‘I know nothing of that killing. Nothing! Ask Father Eugene.’
‘The old priest.’ St-Cyr glanced at his watch. Hermann had moved again and was now much, much closer to the entrance.
‘Father, it is good of you to have come so promptly.’
Pierre Bonny jerked his head round. Lafont swung the Schmeisser as Hermann leapt to snatch the Lebel from the Captain Dupuis of the one leg and the crutches.
‘DROP IT!’ screamed Lafont.
Ah merde!
The gun skidded into the mud. The razor was held against Gabrielle’s cheek. No one dared to move.
‘My son, what is this?’ asked Father Eugene looking quickly round while still holding the Luger that had killed Corporal Schraum.
‘The suitcases, Father. They contained a fabulous collection of Roman gold coins, a bag or two of forged ones, and some iron dies.’
Suddenly lost to them all, Father Eugene studied the gun in his hand, then looked up and across to the carousel.
‘Father, gold is gold, and lies are lies,’ said St-Cyr. ‘On the evening of the Defeat you saw Monsieur Charles leave the suitcases in the courtyard beside the draper’s shop on the Pas-Leon. You did not say where he was headed or why he had left them there.’
‘Suitcases … suitcases,’ seethed Henri Lafont.
‘Silence, you punk! Please do not interrupt two officers of the law in their duty.’
The old priest was shaken, but not so much by the outburst. ‘Charles went into the church. When … when I caught up with him, he asked me to hide the suitcases temporarily for him.’
‘Which you did?’ asked St-Cyr.
‘He was a man much wronged by life and I could not turn my back on him.’
‘That is fair enough, Father, but was there not the exchange of a little something to tide you and the church over difficult times?’
‘A parish priest’s life is not easy, Inspector. Many burdens must be carried.’
‘Yes … yes, but the murder of that other girl, Father? Mila Zavitz,’ urged Louis.
It was as if there were only the two of them and that God of Louis’ had suspended the animals of the carousel in final judgement.
‘Mademoiselle Jeanne had passed Captain Dupuis in the street, Father. She had noticed there was blood on his shirt,’ prompted St-Cyr.
‘Yes … yes. She had been to confession and had started for home only to return to tell me of the murder. By then Monsieur Charles was waiting for me in the sacristy with the suitcases.’
‘No, Father. The suitcases were still in that courtyard but had been broken open. You had seen at a glance what had happened: the girl Mila Zavitz had come upon a thief and had been killed. You lived in fear of discovery, isn’t that so? Monsieur Charles was a man so changed by life he could kill to protect what was rightfully his. He had a friend, a gangster, Rejean Tourmel.’
St-Cyr stabbed the air with his pipestem. ‘You saw what those suitcases contained, Father, and you panicked, but …’ he paused. ‘But Charles Audit could not have killed Mila Zavitz because, Father, you had followed him into the church.’
‘He … he could have left the sacristy unobserved.’
‘No, Father, because if he had killed her, Charles Audit would not have left the suitcases behind, nor would he have stuck around a moment longer.’
‘The girl had been strangled. Roland – ’
A keening wail startled everyone. ‘My son … Ah no, Father. Not my Roland!’ cried Madame Minou.
‘Hermann, get Madame Van der Lynn to calm that woman! Roland, Father? He was hiding in that draper’s shop and you knew this, but did not think he had realized you’d seen him.’
Ah damn the Suretee! ‘Yes … yes, that is correct and here are my thirty pieces of silver.’
Thirty of the gold coins – real ones taken from the suitcases by the priest. Otto Brandl took a step forward. St-Cyr looked up from them and into the old priest’s eyes, ignoring the Nazi. ‘No, Father, that is not enough. The girl was Jewish, so she would not have come to you for help, not to an anti-Semite. The girl had been raped.’
Was there nothing one could do? Would God forgive? ‘Alphonse, I cannot keep your secret any longer.’
Stung by the accusation, Captain Dupuis pushed his crutches aside and tried to reach the guns on the floor. ‘You call yourself a man of God, Father!’ he shrilled.
He was very nimble and when the bullet from the old priest’s gun smashed into his skull, he flung wild eyes up at the crowd and then collapsed.
‘May God forgive me,’ gasped Father Eugene.
St-Cyr snatched the Luger from him and in two quick steps jammed it into Henri Lafont’s stomach, but looked at Bonny. ‘Please do not do anything, Pierre. My patience, it has evaporated.’
‘Then who killed Schraum?’ asked Lafont, breathing fiercely with barely controlled fury.
‘The Schmeisser first and then the razor. Hurry, hurry … in the dust or the mud, but far enough from us. Hermann, would you see to disarming the others, please? Yes, yes, my friends, the fewer the guns, the better.’
Again they waited, again they stood around just as the animals did.
Kohler crouched over the body of Captain Dupuis. A rapist of the dead, first the girl Mila Zavitz and then Christabelle Audit, their corpses still warm.
The Gestapo looked up sadly at the old priest. ‘Father, you killed the Corporal. Please don’t deny it. The General von Schaumburg will only release the hostages if you confess.’
Hermann would have made a priest himself, such was the anguish of his look.
‘Roland Minou knew all about the coins in those suitcases, Louis, though he must have kept it to himself, since he had killed Mila Zavitz. He followed Christabelle even into the Villa Audit. He gave the dragonfly to Schraum, but soon got too greedy for his own good.’
St-Cyr sought out the industrialist. ‘Roland went to you, Monsieur Antoine. A little deal on the side, eh? He told you what you had begun to suspect yourself. Revenge, my friend. A game of revenge.’
‘So who killed Victor Morande, Inspector?’ asked Nicole de Rainvelle wickedly. ‘The rue Lauriston or the Bureau Otto?’
‘Or Monsieur Antoine Audit?’
The truffle-hunter collapsed. He didn’t cry out as some would, or try to escape, but merely sat down heavily on the edge of the carousel.
St-Cyr stood over him. ‘You tried to make it look like a gangland slaying, monsieur – something your brother’s friend might do. But Rejean is not so foolish as to bother with such decorations. He and your brother Charles had no reason to kill Morande or Corporal Schraum. Indeed, they had every reason to let them live.’
‘The note was left on purpose by Antoine Audit, Louis, as an alibi.’
‘Ah, Hermann, I wish that were so. At first I, too, thought the same. A warning – “Christabelle, leave the hotel immediately. Do not go up to the room.” But you see, Antoine Audit could not have killed her. Others would quite possibly kill him, the Resistance most particularly, but then, too, the rue Lauriston or the Bureau Otto. He wanted the return of the coins, Hermann. He needed them. Her safety, in that last hour, became of paramount importance to him because without the coins, he was as good as dead, so too his family and everything he possessed.’
St-Cyr tapped out the pipe and put it safely away in a pocket. ‘Your game was revenge, Monsieur Charles, the destruction and ruin of the brother who had robbed you of so much including, and I stress this, the granddaughter for whom you had saved the emeralds and diamonds, the gold bullion and more recently, the gold coins.’
Again Otto Brandl took a step nearer. Again he was ignored by the Surete. ‘She reminded you so much of Michele-Louise Prevost, Monsieur Charles. You were very jealous and possessive of her, but she was an artist’s model. Her removing her clothes in front of your brother was a small sacrifice if, in the end, it would give you the revenge you so desired.’