‘Ach, Untersturmführer,’ said Herr Kohler, ‘since there are two keys to each of those padlocks on that board of yours and no one could have borrowed one without your knowledge, or so you have repeatedly claimed, who did you give one to the Chalet des Ânes to, or did you open it yourself like you must have the other one?’
‘I didn’t open anything!’
Abruptly Weber fired twice into the ceiling above, showering plaster chips and dust as the sound reverberated and the smell of cordite came.
‘Hermann. . ’ blurted the chief inspector from behind the still-unopened door, his voice a torn whisper. ‘Ah, mon Dieu, mon vieux, why didn’t you let me know how serious things were?’
Nora felt him shudder at the thought of what must have happened, but then he dragged out his revolver and she heard its hammer click once on the half-cock and then on the full, sounds she had known since childhood.
‘You to the floor at my feet, mademoiselle. Me to deal with them, but please don’t try to run. Give life every moment you can.’
Kohler could see that the kid with the floodlight had pissed himself, but the Oberfeldwebel had anticipated that, with one good shove from him, the kid would have dropped the light, so there was nothing for it. ‘Was it Jennifer Hamilton you gave that key to?’ he demanded of Weber.
‘Jennifer would never have killed Caroline, Inspector,’ whispered Nora.
‘She was desperate, mademoiselle. Alone and terrified,’ said St-Cyr, ‘but we still don’t know that he actually gave her that key.’
‘Kohler. . ’ began Herr Weber.
‘Jennifer told you everything, didn’t she, about Colonel Kessler and her roommate Mary-Lynn Allan?’ shouted Hermann. ‘Where the couple had been or were going, who they had been with or would be, and what he had given her.’
One couldn’t help but feel triumphant, felt Weber. ‘One teases, Kohler. One offers a little reward and then withdraws it. Fräulein Hamilton was so afraid I would renege on my promise to let her go home to that flat of hers in Paris, she begged me to use her. Begged, Kohler, and often went down on her knees.’
The son of a bitch! ‘You had to find out how close Colonel Kessler was to Mary-Lynn. He’d a history of such affairs, so you made damned certain you planted a Spitzel in her room.’
And the room not far from those attic stairs and elevator-gate-was this what was now going through Kohler’s mind? wondered Weber. ‘Kessler was an arrogant fool and insufferable. Mein Gott, he wouldn’t listen to a thing I said and thought he knew everything there was to run a place like this and that he could do as he pleased. Play golf when he wanted, shoot clay pigeons or go for a ride on one of his horses-horses that were needed on the Russian Front, Kohler-and afterwards, ah yes! — dine with that slut in town or stroll with her here in the Parc Thermal while talking to her as one would to a friend. One of the enemy?’
‘Admit it. He knew you had been going on and on about him behind his back to Berlin-Central so he recommended you for the Russian Front. You had to get rid of him. What better way than to blame him for the suicide of that girl and make sure it happened?’
Had Kohler been into the safe?
‘Afterwards you must have wanted to know what she had said through Cérès in that séance, Untersturmführer. Was it Léa who told you, or Marguerite Lefèvre?’
‘The crystal-ball gazer. Is it that you fancy her? Let me tell you, she thinks you must and is willing.’
‘Even though she may still be in love with Jennifer Hamilton?’
‘Is she, Inspector?’ asked Nora softly. ‘If so, then Marguerite must have hated Caroline.’
‘Hermann, please don’t push your luck. Go easy,’ whispered St-Cyr.
‘Love. . is that what you would call it, Kohler?’ shouted Weber. ‘Oberfeldwebel Reinecke. . ’
‘Wait!’ cried Herr Kohler. ‘Ach, think about it, Untersturmführer. Von Schaumburg, the Kommandant von Gross-Paris, is asked for our help by an old and much valued Kamerad from that other war, a former schoolmate as well, but a man you’re now intent on putting up before the firing squad. . or is it the piano wire you want them to use? A man who would have left us a directive on what must have happened to Mary-Lynn Allan, you then realizing you’d best destroy it. Mein Gott, Dummkopf, isn’t von Schaumburg bound to demand a full enquiry should anything happen to Louis and me? It won’t just be you who’s grilled, SS or not. Reinecke, here, will come in for his full share, as will that boy.’
The light dipped, the light flew up. ‘I’m not a boy! I’m a soldier!’
‘Call them out now, Kohler. Now!’ yelled Weber.
Reinecke had heard enough and had swung the Schmeisser round and jammed it into his back. ‘OK, OK, Oberfeldwebel.’ Damned if that door Louis was behind hadn’t a calendar pinned to it: 15 September, 1939, and circled; an end to the season as usual but the start of yet another war.
‘Louis, he’s got my gun.’
Though muffled, that voice soon replied. ‘Zut, Hermann, I wish you wouldn’t keep losing it. A moment, please, Untersturmführer. We were looking for an essential piece of evidence when you interrupted us.’
Nora tried to focus on the pages as the flashlight was switched back on and his revolver slid away.
‘Hurry, mademoiselle,’ he whispered. ‘We need it.’
Down page after page her forefinger fled. There was nothing. It seemed all such a waste but then. . then, ‘The Vittel-Palace, Room 3-15,’ she heard herself whispering. ‘Arrived 3 July, 1920, but couldn’t have left or paid his bill.’
But had lost another fortune at the tables, thought St-Cyr. There wasn’t any need for Nora to search for Madame Irène Vernon’s name. The woman wouldn’t have tried to renew old vows or have stayed in any of the hotels, couldn’t have afforded a room here in any case or wanted to.
She would have watched him from a distance, picked him out from among the crowd, seen who he was with and who was interested in him, and even heard his voice and laughter, having sat in that alcove whose window Nora had broken.
‘The Chalet des Ânes, Hermann,’ he called out. ‘Please inform the Untersturmführer that it is necessary we search it now.’
‘That can’t be where the hiding place is, Inspector,’ whispered Nora earnestly. ‘It’s far too open to view.’
‘Agreed, but we’ll search it anyway so as to buy us a little time.’
Nora didn’t know if she would ever leave this place. Bathed in floodlight, they crowded around where children used to see the donkeys resting. The two who had been on guard outside the chalet and the one who had remained with Angèle had been dismissed and that wasn’t good. It couldn’t be. The chief inspector stood to one side of her, Herr Kohler to the other, their weapons having been taken from them. Herr Weber and the Oberfeldwebel were keeping them covered, and she as well.
Matthieu Senghor and Bamba Duclos, having been summoned, had cleared away the dried straw and dung and were now lifting the iron grill of the sewer in the centre of the hard-frozen, earthen floor.
Caroline’s body, though earlier removed, had been just behind them, in that stall. Try as she did, Nora knew she couldn’t help but glance into it. The pitchfork was still leaning against that far wall, the overturned water bucket was still to her left. There had been only two other items beyond what had been in Caroline’s pockets, and these were now in the chief inspector’s hand.
Sickened by the sight of what he held, she waited, knowing he had noticed her reaction.
‘There’s nothing in this drain but ice, Boss,’ said Senghor to Kohler.
‘Search all the stalls but that one,’ said the chief inspector.
‘Schnell!’ shouted Weber. Hurry!