Flykiller

‘To the small tower that was off the bedroom we were using. The beam of Sandrine’s torch found us. Instead of trying to cover her parties sexuelles, Marie-Jacqueline leaned back on the stairs, laughed at my wife and … and spread her legs. We’d … we’d just had sex.’

‘Unprotected?’

‘Inspector …’

‘It’s Chief Inspector, Monsieur le Ministre, and unless I’m mistaken, which I’m not, you are already guilty of misuse of your office and misappropriation of goods you yourself are in charge of rationing, so let us have the truth.’

‘Not protected.’

One could imagine the rest, the wife with her gaze riveted on the offending female, jealousy, hatred and unbridled rage in her eyes and acid on her tongue. But it would be best to sigh and say, ‘Let’s have the date and time.’

‘The Saturday six weeks before she drowned. As to the time … perhaps my wife found us at midnight, perhaps a little after that.’

‘And she had clearance to be out after curfew?’

Ah damn this one! ‘I have a pass, the car its Service Public sticker.’

And signed by the Commissaire de Police, a petrol allocation also. Party, chateau, 24 October 1942, was jotted down. ‘These parties, Monsieur le Ministre, who else was there and how often were they held?’

Maudit salaud! ‘One never really knows at such gatherings.’

‘Just tell me.’

‘Rene and the others, as well as still others. Maybe forty, maybe a few more. It depended on …’

‘On what?’

‘The success of …’

‘Your little enterprise?’

‘Oui.’

‘So, a party every fortnight?’

‘Perhaps.’

‘Netting how much a month, please, this enterprise?’

Was St-Cyr a saint? ‘Four or five hundred thousand francs, seldom more.’

‘A week?’ asked Hermann, setting a double pastis without water on the table before his partner and chum, and two of Paulaner’s Munchner Hells for himself.

‘A week,’ sighed Richard, realizing only too clearly that Bousquet had buggered off and had left him to face the music on his own.

‘One and a half to two million a month, Louis. Between eighteen and twenty-four million a year. Among how many shareholders, monsieur?’

These two … Rene had been warned not to let Boemelburg assign them to the investigation. Laval would intercede on the detectives’ behalf by personally telephoning the Gestapo Chief! ‘Fifteen. No more. It’s always best to minimize such things.’

‘All well-placed in the Government ministries or doing business with it? Good business?’ asked Kohler.

‘All.’

‘That four or five hundred thousand a week is too little, Louis. Think of the expenses, the buying on the marche noir, then selling on it. Two breaches of the law, of course, but the commissions also, the pay-offs. Travel to and from Paris and other cities and towns. The price of flour alone tells us it has to be more. What’s Henri-Claude Ferbrave’s cut?’

Ah merde! ‘Ten per cent.’

‘And Jean-Guy Deschambeault’s?’ demanded Hermann.

‘Another ten.’

‘And the guards and drivers of those armoured vans of his father’s? Their hush-money?’

Must Kohler threateningly lean over the table and not sit down? ‘Ten again.’

‘Five million a week, Louis. At least five and probably fifteen.’

‘Look, I … I don’t know the details. How could I? Ask Honore de Fleury. He … he oversees the accounts.’

‘Our Inspector of Finances, Hermann. Supplies and rationing, the police, the Bank of France, and finance.’

‘And no income tax because none of it’s reported, since de Fleury makes certain of that, and Bousquet lets him.’

‘Four murders, Hermann.’

‘The threat of further and more important assassinations, Louis.’

Hermann would now leave the rest of the interview to his partner and enjoy his beer and the scenery. ‘Monsieur le Ministre, unless you fully cooperate you will accompany me to the morgue where we will continue our little discussion over the corpse of your former mistress.’

Must the fun, the laughter, the sound of the pianos, the singing and dancing swirl around the island of their little table? wondered Richard acidly. ‘Marie-Jacqueline told my wife that Sandrine couldn’t possibly be any good at making love since I had not only sought her company but had done so repeatedly and for almost two years. They fought. They screamed at each other and tumbled down the stairs and out on to the carpet next to the fireplace and the fire. Sandrine’s coat was torn open, her hair pulled, the dress and blouse ripped and a breast repeatedly grabbed and squeezed; Marie-Jacqueline’s skin was deeply scratched and bled in several places. Threats were shrieked. Fists pummelled one another. Sandrine did cry out several times that she would kill Marie-Jacqueline but it meant nothing, I’m certain.’

‘And that one’s response?’

How cautious of the Surete. ‘She laughed at Sandrine and then cheered the crowd who’d gathered to watch, and turning back to my wife, shrilled, “Why not strip and we’ll see which one of us causes his cock to lift?”’

Ah merde! ‘Had you told the nurse you’d get a divorce and marry her?’