Distant on the horizon came the steady drone of RAF bombers bound for the Reich. It would all end some day, this carousel of Paris. If only Louis and he could see it through, if only he could find Oona and tell her that she really did matter to him.
If only he could find Antoine Audit.
St-Cyr ran his eyes over the pews whose emptiness spoke only of vacated penance, piety and sore knees.
The young priest, Father David, was not present. The old priest would stay on his knees in front of the altar all night if necessary, to ward off a confrontation. ‘Father, I must talk to you. Please, it’s urgent. A Dutch woman’s life hangs in the balance, as do those of the remaining hostages.’
Must he be reminded of it? Delacroix brought the rosary to his lips in a gesture so automatic one would have to read impatience into it. ‘What is it you want, my son?’
You tough old man, don’t you play around with me! ‘Captain Dupuis, where is he?’
Shrugging would do no good. Lying … Could he lie in the face of God as he’d done so often of late? ‘He is in God’s sanctuary, Inspector.’
‘Then convince him to give himself up.’
The Surete was a head taller than himself. ‘He’s done nothing. You’ve no right to terrify him like this. He did not kill either of those two young girls.’
St-Cyr drew in an exasperated breath. ‘He shot at us.’
The stance toughened. ‘But not with intent to kill.’
‘There is no other kind of shooting when one is on the run, Father. Now, please, where is he?’
Would God forgive his indiscretions? Father David lying in sin with Marie Ouellette, the … ‘I … I have given him my word, Inspector. He is here in God’s house and neither you nor that Gestapo friend of -’
‘Hermann is not my friend, Father. He is my partner. All of our lives are in danger.’
‘Friend … partner … it is all the same, is it not? My resolve is firm. I have nothing more to say. Now if you will excuse me, I will finish my prayers.’
A depth of sadness came that could not be shoved aside. ‘No, Father, your time for prayers is over. Since you force my hand, I must tell you that I believe one of the guns the Captain Dupuis illegally possesses killed the Corporal Schraum.’
‘Not the girls?’
‘Come, come, Father. You know very well they were both strangled and then raped.’
‘Not raped beforehand?’
Again the sadness intruded. ‘No, my friend, not raped beforehand.’
The old priest crossed himself. ‘He … he is with Father David and Madame Ouellette. He is not in God’s house, because I could no longer let him enter it.’
Kohler stood in the courtyard of the Villa Audit looking up at the starless sky. The bombers were now directly over the city and the air-raid sirens were wailing eerily through the darkness. Though far too high to hit, some stupid sons of bitches manning an anti-aircraft battery over in Saint-Ouen opened up with all they had. That sparked others and soon the searchlights were coning the skies and the sound of gunfire was coming in from all directions.
As abruptly as it had started, the firing ceased. The sound of the planes soon began to dwindle. One by one the searchlights went out, though they wouldn’t have mattered here.
He took two deep breaths and then another before pulling off his soaking shoes and socks.
Padding across the courtyard, he went up the low stone steps and along to the front door. The lock was off and he wasn’t surprised, but damn Louis for suggesting they split up!
He eased the door open. No lights … The sitting-room was pitch-dark and musty. Stuff everywhere, a chaise … yes, yes, he had it now … cushions on the floor …
Michele-Louise Prevost had been a woman who had known her own mind and who had ached for the freedom to express it. An artist, a forger, a copier of the works of others. But what was that? A scraping in the cellars …? Audit?
The hall was cluttered with things the woman had done. Tablets in clay … scenes of bison and deer from the caves of Perigord. The earthy sensuality of the young wife of a stuffy shoe salesman and of the successful younger brother, the hunter of truffles and manufacturer of pates and silks.
The cellars weren’t deep and there was no water in them, only the dampness of stone flagging in winter. There were several storerooms, now mostly empty, rooms for coal that couldn’t be purchased, though there were a half-dozen bags.
Antoine Audit, the handcuffs having been cut away, was working by candlelight. The stone was heavy and he’d almost got it out from the wall. His coat and jacket had been set aside. There was no sign of a gun or knife, no sign of Oona. Just a chisel and hammer.
The kitchen table in the horse bucher’s flat above the shop was littered with dirty dishes and the leavings of three pale-green bottles of red wine. The baby had a cold.
St-Cyr watched grimly as Madame Ouellette tried to calm the infuriated child by nervously suckling it at yet another of the swollen breasts. The fourth go at that one, or was it the fifth? Her milk had turned and she hadn’t liked having to bare her breasts in front of the Captain Dupuis. Ah yes.
Yet were it not for the two handguns pointed at him, one could almost have thought it a domestic scene of utter commonness. The two priests merely in attendance to discuss a coming baptism.
They were getting nowhere and Hermann … Hermann was out there some place without backup. ‘Please, I will ask you one more time, Captain. The guns, eh? Turn yourself in. It’s of no use. I know what happened.’
‘You don’t!’ shrilled Dupuis, cocking the Lebel. Tears poured down his cheeks. ‘I didn’t kill them! I would never have killed them. I will kill you! I WILL!’
St-Cyr cautiously reached for his cigarettes, which had been tossed on the table some time ago. ‘Look, I know you didn’t kill either of those two young girls. I’m here about the Corporal Schraum.’
‘You’re lying!’ The Luger came up, the hammer was clawed back … No … no …
‘Alphonse, don’t. The Inspector does know everything. Please, I beg it of you. Listen to your priest and friend.’
Doubt clouded the reddened eyes. Uncertain still, Dupuis bit the end of his tongue.
‘To me,’ urged Father Eugene. ‘Just the Luger, Alphonse. Come, come. Allow me to do the correct thing, eh? It’s a small enough request, since you will still have your revolver.’
The old priest’s hand made its way through the clutter. One of the wine bottles teetered. Father David leapt to steady it. The Luger swung his way …
The bottle was righted. The child threw up. A choking fit followed. Ah, Mon Dieu, never had he been a party to a situation like this!
The gnarled hand of the old priest closed about the barrel of the Luger, which was still pointed at St-Cyr, still gripped by the Captain Dupuis.
Father Eugene looked steadily at the Captain, a test of wills. ‘Alphonse, you must trust me. I borrowed this gun from you – you know I did. We spoke of it in the confessional just after the Defeat. You told me you had broken the new laws and had kept your guns and I remembered this. You trusted me and I kept silent, but then I had need of one of them.’
‘I didn’t kill them, Father. I swear I didn’t! They were … She was … she was just lying on the floor not moving, not saying anything, Father. Naked! He’d … he’d …’
‘The gun, Alphonse. I must have the gun. The Inspector knows everything.’
‘Will you kill him?’ asked Dupuis, meaning the detective.
Father David’s hand closed over both of theirs and the Luger. ‘Father, I’m the one who has sinned. I … I shot the Corporal Schraum.’
The young priest’s sky-blue eyes were moist. ‘He was abusing my Marie, Inspector. I couldn’t have it happen any longer. Night after night the Corporal would come and she would have to do whatever he wanted or he’d have had me arrested.’