Carousel, p.15
Carousel, page 15
‘His age?’
‘Madame Minou will have already told you. Me, I haven’t time for trifles, Inspector. I’m busy writing my memoirs. The publishers, the bloodsuckers, they’re always pressing me for deadlines yet still refusing to pay their advances.’
‘About fifty-six or fifty-eight?’ Nom de Dieu, don’t get bitchy on me!
‘Yes, yes, all right! Of almost your age, but with more vitality for a man with two legs, more zip to his step.’
‘I’m only fifty-two.’
‘You look eighty but never mind. I suppose it’s all that sitting you people do.’
‘Just tell me about him, eh?’
A ten-franc note was parsimoniously fingered in a black leather pocketbook that would have shamed a priest.
The note was placed on the desk. A cloud of exasperated smoke enveloped the Sûreté’s gumshoe. Good! ‘Another, Inspector. There is much that I can tell you.’
‘Withholding information is a criminal offence.’
‘Arrest me then. Jail would be preferable to this hole.’
Twenty more fell and then a further twenty to bring it up to fifty.
‘He was from the provinces, from the south-west. A bourgeois up to Paris to see his mistress. He brought her things, little favours. Chocolates, several jars of pâté at different times – I’m certain of it. Once two bottles of liqueur, once four bottles, usually only one.’
‘How can you be so certain?’
‘Because she left them outside my door when she went away.’
St-Cyr laid another fifty on the desk. ‘Antoine Audit and Sons of Périgord?’ he asked. ‘A pâté de foie gras aux truffes?’
Dupuis grunted. ‘It was exceptional. I looked for more.’
‘She spoiled you, monsieur. Any ideas what went on in that room?’
This from the Sûreté! ‘Of course. She took off her clothes while that one watched, then they did it, not once but several times, after which he always left the room first and went down by the tradesmen’s stairs.’
‘How long did he stay?’
‘The half hour, the hour, as long as it took.’
‘And the girl?’
‘She always washed herself afterwards. Me, I’ve seen her many times carrying the basin to the lavatory. There is a tap in that place. It drips constantly. We all have to get our own water for such things.’
‘He came once or twice a week, always at the same time?’
‘Between eight and nine in the evening, yes.’
‘Except for last Tuesday.’
‘Yes, he came then at four, and he did not bring her anything that time.’
‘How was she when she left the room on Tuesday?’
‘Upset. She touched her hair at the back, like this, like a young girl in distress. I think she must have informed him of her pregnancy, and that one told her to get lost. So much for the pâtés, eh? and the strawberry liqueurs!’
Things no one in their right mind would give away these days unless they had a damned good reason for not wanting to be seen with them. ‘Do you think she loved this Monsieur Antoine?’
‘She was not a prostitute, not that one, Inspector. Kept – of course he gave her money for the use of her body – but love? Who’s to say what that is? She enjoyed it, this much I do know, though it grieves me to have to mention it. On several occasions her step was very light and quick as she left the room, and twice when I called out to her, she smiled at me and I saw the happiness in her lovely eyes.’
‘Did you ever leave money out for her in hopes she’d come in?’
‘Money? There’s hardly enough of it to get by.’
The cop said nothing. He was too perceptive, too difficult and not so easy as some others had been. ‘Of course I did not leave her money. That would have insulted her. Besides, Madame Minou’s son is not to be trusted.’
St-Cyr thanked the boyhood that had taught him to question so as to elicit those answers that were vital to an investigation.
‘Madame Minou’s son?’ he said blandly, reaching for his hat.
‘She never knows when he’ll come back. He still has a key to this place, though she will deny it to God on her day of judgement.’
‘Such is the love of a mother for her son, eh?’
Long after the detective had taken himself away, Dupuis sat in his chair going over things. He’d said everything as it should have been said, even to that bit about the old shrew’s son, Roland, and to that bit about the girl’s M Antoine leaving by the tradesmen’s stairs. The Sûreté would go out that way to see for himself. He’d notice that the door opened only from the inside, that there was a bellpush to wake the old slut in her cage. He’d realize that the door could be left open a little with a stick or a pencil if one wished to come back in again unnoticed.
So, it had gone well enough and now he would sleep a little. Later he’d go out for a drink to celebrate. Yes … yes, he’d do that, but he must hide the money from prying eyes so that Madame Minou would not get wind of it and demand it all in payment of the rent.
Kohler pushed a dozen of the coins across the inlaid fruit-wood of the coffee-table. There wasn’t any sense in beating about the bush. A visit to the Abwehr’s headquarters in the Hotel Lutétia had turned up nothing but the stone wall of interservice rivalry. He’d had to leap it.
‘The girl did a deal and the deal went sour.’
Hermann ‘Otto’ Brandl smiled as he rubbed his hands together. The slightly scented cocoa butter had been good for them. It had a nice smell and wasn’t too greasy when worked into the skin.
‘All things are of interest to the Bureau Otto, Hermann, but why show me these?’
‘I thought you might like to help me find the real ones.’
Brandl affected delicacy as he smoothed his silver locks. ‘Since when does the Gestapo seek to help the Abwehr?’
‘Louis and I are being given the run-around by Lafont and Bonny. Rumour has it Carbone’s involved.’
The puffy eyelids lifted. At the age of forty-six, Brandl, a captain in the Abwehr, headed up the Reich’s huge and complex purchasing office in France. Supreme power, supreme graft and everything else that went with it. A real producer.
Supplies from all over the country poured through his fingers – iron, copper, coal, manganese, potatoes, leather, chemicals – whatever the war effort and the Reich needed, and in plenty. Silk from Antoine Audit, of course, ah yes. Gold and diamonds, stocks and bonds, fine wines and paintings – enough for him to have syphoned off ten or twelve personal fortunes.
The coins were good imitations but not good enough. ‘What does Boemelburg have to say about your coming to me?’
‘The Sturmbannführer’s a busy man. He doesn’t like to know the fine details, just the big things.’
Again the puffy eyelids questioned. In spite of the immaculately tailored naval uniform and the polished mannerisms of the best salons, Brandl remained a toad in oil. A Bavarian schmuck who might, at best, have run a steel mill had his mother slapped his wrists.
‘Schraum worked for me.’
‘I rather thought he might have.’ This would have been the order of the day, in any case.
The pale-blue eyes in that round and pasty face narrowed. ‘Did Carbone kill him?’
‘We don’t know that.’
‘What about the mackerel, Victor Morande?’
‘We don’t know that either.’
‘You don’t know much then, do you, Hermann?’
‘Enough to ask for help where it can count. Look, we know the girl was flogging bits of jewellery in the fleas.’
‘Lots do that. It’s nothing new.’
‘Lafont had her followed. Bonny had her tagged as a big one. You used to have Lafont working for you. You know he’s got a nose for stuff.’
‘And you want my help.’
The rubbing had finally ceased. Now the backs of his fingers were being smelled again. ‘Von Schaumburg’s behind us. Anything we want we get. The full weight of the Kommandant of Greater Paris. He’s a stickler for law and order, Otto, and he’s out to strip your gears. Schraum was one of his men who had been assigned to carry coal and other things for the Bureau, not filch whatever sidelines he could. A corporal no less. No discipline, chasing after the wives of others, dabbling in a little gold.’
How could Kohler dare to say such things? ‘Your boss won’t like this, Hermann, and neither will Osias Pharand.’
‘Our superiors needn’t know unless you tell them.’
‘Okay, so I’m listening.’ Brandl snapped his fingers, motioning to one of the club’s stewards. ‘Two whiskies on ice, none of that lousy gazeuse you bastards think is soda water. Put it on my chit and don’t cheat me.’
‘Make mine a double, will you? I’ve not had any breakfast or any sleep. I have to take my pills. Doctor’s orders.’
The Traveller’s Club was on the Champs-Élysées. Brandl had a particular affection for it and for doing business in such places. The busty, life-sized girls on the richly carved chimney-piece were aimed over their heads. Far above them in the centre of the ceiling more painted nudes cavorted or lay about with bare-assed cherubs scrambling over walls to duck the arrow of some strong-armed hunk of virility.
‘Nice … this is really nice, Otto. I like it.’
‘Oh do you? This “partner” of yours, Herr Kohler. We of the Abwehr don’t like him. The SS don’t and neither should the Gestapo.’
‘Louis is useful. He’ll lead you to the loot if you let him.’
The toad rubbed the oil in his palm with a thumb. ‘Rumour has it he’s dead meat.’
Poor Louis … ‘The coin that was left in the centre of the girl’s forehead?’ asked Kohler. Lafont, ah Christ!
It would be best to affect a rather bored air. ‘We could help you a little, perhaps. I’d have to see about it.’
‘Did Victor Morande get the coal to run that carousel from Schraum?’
‘Of course. Who else?’ Brandl thought about lifting his glass and taking a small sip. Perhaps it would be construed as a toast to their mutual business, perhaps not, and Kohler would have to worry about it. Yes, that would be good.
The single malt whisky was excellent, and the Gestapo took to it as the desert rodent to the oasis.
‘Careful, my Hermann. Careful. If you’re going to work for the Bureau, we shall have to insist on a modicum of … what shall I say? Not total abstinence. Nothing so harsh. Merely prudence.’
‘I was just taking my pills. They’re for the digestion.’
‘Have you ulcers?’
‘A few. They’re not bleeding, not yet.’
‘Then perhaps I can help them. Schraum’s uncle, the Gauleiter of Stralsund and SA-Obersturmführer, is an avid coin collector who writes to others of the same interest. He’s also a distant relative of Goering.’
A storm trooper … a relative … The pills caught. Kohler choked. Moisture rushed into his eyes as he swallowed hard and forced himself not to reach for his glass.
The Benzedrine stung. ‘A coin collector?’
‘And a relative of the Reichsmarschall and Reichsführer himself.’
‘Who also collects coins.’
‘Roman ones, my Hermann. Things like those with Nero’s head and those of Caesar Augustus and all the rest.’
‘Sestertii and aurei.’ Brandl already had someone working on it! The bastard was even competing with the SS and the rue Lauriston on this one too!
‘Have a little sip. It’ll help. Then tell me about the girl, about the room and about the villa at Number twenty-three.’ He’d see how much they knew, then call him my Hermann again to see if the bait had not just been taken but the hook set deeply.
Another whisky came for the Gestapo’s warbler and then a plate of Norwegian smoked salmon with little wedges of toast, which he wolfed as only one of the Gestapo’s most disloyal men would wolf.
‘Common crime, my Hermann. It’s with us every day and must be cleansed from the streets, but what’s this? Your eyes keep straying to the ceiling. Is it because of your little pigeon – what was her name?’
‘Giselle le Roy.’
A fist had clenched, a slice of the salmon had fallen on to the carpet. Good, very good. ‘Yes, yes, Giselle. Perhaps you cannot find her and wish the assistance not just of the Kommandant of Greater Paris but also that of the Bureau Otto?’
‘Who’s got her?’
‘Really, Herr Kohler, the darkness you betray so willingly is admirable. Not the Bureau, I assure you. Pigeons are only of interest if they can lead us to gold that others want and are too greedy to share with the proper authorities.’
‘Morande?’
‘He offered Schraum half of what the Audit girl could bring and the Corporal bit, as corporals like Schraum will do who are eager to impress their uncles back home in the hopes of being given a step up the ladder by a certain Reichsmarschall.’
‘Was Morande connected to any of the gangs?’
‘To Lafont or Carbone or any of the others? Really, Herr Kohler, for a detective and a fellow Bavarian you surprise me.’
‘Talbotte’s washed his hands of the affair. Even records down at Headquarters are being tight.’
‘They’ve clipped your wings, have they?’
Kohler’s head was singing. The girls above were beginning to dance. His heart was pounding. Brandl was blurred.
‘Really, my Hermann, do you not know the mackerel made himself unwelcome in the Santé by coughing up a name he should never have mentioned? That someone paid him back. It’s that simple. Find out who he is and you’ll find the forger. Then bring me the loot so that the Reichsmarschall can gloat over his newest coins and we can have all the rest.’
‘What makes you so certain there are any coins – any real ones?’
Brandl savoured things. Baiting Hermann had had its moments. Henri Lafont should never have gone over to work for the other side, for the SS of the avenue Foch! The rue Lauriston was getting far too greedy for its own good and meddling in things it should never have meddled in.
‘Industrialists who have found favour in high places, my Hermann, should always make certain they have declared every last sou of their valuables.’
‘M Antoine Audit? The silk, eh?’
‘Explosives, glass and wine, truffles and, yes, the silk.’
Just like the old grandmother had said, Antoine Audit had had to sell through Brandl’s Bureau Otto.
‘It’s only a thought,’ said Brandl. ‘After all, Bonny, your partner’s former colleague did mark the girl down as being a big one, right?’
‘Who told them about her?’
‘Find the mackerel’s killer and you’ll find out. He must be a fund of information, that one. A bank.’
Lagace, the baker, brushed flour from his forearms. The one from the Sûreté had come across the street to ask more questions; the one from the Gestapo had taken the Citroën and driven away some time ago.
Merde, it was like waiting for death and not knowing what went on behind the scenes to influence the decision one way or the other. Still, it would be best to put on a brave face.
‘Inspector, I must thank you for what you did for me the other day.’
St-Cyr raised both hands in a gesture of Hold it, my friend. Enough said.
There were two customers in the shop, plus the woman who helped when the thrice-weekly bread ration was to be distributed.
‘Georges, a few small matters. Little details. Nothing important. We’ve all but wrapped the thing up and are just tidying.’
‘Mademoiselle Rose-Eva, did you hear that?’ shouted the bearer of glad tidings. ‘No more rapists or sadists in the rue Polonceau. You and your sister can breathe a little easier.’
They were both in their eighties, timid, frail bits of dust with black biscuit hats, black shawls and coats, black everything.
The woman who had been handing them their ration of bread repeated the news in an equally loud voice, then warned them of theft. ‘You must guard your bread with your lives this time. We cannot give you any more if it’s stolen again.’
‘Give? Who gives?’ shrilled the older of the two.
‘He did it. We both know he did. He undressed her and then he violated her.’
‘Jeanne, shut up! Madame, you owe us bread for last week. I’m not leaving until we get it!’
‘He split her hymen even as he strangled her. It’s the God’s truth. I have heard this straight from the horse’s mouth!’
The younger one hastily crossed herself before wetting her thin lips in expectation of some further development.
Lagace heaved a sigh. ‘Come into the back, Inspector. It’ll be quieter there.’
‘No … no, a moment, Georges. Mesdemoiselles, who was the killer of that girl?’ he shouted.
‘Killer? Killer? He wants to know who the rapist was, Rose-Eva.’
‘The rapist, yes. The killer. He’s a detective, Jeanne. Let him find out for himself. Let him “tidy” his own little details since they have not yet arrested the villain.’
‘Who?’ asked the detective.
‘Who do you think?’ demanded the older of the two hotheads.
Snatching their thin stick of bread, the sisters headed for the door.
‘Later, Inspector. Later. Please, I can explain. Those two, they’ve been talking about that sort of thing for years. The younger one reads the papers and dreams of it; the older one rejoices at the trouble the dreams are causing the younger one. It’s nothing but the air of two old women whose moment has long passed.’
A poet, eh?
They went into the heart of the bakery where empty cutting and pastry tables gave the lie of commerce and cold ovens that of plenty.
‘Two sacks of flour arrived today. Some salt and sugar. I can’t understand it, Inspector. A Wehrmacht truck? An order for six hundred loaves of bread to be delivered to the local barracks of the German Army on Monday morning at 0600 hours.’
St-Cyr told him not to worry. ‘You’ve just earned yourself a job courtesy of Sturmbannführer Walter Boemelburg.’
Lagace’s face fell. ‘The one who came to choose the hostages.’
‘It’s his little joke on me. Don’t worry. I told him you had the job and he just made certain that you did.’
