A Scharfuhrer crashed his heels, curtly ducking his head in a pre-emptive salute as he opened the door to the office. Lowe Schrijen, in a flannel shirt, its sleeves rolled up, and a dark green waistcoat with brass boar’s-head buttons sat behind his desk, a cigar in hand trailing smoke. Colonel Rasche, in uniform with cap still tucked under the left arm, sat stiffly in front of that desk, having turned sideways a little to see her standing here as if alone.
Obersturmfuhrer Meyer, his greatcoat flung carelessly open and peaked cap perched jauntily atop that angular, rake-jawed countenance, was here too, and staring emptily at her.
Alain … Alain, looking foolish and decidedly uncomfortable, stood to one side, the white death’s-head on his cap far from terrifying now, a wineglass in his left hand and bottle of ice-clear schnapps in the other, the glass having been hastily filled at least twice already.
There was no sign of Serge Deiss or of Herve Paulus; there was no sign of anyone else. The colonel could not even take out his pipe and tobacco pouch.
‘Kohler,’ he croaked. ‘Kohler, what is this I hear?’ He had even worn his Iron Cross First- and Second-Class, the Pour le Merite also, and other medals.
‘Yes, tell us, Kohler,’ said Lowe Schrijen. ‘Don’t keep us waiting any longer.’
Two big, strong, powerful men at loggerheads.
In panic Herr Kohler tossed his partner a desperate glance. ‘We still have work to do, Colonel. Louis and I have to revisit the crime sites. I’m sorry, but that’s the way of it.’
‘Gut,’ grunted Rasche. ‘A suicide, Kohler. When I contacted Gestapo Boemelburg in Paris, I expressly informed him that I wanted the matter cleared beyond question.’
A suicide … Was this what he was now wanting? wondered St-Cyr.
‘There’s little doubt, Colonel, that it was a sad affair and unfortunate,’ went on Hermann, quickening all too readily to it.
‘Then Untersturmfuhrer Schrijen did not kill her and try to make it look like a suicide, Kohler?’ asked Rasche.
‘That … that’s what we’re working on, Colonel.’
‘But you’re almost certain it was a suicide?’
‘Almost.’
Ah, Hermann, Hermann, how could you do this? asked St-Cyr silently. The years they had been together, the struggles always in the search for truth.
‘And the Fraulein Bodicker, Kohler. Was she involved in anything illegal?’ demanded Rasche.
The crunch at last, thought St-Cyr, though Hermann didn’t have the guts now to glance at his partner and former friend for advice, sanction or even support.
‘Involved in nothing, Colonel. That was all a misunderstanding.’
‘Then there you are, Obersturmfuhrer. Deiss and Paulus were incorrect in their assessment of her.’
‘Very, Colonel,’ said Hermann, having failed entirely to anticipate where things were leading.
‘She must still be interrogated,’ snapped Meyer. ‘I insist.’
‘As is your right and duty, of course, Obersturmfuhrer,’ said Rasche levelly. ‘Kohler, is it that you are now free to release the Fraulein Bodicker into such worthy hands, or do you and the Oberdetektiv St-Cyr require further from her?’
‘Further, Colonel. With your permission, we would like her to accompany us to the site of the first suicide.’
The carnival.
‘Ach, it’s late and you’ve had no sleep,’ said Rasche. ‘Perhaps at first light, and before the Obersturmfuhrer and his men arrive with the hearse to remove the body.’
At 1000 hours, mon vieux-could you not have seen this coming? asked St-Cyr silently.
‘We’d best go out there now, then,’ said Hermann, the quaver in his voice revealing how betrayed he now felt, fool that he’d been to have tried to appease them.
‘As you wish. There is one thing, though,’ said Rasche. ‘The detail I had out there have all had to be recalled and sent east to the front.’
To Russia.
Kohler gripped the steering wheel as he floored the Citroen. Ahead of them, through the darkness and the snow, lay the Kastenwald; behind them Kolmar and the wire. Victoria was sitting tensely beside him, Louis on the other side of her, both not having said a thing because they knew they’d never get out of this alive. For himself, he’d never see Gerda again, would never be able to warn her to leave the Reich while she still could, never be able to tell her that their splitting up had been his fault, that the work, the months and years away from her and the farm had done it. No chance to comfort her now over the loss of Jurgen and Hans, no chance to even say he was sorry and that he had missed them and herself.
Again he anxiously glanced in the rearview. Again he was forced to admit that no one was following. Rasche had simply left them on their own until 1000 hours. Rasche had cut himself off from them and had made a deal with Schrijen. He must have. ‘Louis, if Lowe Schrijen has had those boys in Straf killed, I don’t know what I’ll do.’
‘Agree with your colonel, Hermann. Without our weapons, there is little else, is there?’
‘And I’ve let him walk us right into the shit, haven’t I?’
‘You said it, I didn’t.’
‘Ach, don’t get huffy. Merde alors, what else was I to have said? That I was certain Alain Schrijen had hanged Renee Ekkehard?’
‘Admit it, you couldn’t bring yourself to arrest the boy.’
‘Be reasonable. I had to go along with Rasche. He was in such a tight spot, he made me squeak.’
‘Because he knew you would, Hermann. He knew you inside out. When the chips are down, mademoiselle, patriots like you and me have nothing to lose but our lives and self-respect!’
‘Louis …’
‘Hermann, you caved in. You let him lead us to this. Even in my darkest moments, and I have had many of them, mademoiselle, I have felt … Ah, mon Dieu, what have I felt? That my faith in this partner of mine would be restored. All a detective ever has is his sense of right and wrong, his judgment, n’est-ce pas, but that colonel of his has left us to face the libretto he has composed with the compliance of this … this player of triangles, gongs, bicycle horns and squeak boxes!’
The Citroen skidded, turning itself round and round until facing east again and at idle. ‘Sacre nom de nom, Louis, was I to have slapped the bracelets on Alain Schrijen in front of that salaud Meyer?’
These two, were they now to start yelling at each other, wondered Victoria, only to hear the chief inspector snap, ‘An arrest. We’ve done it before. Why not now?’
‘Because there were far more of them and we don’t even have our weapons.’
‘You didn’t then, and neither did I.’
‘A chateau near Vouvray,’ managed Herr Kohler.
‘Are you absolutely certain Alain Schrijen murdered Renee Ekkehard?’ demanded the chief inspector. ‘Come, come, Herr Detektiv Aufsichtsbeamter of the invincible Gestapo’s Kripo, swear to it!’
‘Louis, what the hell’s this you’re now implying?’
‘Ah, bon, mon vieux, that as the boy has claimed, he may not have killed her.’
‘But then that leaves …’
‘Your colonel, Hermann. Why else would he have planted a beret on that girl’s head, one that we would notice right away and wonder why she would have worn such a thing?’
‘When a woollen toque would have been far more appropriate,’ muttered Kohler bleakly.
‘Why else would he have all but accepted our concluding that if she’d been out skiing all night, she must have been up to something illegal?’
Like moving deserters.
‘Why else would he have torn off that scrap of notebook paper and stuffed it into Eugene Thomas’s pockets unless he knew we would find it and think the worst?’
The trinitrophenol.