‘The east bank of the Aire River and just to the east of the Forêt d’Argonne, Inspector,’ said Brother Étienne. ‘The First American Army, Thirty-Fifth Division. Mary-Lynn Allan’s father was killed on the twenty-sixth, Madame de Vernon’s husband wounded on the twenty-ninth but at Cierges-sous-Montfaucon, which is about five kilometres to the northwest of that hill, the advance of the twenty-sixth having been against Montfaucon itself, on which stood a heavily defended barracks.’
‘Their luminescent compasses failed,’ continued Madame Chevreul. ‘There was so much buried metal in that old Verdun battlefield it threw them off. When she spoke to Captain Edward Bruce Allan, Cérès said he had told her he lies buried beneath the tank he had destroyed. A knoll was to his right, Inspector, another to his left, the true bearing on a line of sight of 42 degrees to the south, southwest or 222 degrees from north. He and his men had been advancing up the defile between those knolls when the mustard gas was encountered, causing the men to panic further, but then. . then out of the fog and not ten steps away, the muzzle of that German tank appeared, it immediately firing at them, the shell exploding in a cloud of shrapnel which cut the air, instantly killing his sergeant and two others, he seizing their grenades even as they fell, Sergeant Davies crying out to him, “Don’t, Cap,” but it was of no use.’
‘Élizabeth. . Élizabeth,’ began Brother Étienne, gesturing at the impossibility of reasoning with her, only to be ignored.
‘He lies about three kilometres to the south-southwest of Montfaucon, Inspector, near the foundation of a ruined barn. The defile is, of course, much overgrown. Bracken covers the knolls, but there are two cedars on the one and a young oak on the other, each with the strength of many. Armour plate and tank treads cover him and these are to be found beneath a metre of thrown-up earth. A digging machine will have to be used. Mere pick and shovel will not suffice.’
And never mind the use of a compass! thought St-Cyr. ‘Any unexploded gas shells?’
‘A danger to be sure, but Cérès didn’t say. Ah, pardonnez-moi. He didn’t say to Cérès.’
‘Nor tell you, madame, that the tank would have been American, for the Wehrmacht, throughout that war had so few, they had had to use captured ones when available, though not, I think, in that battle, and as for the poisoned gas you say was used, it was the Americans who fired it at the Germans then, not the other way round.’
‘The confusion of battle is always terrible.’
‘But as a nurse and an ambulance driver, you and Léa Monnier would have heard plenty of what the front was like and would have driven over past positions of it many times, and certainly after that war, the bereaved sought solace in spiritualism right through the ’20s and well into the ’30s.’
Millions had died, so many of them between the ages of nineteen and twenty-five. ‘Comfort, Inspector. News of loved ones, a word or two. Those are what I bring. Colonel Kessler was convinced I possessed that rarest of gifts.’
‘Whereas Bamba Duclos, though he doesn’t appear to often contact those who have passed over, will do so if pressed as he reads the fortunes of present lives and is a charlatan?’
‘That black told Mary-Lynn that I would never be able to get Cérès to reach her father or find where he lay buried, that only if she believed totally in his powers-his! — could he read her future in that little basket of rubbish.’
‘But he did read it?’
‘And kept it from her because he saw her falling down a deep, dark well but couldn’t understand this because there were no such wells that he knew of in the camp.’
‘How is it, please, that you knew of this, madame?’ Brother Étienne had taken to folding his napkin again and didn’t look at either of them, having done all he could to protect her from herself.
‘Léa told me,’ she said.
‘Léa who is so loyal she would find out for you?’
‘Oui.’
To shout for Louis would do no good, felt Kohler, to try to back away and through the medium’s cabinet to reach him but a bad gamble. Léa Monnier didn’t just fill the corridor doorway to this room of rooms; behind her, a mob had silently gathered. Broomsticks, mallets, pots, ladles, and knives were in hand, hair in the eyes of some, chewing gum in the mouths of others, fags clenched between the lips of still others.
Hortense, the cook, was immediately to his left, having stealthily taken a few steps to get into position, the maid, Marguerite, to the right and still over by the Ouija board, that one watchful to the point of being intensely so, the tip of her tongue caught between the whitest of teeth, her breath short and fast, her pulse racing as if just after having stolen something.
‘Couillon,’ said Léa softly, ‘you have no right to be in here. We didn’t kill either of those bitches.’
‘Streetfighter, mob leader, and defender of the realm, is that it?’ he asked.
Her grin was huge. ‘I broke a few heads, if that’s what you mean, and crushed the balls of others.’
‘They must have enjoyed having you all to themselves in the Old Bailey.’
‘And now, what now?’ she said, letting him see the pearl-headed hatpin in her palm.
Ach, du lieber Gott, the damned thing was at least twelve centimetres long. The maid sucked in a breath at the thought, her gaze flicking anxiously from Léa to him, to Hortense and the table that lay between him and the cook, ah yes.
The crystal ball was hefted, the girl fighting down the urge to step forward and cry out in alarm, a hesitant hand being extended only to resignedly drop.
Hefting the ball, he set it not on its little brass stand but on the damask tablecloth that was embroidered in a circle round with the symbols of the zodiac. ‘Month by month,’ he said. ‘A Libra, a Scorpio-which are you?’ he asked of Léa, the ball rolling a little until at last it had come to a tentative stop.
‘Please don’t,’ managed Marguerite.
‘Then start talking.’
‘Not here, and not without Madame,’ swore Léa softly, and she meant it too.
‘Things have gone missing, haven’t they? Little things. Jennifer Hamilton pays visit after visit and becomes a suspect only to cease coming and then show up again but with Caroline Lacy.’
‘Madame interviewed the couple time and again,’ said Léa.
‘And was finally satisfied that neither was the thief, eh?’
‘Yes.’
‘And Caroline was to have become a sitter while Jennifer was to wait for her outside the Pavillon de Cérès-is that right?’
It was. ‘All alone?’ he asked.
Herr Kohler had moved and in so doing had carelessly jostled the table and rumpled the cloth. ‘I. . I did ask Madame if I could wait with her,’ said Marguerite, ‘but was told that would not be allowed.’
‘Why not?’
The ball was again beginning to roll, but he hadn’t noticed this yet, had taken out his cigarettes and was placing two of them on the cloth facing Léa. ‘My partner borrowed those,’ he said. ‘Now I’m returning them, but without interest.’
‘My ball. . ’ managed Marguerite. ‘Please don’t let it fall.’
‘Like Mary-Lynn, eh?’ he asked, and, reaching out, snatched up the ball as it left the table. ‘Now, you start talking like I said.’
‘Marguerite, I’m warning you,’ whispered Léa, her octagonal glasses catching the light.
‘Jennifer. . ’ began the girl.
‘You were lovers,’ he said with a finality that hurt and, setting the ball down, paused to light himself a cigarette and to drop the spent match on a cloth that had taken her months and months to embroider.