The inevitable dead fag-end clung to that lower lip. ‘Don’t take to the streets at the least impulse like your forefathers must have. I’ll agree to seven with a tip you won’t forget.’
A zero probably, but it was still early and the district was not inclined to hire anything if it could be avoided in these days of hyperinflation. ‘Where to?’
‘Not far at first. The Passage du Cheval-Blanc, but go back along the Faubourg Saint-Antoine then duck into the Cite Parchappe to find that passage and turn left on it. Having let me off, continue but go north on the rue de la Roquette.’
And all of it relatively close, so this one, he knew the city well enough, but he wasn’t finished.
‘Continue past the women’s prison to the five stones where the widow-maker*-or the widower, in this case-used to stand as a reminder. Wait there five minutes then continue on to the boulevard des Capucines and Banque Nationale de Credit et Commercial.’
Dieu merci and news of that bank-van robbery and murder everyone else at the taxi station had been talking about. ‘How many are to be led astray?’
‘As many as possible. I’ll deal with the rest while following you in another taxi.’
This one might or might not do that. ‘A hundred francs with a tip of fifty.’
Hermann would have said give him two hundred, but having grown accustomed to his ways, and having also flattened those tires earlier, which would but guarantee their being followed if possible, he had better say, ‘One fifty it is.’
Taking the necessary from a wallet that was so mended with fishing line his mother must have given it to him, this Surete climbed into the back and when he had judged it appropriate, vanished, but these days, felt Vincent, one could argue with the conscience, if one had one, and return to the stand having pocketed the cash. But then, too, there had obviously been a need for assistance and improving the criminal record by having helped could never hurt. Besides, he’d have lots to talk about and such would bring its stream of urging fags, though maybe silence would be the wiser.
Monnier was to the west of the avenue Matignon and on the south side of this oldest of faubourgs, felt St-Cyr, and near the corner of the rue Montaigne.* Here there were luxury-filled galleries, antique and jewellery shops, ladies’ clothing, too, and men’s. Just to the east were the haute couture and perfume houses, all still doing a roaring business. A pavement of the bourgeoisie and bourgeoisie aisee, the rue du Faubourg Saint-Honore was like no other in Occupied Europe, it was said. Window shopping was, of course, the order of the day. Strolling Germans in uniform, many with their petites amies, seemed to be everywhere in Hitler’s showplace to the world of what a German-occupied city could really be like. And as if that were not enough, October, which was truly Paris’s loveliest, had let the sun enter to prove it, for many had already removed their coats. Made-over suits and skirts or blouses and sweaters some might be, but all were of quality, and with lines painted up the backs of the leg-wash to give the lie of silk stockings, the skirts were now cut to knee length. Handbags were of prewar leather, les chapeaux of autumn’s snap-brim cut with more delicate touches of dried flowers, imitation fruit or feathers than in summer, and as for the sounds of the traffic, one was struck by the utter absence of blaring horns and squealing brakes. Even the cyclists were quiet, though the agent de circulation with white baton blew his whistle as shrilly as usual.
Shoes were tastefully displayed and exclaimed over by window- shy;shoppers. While many pairs had the regulation wooden soles, or the evening’s glass, and there were straps instead of full leather, others were being constantly pointed at. Of Parisian last and style, with the one strap, the high heels were very similar to the those that were tucked deeply in his coat pockets, yet at 6,000 francs the pair, they were half the annual salary of a school teacher and 40 percent of this Surete’s.
Entering the shop, the aroma of good, sound leather was all too present. Seemingly bound to constant motion, the dominant salesman was wearing a brand-new ‘national’ suit, those with the slimmed-down collars and loss of pocket flaps and turn-ups. Ersatz cloth, too, namely rayon, this one having paid the same on the marche noir as for those high heels or handed in the two old suits required along with the clothing tickets and the 350 francs of the officially controlled Vichy price, if one could but find such a suit. But had this salesman expectations of immediate promotion or those of ownership?
‘Monsieur …’
‘It’s Manager Chartrand. Be so good as to speak to one of my sales people.’
And with the head in the air too? ‘You’ll do. St-Cyr, Surete, and before you say anything further, it’s a murder inquiry. Where is Maurice Monnier who owns this shop and has always welcomed me?’
Merde, the day had begun badly with the fog and now could only get worse. ‘Murder, Inspector? What have we to do with that?’
Chartrand even had a carefully groomed Hitler-like moustache. ‘That’s for me to determine and not before you have answered all of my questions truthfully.’
Customers were beginning to take notice, a colonel and his latest horizontale, felt Chartrand. ‘Monsieur Trudelle, please attend to the colonel and his lovely companion. Nothing but the latest fashion, you understand? The boots for winter, the slippers for the fire, the high heels that will give height and do justice to the mademoiselle’s beautifully magnificent coiffure.’
That hairstyle of piled-on waves and curls had already given her added height so as to be closer to that of the colonel. ‘Now, mon ami, come down to earth and answer me.’
The shit! ‘Still in the free zone that is no longer free.’
‘But you’ve not heard from him since before 11 November last?’
When the Wehrmacht had moved south to occupy the free zone, too, the Italians increased their occupied zone of France as well, since the Allies, the Americans among them, had landed en masse in North Africa to take care of Rommel and his Afrika Korps shy;. ‘Inspector, what is it you …’
‘It’s chief inspector, and I’m the one who asks the questions. Drancy was it?’
And a train trip by cattle truck to those camps no one wanted to talk about. ‘I believe so, yes.’
‘So you’ve elevated yourself to manager. Is ownership in the offing?’
Why had he chosen to come here today of all days? ‘My offer has been made to the proper authorities and I’m expecting a positive response today or on Monday. Those shoes you have were made by us but look as if they’ve not been treated as shoes from Monnier should. A very thorough cleaning, the application of replacement dye if we can but find it, and then …’
‘Just tell me when they were made, since there are those here that are still being made in spite of the severe shortages and restrictions and we both know that to get leather like that you have to be buying it on the marche noir.’
‘I’ll have to get the register.’
‘And I’ll wait and empty the shop if you delay me much longer.’
‘Friday, 14 August 1942, a rush order. Me, I remember it clearly because I made the delivery myself, as requested by …’
‘By whom?’
‘Inspector, it’s a delicate matter.’
‘Delicate or not, who ordered them?’
‘Madame Nicole Bordeaux. She’s been a client for years.’
Hermann would have instantly said, Uh-oh, Louis, she’ll know all the Bonzen und Oberbonzen, but … ‘The same as has the fine big house of the rue de la Boetie?’