Ludin was definitely dead, but in death was there not the answer or answers?
To the cellars of the rue des Saussaies, there was but a rending scream, from the front desk but the brutal snapping of fingers. Known here by all, they were not only to show their identity papers but to leave their weapons.
Formerly the headquarters of the Surete before the defeat of June 1940, the rue des Saussaies had become that of the Gestapo and the Surete. Major Osias Pharand, that acid little boss of Louis’s, had been shoved out of his palatial office and down the corridor to that of his secretary, Boemelburg having tossed out the arty clutter and plastered the walls with maps of Paris and the country.
Teleprinters were never silent, telephones constantly ringing, orderlies coming and going, that beautifully carved Louis XIV lime-wood desk of Pharand’s having been enlarged with plain pine planks to hold the accumulated clutter of the Occupier, the death notices of the ‘troublemakers’ as well.
They wouldn’t even be allowed to sit, felt Kohler. Those rheumy Nordic-blue eyes didn’t lift from the document in hand. The dome of that blunt head bristled with all-but-shaven iron-grey hairs. Quite obviously beyond the threatened retirement and having gained weight as a result, but with muscles, too, as head of SIPO-SD Section IV, the Gestapo in France, Boemelburg knew Paris like the back of his hand, having in his early days been a heating and ventilating engineer here before returning to the Reich to become a cop. A good one, too, Louis had always insisted.
The sagging countenance was just as grim as the tired lifting of those eyes. ‘Well, Kohler, what have you to say for yourselves? Five dead Wehrmacht, including Standartenfuhrer Kleiber, now a national hero, one banker and one of Rudy de Merode’s most trusted henchmen? No black diamonds, no Halbjudin either, and especially no other Banditen. Reichssicherheitschef Kaltenbrunner shy; is demanding the fullest of explanations before your court-martial shy; and execution, but has reluctantly agreed to allow me to at least hear what you have to say.’
‘Walter …’
‘Louis, just because we worked together on IKPK* cases before this conflict, please don’t presume you can speak.’
Was it to be the end of them? wondered St-Cyr. They had dropped Anna-Marie and her bicycle off at a maison de compagne to the west of Sezanne. A Madame Martine de Belleveau and Arie Beekhuis, the alias of Hans van Loos, had been overjoyed to see her. Hermann and himself had spoken to the prefet of Barbizon and had hopefully cleared Laurence Rousel of any connection to what had happened, a gravely ill Heinrich Ludin having simply dropped in to the house to ask directions and needing a rest. But they had had to leave all those diamonds hidden with Michele Guillaumet, the Meyerhof life ones as well, until after the Liberation, had tried to cover all tracks, but had had no other choice but to come here, having first taken care of Evangeline Rocheleau.
It was now or never, felt Kohler. Louis would expect it of him, but would have to be given the opportunity to tuck things in as needed. ‘Standartenfuhrer Kleiber’s plan was excellent, as the Reichssicherheitschef has stated himself, Sturmbannfuhrer. It should have worked and netted not only that Dutch girl and the rest of those Banditen, but …’
‘Herr Ludin, Walter. He got Oberfeldwebel Dillmann to intervene.’
‘And when Dillmann dropped that Mischlinge off, Kriminalrat Ludin was ready and waiting for her,’ went on Hermann.
‘He forced her to tell him where these were, Walter. It’s about a kilo, I think, but Herr Frensel and Herr Uhl will be able to advise.’
‘The stones are known, I think, as borderlines,’ said Hermann. ‘Of equal value either as gems or industrials. Half-and-halves, if you like.’
And just like that girl. ‘But a kilo? Ach, mein Gott, Kohler, that’s at least twenty times the value of the boart!’
‘Exactly,’ sighed Louis. ‘Twenty or thirty million American dollars.’
And everybody happy. ‘Those are definitely at least some of the “black” diamonds, Sturmbannfuhrer. When we finally located shy; Kriminalrat Ludin in his car at the Avon railway station on the other side of Fontainebleau, this first-class ticket to Lausanne was still in his hand.’
‘This tin of Lucky Strikes was on the seat beside him and this all but full bottle of bitters,’ offered Louis.
‘And these,’ said Kohler.
Two twenty-by-twenty photos of that girl, in the one she having dyed and cut her blonde hair.
‘For the national strike, I believe’ said St-Cyr.
‘Dead, you say?’
‘Of a peptic ulcer,’ said Louis.
‘But definitely heading for Switzerland and a hospital instead of obeying orders and returning to Berlin with that kilo,’ said Hermann.
These two … Ach, though not the thousands and thousands of carats as thought, the diamonds would certainly help, felt Boemelburg, for they would prove beyond any shadow of doubt that the Reichssicherheitschef and the others had been absolutely korrekt.
Searching among the many papers, he finally found what might do. ‘It’s a little place to the northwest of Dijon. An archaeological dig of some sort. Bones and bits of rusty iron. A hillfort probably. That of a Gaul, a Ver … something or other.’
‘Vercingetorix, Walter?’ asked Louis.
It was just what was needed to get them immediately out of Paris and far from anyone here who might care, but also in under an umbrella if needed to save himself in Berlin. ‘Ach, that’s it exactly. One of Himmler’s people, a cousin as well. Someone’s been taking umbrage with what he’s been up to and has not only been stealing his artefacts and spoiling the results, but killing his assistants.’
A dig. ‘Old bones and new ones, Louis.’
‘And time, Hermann. Time to factor in the present with that of the past.’
‘A timeweaver, then, mon vieux. A knitter of years.’
* The international police commission, the forerunner of Interpol.