Jackdaws

Dieter got up, apprehensive, and opened the door. The hunched figure of Sergeant Becker stood just inside the room, holding in his hand a wooden club like a large policeman’s truncheon. He was sweating and breathing hard, as if he had been taking vigorous exercise. He was staring at a prisoner who was tied to a post.

Dieter looked at the prisoner, and his fears were confirmed. Despite his self-imposed calm, he grimaced with revulsion. The prisoner was the young woman, Genevieve, who had carried a Sten gun under her coat. She was naked, tied to the pillar by a rope that passed under her arms and supported her slumped weight. Her face was so swollen that she could not have opened her eyes. Blood from her mouth covered her chin and most of her chest. Her body was discolored with angry bruises. One arm hung at an odd angle, apparently dislocated at the shoulder. Her pubic hair was matted with blood.

Dieter said to Becker, “What has she told you?”

Becker looked embarrassed. “Nothing.”

Dieter nodded, suppressing his rage. It was as he had expected.

He went close to the woman. “Genevieve, listen to me,” he said in French.

She showed no sign of having heard.

“Would you like to rest now?” he tried.

There was no response.

He turned around. Weber was standing in the doorway, looking defiant. Dieter, coldly furious, said, “You were expressly told that I would conduct the interrogation.”

“We were ordered to give you access,” Weber replied with smug pedantry. “We were not prohibited from questioning the prisoners ourselves.”

“And are you satisfied with the results you have achieved?”

Weber did not answer.

Dieter said, “What about the other two?”

“We have not yet begun their interrogation.”

“Thank God for that.” Dieter was nonetheless dismayed. He had expected half a dozen subjects, not two. “Take me to them.”

Weber nodded at Becker, who put down his club and led the way out of the room. In the bright lights of the corridor, Dieter could see the bloodstains on Becker’s uniform. The sergeant stopped at a door with a judas peephole. Dieter slid back the panel and looked inside.

It was a bare room with a dirt floor. The only item of furniture was a bucket in the corner. Two men sat on the ground, not talking, staring into space. Dieter studied them carefully. He had seen both yesterday. The older one was Gaston, who had set the charges. He had a large piece of sticking-plaster covering a scalp wound that looked superficial. The other was very young, about seventeen, and Dieter recalled that his name was Bertrand. He had no visible injuries, but Dieter, recalling the skirmish, thought he might have been stunned by the explosion of a hand grenade.

Dieter watched them for a while, taking time to think. He had to do this right. He could not afford to waste another captive: these two were the only assets left. The kid would be scared, he foresaw, but might withstand a lot of pain. The other was too old for serious torture-he might die before he cracked-but he would be softhearted. Dieter began to see a strategy for interrogating them.

He closed the judas and returned to the interview room. Becker followed, reminding him again of a stupid but dangerous dog. Dieter said, “Sergeant Becker, untie the woman and put her in the cell with the other two.”

Weber protested, “A woman in a man’s cell?”

Dieter stared at him incredulously. “Do you think she will feel the indignity?”

Becker went into the torture chamber and reemerged carrying the broken body of Genevieve. Dieter said, “Make sure the old man gets a good look at her, then bring him here.”

Becker went out.

Dieter decided he would prefer to get rid of Weber. However, he knew that if he gave a direct order, Weber would resist. So he said, “I think you should remain here to witness the interrogation. You could learn a lot from my techniques.”

As Dieter had expected, Weber did the opposite. “I don’t think so,” he said. “Becker can keep me informed.” Dieter faked an indignant expression, and Weber went out.

Dieter caught the eye of Lieutenant Hesse, who had quietly taken a seat in the corner. Hesse understood how Dieter had manipulated Weber and was looking admiringly at Dieter. Dieter shrugged. “Sometimes it’s too easy,” he said.

Becker returned with Gaston. The older man was pale. No doubt he had been badly shocked by the sight of Genevieve. Dieter said in German, “Please have a seat. Do you like to smoke?”

Gaston looked blank.

That established that he did not understand German, which was worth knowing.

Dieter motioned him to a seat and offered him cigarettes and matches. Gaston took a cigarette and lit it with shaking hands.

Some prisoners broke at this stage, before torture, just from fear of what would happen. Dieter hoped that might be the case today. He had shown Gaston the alternatives: on one hand, the dreadful sight of Genevieve; on the other, cigarettes and kindness.

Now he spoke in French, using a friendly tone. “I’m going to ask you some questions.”

“I don’t know anything,” Gaston said.