Now the Senegalese had their backs to him and to the Oberfeldwebel, felt Nora. Would they be shot and left in one of the stalls? Weber did intend to kill them-why else his having dismissed the guards and that other man and then accused these two yet again of having raped and killed Caroline?
‘Einen Moment, bitte, Untersturmführer,’ said St-Cyr.
‘Did I not tell you fifteen minutes and that was all?’ demanded Weber.
‘Of course,’ the chief inspector went on, companionably gesturing with pipe in hand, ‘but I need to ask you something. Why would one of your Spitzel have stolen the ribbon of your dead sister? Surely that was a dangerous and very foolhardy thing for her to have done.’
On entering the chalet, the Oberfeldwebel had embedded the ax in one of the uprights. Fortunately it wasn’t far from her, thought Nora. It was just behind Herr Weber and within easy reach. The boy with the light was nearest to it and in partial shadow.
‘Danger’s the thrill, Louis,’ said Herr Kohler, taking another drag at his cigarette and gesturing with it. ‘That’s what drives our klepto to steal.’
These two, thought Weber. They wouldn’t be missed by Berlin-Central or by Gestapo Paris. ‘Ach, I’ve no idea why it was stolen, only that it was a loss I personally felt and still do.’
‘But could it have been that something of your sister’s was needed so that Madame Chevreul could use it to reach the goddess during one of the séances?’ asked St-Cyr.
‘Who would then question his sister Sonja, Louis, to find out exactly how she had died.’
‘Haven’t I told you Sonja was raped by one of those black bastards?’ demanded Herr Weber.
‘And they’ve been paying for it ever since,’ insisted Kohler, ‘but just suppose Cérès says it differently? Suppose Sonja tells her she had a crush on one of them?’
No one moved. Everyone waited.
‘DAS IST SCHEISSE, KOHLER! SCHEISSE! YOU’RE INSANE!’
‘Lieber Gott, Hermann. Sonja Weber had given the boy a cup of hot soup-an act of kindness, that is all. Isn’t that correct, Untersturmführer?’
They were simply trying to rattle him, but why? wondered Weber. ‘When arrested, he confessed readily enough.’
‘Yes, yes, but have you never asked to attend one of those séances?’ persisted Herr Kohler. ‘You who loved your sister and still miss her every day? You who still want revenge?’
‘Hermann, he was only ten years old at the time, or was it eleven?’
‘Friday 23 December, 1921, Louis, at 1807 hours and the Occupation of the Rhineland, the Americans having moved out of Koblenz.’
‘Leaving the Senegalese to do their duty, is that how it was, Hermann?’
‘Big buck niggers, Louis. Sex with them and lots of fine young Mädchen enjoying it, too, judging by the number of illegitimate births, eh, Untersturmführer? Admit she had taken an interest in the boy and that it could well have gone a little further than your father felt decent.’
In a rage, Herr Weber had taken aim at him.
‘Inspectors. . ’ managed Nora. ‘Listen, please. Can’t you hear that sound?’
Senghor and Duclos paused, the boy with the light hesitating, Herr Weber smiling cruelly at her now.
‘Perhaps it is you, Fräulein, who should get it first.’
The Senegalese had slipped into a far stall but would it happen now? wondered Nora, looking up to the ceiling above to frolicking wood nymphs the children would have loved.
Again the smell of pipe smoke came to her, the aroma soft but warm and spicy, yet sweet too, like honey. ‘My dad. . ’ she said, the memory close. ‘He would often smoke a tobacco mixture like that. Virginia tobaccos with a touch of perique, a medium blend from England, sometimes from Scotland.’
Please don’t do anything foolish, said St-Cyr silently to her. ‘Untersturmführer, since you hold all the cards and Kommandant Jundt will require adequate explanations, why not let us see this thing through?’
Had Kohler found the police photos of Sonja? wondered Weber. Had he been into the safe and read Colonel Kessler’s telexes and his own?
That pipe tobacco. . When they had arrived yesterday, St-Cyr had had none, Kohler not even a cigarette, yet now both had plenty.
‘You’ve five minutes left,’ he said. It was now 2035 hours.
Senghor and Duclos could no longer be seen by Weber and Oberfeldwebel Reinecke, thought St-Cyr, but Mademoiselle Arnarson had been torn between glancing at the beechwood sprig and curls of inner bark in his hand and at that ax, and had already tried once to distract them by mentioning the sound and looking up to the ceiling above.
Weber would kill her. Reinecke would deal with Hermann and him. Secretive at times, Senghor and Duclos had used eye contact to signal to each other. Both had brought along their hessian satchels as if heading off into the woods for a fortnight’s woodcutting. Both must be armed and had but one task: Reinecke first, then Weber, then that boy. They knew they had no other choice. Duclos would have brought along his little basket, Senghor his medals.
‘Mademoiselle, this sprig of beech,’ said St-Cyr. ‘Did you leave it in that stall?’
‘Me?’ managed Nora. ‘I swear I wasn’t here when Caroline was killed. I did notice that Becky had followed her.’
‘A fact which you denied when asked.’
‘Yes, I know I did. I. . I was afraid for her and for what Caroline might well say to the new Kommandant, those I won’t deny, but I didn’t kill her. Not to save Becky, nor myself, not for any reason. I did know Caroline was to have met someone but. . but as she had just spoken to Brother Étienne, I. . I felt everything must be all right.’
‘And this sprig? It, too, has been cut in exactly the same way as those I found in the stable at Angèle’s hooves.’
‘Someone must have picked it up.’
‘To pin the murder on you?’
‘Lots know that I nibble on those buds and the inner bark from time to time and also share them with Angèle.’
To break her would be hard after what they’d just been through with her, but she gave every indication of being guilty, had even dragged off her toque and bowed her head, had closed her eyes and was now silently moving her lips in prayer.
Weber was smirking, Hermann lighting yet another cigarette, having begged another match from the Oberfeldwebel.
‘Boss. .?’
‘Well, what is it, Sergeant?’ asked Herr Kohler.
Bamba was as ready as he was, thought Matthieu. They were never going to get out of here alive but somehow they had to get that girl and St-Cyr and Kohler to move aside. ‘Ask the girl to step into that stall where she killed the other one, Boss. Ask her why Bamba and me, we saw her earlier opening that padlock. Ask her to show you how she used that pitchfork and to tell you why she took the time to tidy things and hide what she did.’
Weber had turned to face Senghor and Duclos, Kohler noticed, but Reinecke hadn’t. Nora Arnarson was now deathly pale, the boy with the light holding it as steadily on her as he could.
‘Aircraft, Louis. RAF bombers. Those are what she was hearing.’
They’d flown over Vittel before but was it Munich that would get it tonight, wondered Kohler, or Augsburg again? On 17 April of last year, in a daring daylight raid, they’d hit the MANN U-boat diesel-engine plant there, a first for the Lancaster which could, it was reported, carry a bomb load of 6,350 kilograms.****
‘Four Merlin engines, Hermann.’
‘Cruising speed of 338 kilometres per hour, Louis; range when loaded, of 2,675 kilometres. Nothing’s safe anymore, mon vieux. No wonder Colonel Kessler had his doubts about the Reich, eh, Untersturmführer?’
The boy with the light knew his duty yet hesitated, waiting for the command until at last he blurted, ‘Untersturmführer, what shall I do? There are windows. The light will be seen.’