‘Merci, madame,’ he said, and went on with lacing up his shoes, did not say, as Otto had warned. ‘A few small questions. Nothing difficult.’
Instead, moving his coffee cup to one side, he took out a man’s gold pocket watch and, opening it, placed the watch before him. ‘Roman numerals and a sweep second hand,’ he said, ‘but it’s a puzzle. Perhaps you can help.’
He had emptied Renee’s pockets and her rucksack, had taken the lid off that ‘coffin’ Otto had had made, and had examined the girl’s body.
‘Renee’s was in for repairs,’ she heard herself saying. ‘Maurice … Herr Springer has been fixing watches for years. Since well before I was a little girl.’
He asked the address and she told him, could not have avoided answering. ‘Three the Schongstrasse. You can’t miss it, though his sign was put away in 1940.’
‘That’s near the Polizeikommandantur, isn’t it?’ he said and saw her nod, then asked, ‘The problem?’ having again dropped into French, but had that been deliberate of him?
‘The stopwatch. Renee has-had-a fabulous wristwatch she found in Paris, in a shop on the place Vendome.’
‘Brequet’s?’ he asked, surprised.
‘Oui, c’est tres cher, mais …’ Ah, non, she had spoken French like she and Genevieve had often done when Werner wasn’t home, a household of two languages as most still were in secret, the French being that of her own mother. ‘Renee … Renee had always wanted such a watch to time her downhill runs, her laps in the pool, and the archery, the speed and accuracy of the arrows.’
‘Contests?’ he asked, as if bemused, and now packing that pipe of his, having yet to eat a thing.
‘Victoria Bodicker, the Fraulein Schrijen and Renee loved to compete with one another, for fun of course.’
Ham, bread, cheese and butter were found, and she made him a sandwich to have along with his coffee and Bredele, the star, round, half-moon and heart shapes of shortbread. Some of these last were flavoured with anise, and he’d known this and had not been able to resist glancing appreciatively at them.
Another sandwich was made for him to take along, and was wrapped in newspaper, prompting him to ask, ‘Who picked that girl up here on Saturday, madame? Bien sur, she could have …’
‘Was she murdered, Inspector?’
‘Tell me what you think.’
‘How could I possibly know? I never go out to that place.’
‘Never? Come, come, the girl must have spoken of it often. Weren’t you curious?’
‘All right, we did go there once. My husband wanted to see it. A ruin, I’m afraid. Personally I thought the whole idea crazy. To repair any of those booths would take much time and cost far too much.’
It was her turn to wait, his to decide. ‘This is good,’ he said of the sandwich and she knew then that he’d be thinking of the lunch Renee had taken, but he said nothing of it, nor did he push the matter of who had come to the house to give that girl a lift. He ate in silence, allowing lots of time for her to recall the Karneval.
‘Le Tonneau de l’amour,’ she said at last, the Barrel of Love. ‘Werner … mon mari, insisted we go inside that thing. A tunnel, he called it because of its length, each half of which would once have turned in the opposite direction to the other, the girl entering from one end, the boy from the other, both walking toward each other and tumbling as if drunk.’
Had the Inspector seen it yet? she wondered. He gave no hint, causing her to continue. ‘Docteur Bonnet’s Travelling Museum of Anatomy. It’s at the very back and right against the woods.’ Still there was no comment, but now he was enjoying his little meal as a Frenchman would.
‘Werner insisted on forcing the entrance. It had been jammed from behind with debris. Broken glass and shattered jars … Formalin was all I could think of as I turned away and did not go further. Genevieve, my … our daughter, began preserving specimens at the age of ten, Inspector. Dead things that she would find and then dissect. Frogs, toads, minnows, mice and birds-there’s an armoire in her room that is still full of such. Jars and jars I …’
He waited, this Surete, a half-eaten sandwich in hand.
‘Things I still can’t bring myself to move into storage.’
‘You must miss her terribly.’
‘Is that not a mother’s duty?’
Instead of answering, he repeated the question she had earlier asked and he had deliberately left. ‘Was the colonel’s secretary murdered?’ he said and shrugged. ‘It’s too early to say, but I’m almost certain someone must have picked her up here on that Saturday. You see, she would have had to change into her ski clothes, collect her skis and the lunch she had prepared ahead of time.’
No accusation of her having known of this lunch came, though she waited for it and he knew she did, and yes, Werner shy; would have to cover for her until she was able to tell him what had been said. ‘Perhaps someone did come by, Inspector, but you see I wasn’t here. Saturday mornings I help my husband. Werner’s very capable and has always done the marketing. At noon we stop in at the Winstub of a friend. Some soup, a little bread and a glass of wine, though things are always in such short supply now and the ration tickets necessary. Usually we get back here at about 3.00 in the afternoon so neither of us would have even known if she had gone anywhere, since she would have worked until 6.00 with the colonel.’
‘Ah, bon,’ he said, picking at last crumbs until she was driven to say, ‘Perhaps a van came by. Herr Schrijen often sends wine from his vineyards to Karlsruhe as a gift to Herr Wagner. The Schlossberg, the Riesling … Ach, I’m sorry. I should have offered you some.’
‘Wagner,’ he muttered. ‘He’s the Gauleiter, isn’t he?’
And the most feared of men-this was in the look the Chief Inspector gave, but he said no more of it, again forcing her to continue. ‘Perhaps Renee did hitch a ride. Victoria … the Fraulein Bodicker might know.’
‘Yet you didn’t ask her when you went to the shop to inquire after the girl?’
On that same Saturday afternoon. ‘I assumed she could not possibly have known. I … I could have been mistaken.’
This he did not challenge though he most certainly could have. Instead he asked for a little more coffee and decided that, after all, he would add milk to it.
‘Victoria Bodicker and Renee Ekkehard, madame. They were good friends, I gather, but when did they first meet, who introduced them? All such things would be of help, even if they might seem insignificant.’
He would remember everything. He had that look about him and did not need to write a thing down. ‘The ski slopes in that first winter of 1940-41. Victoria had just returned from Munich. She hadn’t been allowed to continue teaching. There had been a problem with her mother’s having been held in the internment camp which was at Besancon then, and after that terrible winter, was moved to Vittel and a little closer.’
The mother having kept her English passport and thus having been rounded up along with all such others. ‘She visits Vittel, does she, the Fraulein Bodicker?’
And not the mademoiselle, but it would have to be said. ‘Once a month, on the last Friday, Victoria leaves well before dawn and returns late the same day. Otto … Colonel Rasche issues her the necessary laissez-passer and sauf-conduit. Renee used to bring them home here and then either take them to the bookshop for Victoria or the girl would stop by. That way …’ Ah, merde, had this been what the Chief Inspector had been after? ‘That way Victoria wasn’t seen at the Polizeikommandantur too often, a … a precaution Otto felt best. Renee … Renee went with her to Vittel last September. Perhaps he felt the girl needed a change, a little trip, or maybe it was he simply wanted to hear what she had to say about that camp. It’s full of British and American women who were caught up in things.’