the bulb from its socket?’

They faced each other in darkness, she standing just inside the room, he still in the corridor. ‘We ran out. We had to have light. These days if you can find them in a shop, and have the necessary tickets, two used light bulbs are demanded as well for each new one, but there aren’t any to be had. They’ve requisitioned them all for the Government. Petain has light; the rest of us have to make do as best we can.’

The Nation’s matches were brittle and often broke and threw flames or sparks or failed to work at all, but in the light of the two he held, Herr Kohler looked not into the room but at her. A giant with a cruel and recent scar down his left cheek from eye to chin, and others from the Great War, the graze of a recent bullet, too, across the brow. ‘The newspapers in the kitchen,’ he said. ‘How did he come by them?’

He’d seen the dates, had seen that they’d not been less than a week old, except for L’Humanite, and had first been read by others. ‘A friend saves them and I … why I try to have a little something for him in exchange.’

Herr Kohler didn’t ask the name of this friend, which could only mean that he sensed it must be Albert Grenier and that he wanted her to know he knew. ‘Let me find you a candle, Inspector.’

‘All the light bulbs are gone, aren’t they?’

‘All, I’m afraid.’

Olivier let the silence grow between them until the hiss of green wood in the kitchen stove was heard. Abruptly he lifted his gaze from the jewellery, passed it quickly over this Surete from Paris, then returned it to the diamonds.

He fingered their hardness, feeling how cold they still were, for diamonds always felt cold. He said, ‘Two patriots have just exchanged those few words that would condemn them to death, Inspector, should either of them fall into the hands of Herr Gessler or Herr Jannicke.’

To say nothing of Gabrielle and Hermann, or of his Giselle and Oona! ‘Why did you feel I needed to know you were of the Francs-Tireurs et Partisans?’

St-Cyr hadn’t liked it one bit. Too dangerous, too cavalier, but sometimes one had to take such risks. ‘As its regional leader I must ensure that nothing is done to harm our position. We want you to stop this assassin before he or she or they cause irreparable harm. As it is now, our sources have word well in advance and we can take steps to protect ourselves, but should Petain and Laval be assassinated, should even Bousquet or one of his confreres be killed, the Boche will unleash a savagery that can only lead to their taking over here completely. Make no mistake, what we have worked so hard to build will be shattered. Herr Jannicke is here because he’s the cure Berlin believes may be necessary. He’s a specialiste in interrogation and has been sent on orders from Himmler and Gestapo Muller.’