All of whom were trapped and left behind just like the carnival-was this what the Inspector was now thinking, since Otto had agreed to the repair of those booths and by then on that last Friday of September, the work had already begun.
Taking a few of the Bredele, silently asking her permission, he stuffed them into a jacket pocket, gathered his pipe and tobacco pouch and the watch he had left out all this time, and getting up from the table, sadly shook his head and said, ‘It gets deeper and deeper, doesn’t it, this hole the colonel has dug for himself? He agrees to find help for that committee of the Fraulein Schrijen’s, since his secretary is a member of it, but avoids sending the necessary paperwork to the Konzentrationslager, issues passes to the bookseller, another member of that same committee who repeatedly is then allowed to cross the frontier into France, even sends his secretary along, and then lets her hitch a ride out to the Karneval but denies knowing anything of it at first, only to then leave her absence for several days. It’s a puzzle, isn’t it? A soldier through and through, yet a softness one finds difficult to understand, given the risks and the times.’
‘Your colonel, Kohler,’ mused Schrijen, wagging that left forefinger of his. ‘Just how long does he intend to keep the body of my son’s fiancee?’
And never mind that of the second victim. Left alone in the office, the secretary having closed the door and promised to hold all calls, a small cigar had been offered and accepted, coffee too, and slices of the Kugelhupf, both of which were fantastic and brought brief memories of that other war, of clean sheets and a pharmacist’s daughter. ‘My partner has only had a preliminary look at her, Generaldirektor. Louis is a stickler for detail. Patience … I have to constantly remind myself to have it. The French …’
The fists were doubled, the forearms swiftly placed flat on the desk, the look far from pleasant. ‘Cut the Quatsch, mein Lieber. Men like myself haven’t time to waste.’
‘We’ll need at least two days, maybe a little more.’
The eyebrows arched at such confidence, the head cocked to the right, the fleshy nose finally pinched in thought, that same forefinger lifted. ‘An autopsy, is this what that partner of yours is demanding?’
God help him if it was. ‘Does that worry you?’
‘Ach, not in the slightest, though it’s curious, is it not, that Colonel Rasche would prefer such a thing not to happen?’
It had to be said. ‘You’re well informed.’
‘I have to be. Now, please, if we can’t find a way through this, who can? The parents have been begging my son and me to intercede and bring their daughter home. A small funeral is requested. Understandably we see it as more, though of course they would prefer the less said the better. She was an only child. It’s difficult enough.’
‘And if it was murder?’
Did Kohler still need his ass kicked? ‘It wasn’t. You can’t have read the report the Polizeikommandantur’s own detectives filed. My son’s choice of a wife was not as I would have advised. Things troubled her greatly. Loneliness was too often preferred. Repeated visits to a place like that Karneval? A young and beautiful girl wanders about among ruined sideshows on her own, picking at the rubbish of those freaks? She spends hours in the adjacent Kastenwald, speaks of ravens, has thoughts of a Gallic goddess of the Underworld who watches her constantly and waits only to torment her? Is out all night skiing-why, please, I have to wonder? A virgin? Children were what she needed and the more the better.’
Louis should have heard him. ‘Generaldirektor, I understand from the Oberstleutnant Rudel that she …’
‘Yes, yes, that she had seen something at the quarry camp. We don’t ask, and my son doesn’t tell us, but obviously whatever it was, in her confused state of mind it left a lasting impression. Before she killed herself, the girl wrote, “I can’t go on. Please forgive me.”’
‘There wasn’t a note, was there?’
Dummkopf, your ass has just been kicked. ‘One of those detectives your colonel ignores found it tucked into the frame of the broken mirror nearest to her.’
‘Written in lipstick or in pencil?’
‘Lipstick.’
‘Didn’t that suggest it could well have been written by someone else?’
‘A woman-is this what you’re saying? The Fraulein Bodicker perhaps? Ach, ask her, don’t ask me. Ask the colonel’s detectives.’
‘Fingerprints-were any taken?’
Kohler was desperate and that could only mean St-Cyr and he had good reason to believe the girl hadn’t killed herself. ‘Again I must defer to those detectives. I’m not a policeman.’
‘But were given privileged information and have read their report, which should have stated clearly if any had been taken.’
‘It’s winter, Kohler. Perhaps I should have paid closer attention but the girl wore woollen gloves under her mittens, though those have since been removed.’
Schrijen must have opened the coffin and had a look himself, but more importantly, had let this Kripo know of it. ‘Your son, Generaldirektor …’
‘Was on duty when that girl chose to break his heart. As for myself and my Sophie, we were at the house in the country. I’ve vineyards at Kaysersberg-twelve and a half hectares of the Reisling shy; on the Schlossberg slope, and thirty-six of the Gewurtztraminer on the Kayersberg-Kientzheim. Sophie likes to keep an eye on them with me. It’s a little something we do together. Friends and associates visited on the Saturday after shy; work and stayed well into the evening. We slept in late. The fresh air perhaps. Several can vouch for our whereabouts, but of course there is no need. Personally, as the father of that girl’s fiance, I have to question the colonel’s motives. Was he infatuated shy; with the Fraulein Ekkehard? Did he try to take advantage shy; of her? He’s known for that sort of thing, isn’t he? Frau Lutze shy; for one. Formerly Yvonne Eva Ellmann, Kohler, and one of those on her father’s side. Just what does he hope to gain by claiming it was murder?’
There, it had been said, and Kohler would have to think about it.
Ellmann and Jewish, ah, Christ! ‘Your wife, Generaldirektor?’
‘Has been dead for years though still sadly missed. My Sophie does her utmost. Here … Here, take a look at this.’
Swinging the chair around, he reached for a framed photo on the window shelf, took another and another. ‘The twenty-sixth of June, 1940, Kohler. A lot of us wanted it to happen.’
And had managed to make it to Strassburg in time to greet the Fuhrer as he had stood outside the Cathedral with his generals, Keitel among them, the one who was now being referred to at home as the Lackey.
Sophie Schrijen wore a pillbox hat with a bit of net veiling the wind had teased. The light-coloured suit and high heels were perfect, the smile self-conscious as she faced the camera with her hand in that of the great one, Daddy right beside her and beaming.
‘It’s impressive, Generaldirektor. You must be very proud of her.’
Was this one still needing lessons? ‘I am, Kohler. I am. The French … Ach, whatever else may be said of them, they’re not good businessmen. Order … a place like this demands it. One can’t be arrogant, and they are often insufferably so. Incompetence and petty jealousies have no place here. Mistresses don’t flaunt their asses in our boardrooms or at official dinners and other functions. They belong on their backs or hands and knees, and that is where one should keep them. Now it is much better, ja. Things get done properly. In June of last year we had 169,235 members in our Opfer, now 227,186 and you can’t do that without good business.’