Sacré nom de nom, where was she?
As he started toward the Institute of Physical Education, the sound that came was that of the persistent: a thump, a pause, a thump, the three repeated with a constancy that puzzled until he found her in the first of the fencing pavilions, which was open on three sides and facing the polo grounds. Lacrosse stick in hand, the hard rubber ball was being flung against the inner wall only to bounce back, be caught and returned. She had even marked out the size of the goal net and could put that ball wherever she wanted. Sometimes she threw it so that it bounced on the floor first, just ahead of the goal; sometimes it hit the top-left corner or the lower right, but with a swiftness and surety that impressed. She never missed, always caught the rebound, worked ball and stick both before her and above her head as she sometimes ran in to turn and put it into a corner behind her imaginary goalkeeper.
The three-quarter-length brown anorak had its hood thrown back. The dark-brown toque fitted snugly.
‘Inspector. . ’
Ah, merde, she’d been crying, had been startled by his sudden appearance, and was wary.
He didn’t come closer, this sûreté, Nora noticed with a wince. Instead, he stood and searched the pavilion’s floor where she had shovelled the windblown snow away, and when at last he found what he wanted, he crouched to examine the spot.
Then he pulled off a glove and ran a finger over the concrete.
‘Ashes, mademoiselle. What, please, did you burn?’
Ah, damn him, damn him! ‘Une cigarette.’
‘The butt, then, since you were in hock for weeks. The firewood purchase, n’est-ce pas?’
Shit!
‘First, mademoiselle, we now know that you were seen by Brother Étienne late on Friday afternoon, and shortly before Caroline Lacy was killed.’
Étienne must have had to tell him. ‘It was late. I was cold. I. . I didn’t even wave.’
‘Who was with him?’
He would persist until he got the answer he wanted. ‘Caroline, I think.’
‘But Becky Torrence was nearer to them than you were?’
‘Was she? I didn’t notice.’
And lying again, was it? ‘Would Becky have followed Caroline from the Vittel-Palace?’
‘To kill her? Becky? You must be crazy. Inspector, I’d been out for hours. I had to get warm. The ground fog that hangs over the valley here had come in. Visibility was poor. Tree trunks were in the way. How was I to have seen anything?’
The lacrosse stick was now held lightly with its curved and open end just touching the floor at her feet, the ball in her left hand, the girl seemingly at comparative ease but poised like a coiled spring.
The short-cropped hair protruded from under the toque, giving its wisps of amber-to-blonde; the dark blue eyes assessed all possibilities and risks as the throat, beneath its woollen scarf, constricted.
‘A moment ago you were crying, mademoiselle. Even as you threw the ball.’
‘Am I not allowed to?’
‘Bien sûr, but were the tears from relief or despair?’
Over something Étienne had left for her-this was definitely what he was thinking. Beyond him, the footprints of the path he had trod showed plainly enough, but there wasn’t anyone else’s that she could see.
The note Étienne had left had burned in but a few seconds, the ash falling grey and crinkled and very fine, and she had tried to remove it and hide the evidence. The match had been buried in the snow she’d shovelled away, but if he wanted to he could find it.
And in the room early this morning he had asked if Mary-Lynn had been Jewish and was Jennifer, had said that neither he nor his partner would do a thing about it if true. He’d taken one hell of a chance with them, would have to be told something-he had that look about him, but could he be trusted? These days one never knew.
A brief grin would be best and then, ‘All right, you win. Early this morning the Marines and the Forty-Third Division took the Russell Islands in the Solomons. They’re going to build fighter aircraft landing fields there in but a few days so as to hit the Japs well before those people get to our boys and our ships.
‘Last Thursday, German U-boats intercepted a convoy in the North Atlantic sinking another fifteen merchant ships. In Tunisia, British and American forces are taking heavy losses because Rommel has a new tank against which nothing seems to work.** But last Tuesday. . last Tuesday, the Russians reoccupied Kharkov and are now six hundred kilometres to the west of Stalingrad. Tears of joy, Inspector, and tears of grief.’
She bounced the ball and caught it, swung the stick out and pulled it back still with the ball. Again and again she did this. Easily, fluidly, teasingly, threateningly, silently saying, Are you now going to turn me in? If so, tell me and see what happens.
‘Is the brother of the FTP?’ St-Cyr asked, unruffled.
The Francs-Tireurs et Partisans. ‘A devout Catholic, Inspector? One of the Pères Tranquilles? Aren’t the FTP communists?’
‘Some of them, but you’re well informed. Perhaps it is that you are also aware that the Vosges and this whole region are known for its partisans. The Franco-Prussian War, the Great War, Mademoiselle Arnarson, and now again, Alsace having changed hands once more.’
She shrugged. She took to throwing the ball against the wall. He would get no further with her on the matter, decided Nora, but he hadn’t mentioned that Étienne must be listening to the Free French broadcasts from London-a highly illegal act-and he would have mentioned it if of the enemy.
‘Two murders, mademoiselle, and now some answers, please. Apparently you frequently went through the Hôtel Grand not only in search of Caroline Lacy and Jennifer Hamilton but asking where those two had been and with whom they had talked. Did you suspect either of having stolen that good-luck penny your father sent?’
Did he never forget anything one said? ‘In a place like this, superstition thrives, Inspector. People believe others can contact the dead and learn all kinds of secrets from them or simply get words of endearment and reassurance. Others seek to find out when the next shipment of Red Cross parcels will arrive, or if a parcel from home will come or a letter or postcard from a prisoner-of-war husband or fiancé.’
‘While still others believe they are prima donnas of the gods?’
Madame Chevreul. The ball had best be kept bouncing. At least then she wouldn’t have to look at him. ‘Lots of us are playing roles of one kind or another. How else are we to survive?’
‘But dream? Is yours that of the trapper?’
She swung the stick.
‘The loner? Even in a cage like this, I’ve found ways of being by myself.’
The ball hit the upper left corner of the goal. ‘And what, please, have you learned that is enough for someone to want to kill you? Come, come, mademoiselle, put that stick down and talk to me. This little presentation box of Guerlain’s was stolen from Madame Chevreul and found in Caroline Lacy’s pockets. Was Jennifer Hamilton the thief?’
She would stop. She would have to, decided Nora, but had they found the Star of David? ‘Wouldn’t a kleptomaniac have kept it all to herself?’
‘Was Caroline the thief, then?’
Throw the ball again, she told herself. Again! ‘Or neither of them, Inspector? As far as I and the others know, Madame Chevreul gave that little box to Caroline to tell her everything was fine and that she could count on being a sitter at the séance that was to be held last night and wasn’t even cancelled because of her death. Caroline couldn’t resist showing it to us. Madame de Vernon came into the room and tried to snatch it from her. There was a scene. The girl was slapped several times and took to shrieking, which only made Madame angrier until the four of us parted them and faced up to her and she cursed us and gave it back to Caroline but with a warning to us. The Kommandant was going to hear about it and what we had all been up to, but that is why Caroline had it with her. She knew Madame de Vernon would smash it or throw it in the stove.’