‘The eyes — an eye,’ said the Captain. ‘Blown glass, not enamel, though it was sometimes used. The doll had dark blue eyes and almost certainly thick blonde hair.’
‘Human hair?’
‘Or dyed mohair. Angora, silk and the wool of Tibetan goats were also used at various times. Inspector …’
‘It’s Chief Inspector.’
Again there was that nod, this time of acquiescence, thought Kohler, though Kaestner must wonder why the Gestapo’s French counterpart exceeded him in rank.
‘Why not ask how it is I know those are not from one of my dolls, Chief Inspector?’
Louis drew on his pipe in thoughtful contemplation of the Captain and the fragments. Kohler could hear the question running through the Sûreté’s mind: As in the sinking of Allied shipping, so in the making of dolls, Captain, is there that same inner search and demand for perfection?
The answer came with that little nod Louis sometimes gave, Yes, it is as I thought.
‘The white bisque my grandfather was famous for, Chief Inspector St-Cyr, was known as Parian. The name is taken from the marbles that are found on the Greek island of Paros. The heads and sometimes the other body parts are made of a hard paste and it is this that makes it possible to capture great delicacy and detail.’
Like a conjurer willing to challenge the doubts and snide remarks of all who would question his making dolls, the Captain produced a small head and set it carefully on the table between them.
‘Ah mon Dieu,’ sighed St-Cyr softly. ‘Hermann, it is absolutely exquisite.’
‘A girl of ten,’ came the Bavarian’s stony reply, ‘with light brown hair.’
‘It’s real hair,’ said Kaestner. ‘It’s her own. Angélique and I agreed on this.’
The child was looking down at something that intrigued her greatly. The expression was one of wonder and fascination. It was obvious her little mind was racing but what was far more important was that the Captain had captured the look. It typified the child. It was of her, and this is what made the head come to life so well.
The softly red and very natural lips were parted slightly, the aquiline nose was pinched as breath was held and one could see this clearly.
‘Touch her,’ said the Dollmaker. ‘Go on. She won’t bite, though she’s very capable of doing so!’
He could laugh, this captain and when he did, it was with the conjurer’s delight. He had proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that not only was he a master sculptor but that the fragments were definitely not his and beneath him.
‘It is the same as in the dolls I saw at the shop,’ said St-Cyr greatly humbled.
‘And that, Herr Chief Inspector, is why I insist on only the finest kaolin. It occurs in pockets. Nature saved those small places from the ravages of minute traces of leached iron which would stain the clay and spoil things for me by giving it a faintly pinkish cast. I then produce my own slurries and refine the clay by settling and decanting. I work only with the finest clay, which is that below one micron. I mix it with ground feldspar and some other things, yes? then knead it and finally steep it in water before using.’
Elizabeth Krüger waited for them to continue. They were like two men who would challenge each other constantly but first must feel the other out. And the head of that child? she asked herself. It was so beautiful it brought tears into her eyes, for the stepmother was so very beautiful too. Dark-haired and dark hazel-eyed, that one, and how is it, please, she asked herself, that he can remember them both so clearly during the months at sea of never knowing if he would return? The months in which, for a few brief moments each day if he could get them, he would close himself off in his tiny cubicle separated only by … that thing? Working on its blank with fine sandpaper and a jeweller’s file so as to get the mould exactly right, then touching up the eyes, the lips. The stepmother too — oh yes, he had made a doll of that one before he had ever made one of the child.
The one from the Sûreté spoke, startling her and causing her to panic and blurt, ‘A moment, please!’
‘Captain, there is no blood on any of these fragments?’
‘Blood? Why should there be? The body was nowhere near them.’
‘You saw the body?’
‘Of course I saw it but not from where I found the fragments, and only later.’
The Préfet could not help but watch him closely and hang on every word. Kohler pitied Kerjean. He was up against a formidable adversary but what was worse perhaps, was that the Préfet knew it only too well.
The girl softly blew her nose. ‘The start of a cold, I think,’ she said, blushing. ‘Please forgive me. You may continue.’
Why must innocent young girls always wear their hearts on their sleeves? wondered St-Cyr sadly. She was pretty enough but no match for the Captain, who would want someone not only very beautiful and sophisticated, but also very intelligent and creative in her own right. Ah yes, most certainly.
‘There was blood on one of the fragments I found, Captain,’ he said. ‘Whoever dropped the doll had cut themselves on the gravel of that railway bed. Why is it that you washed these off, please? That is a matter of destroying evidence, a matter for the courts. Hermann, please make a note of it.’
If he thought to disturb the Captain, Louis was sadly mistaken, thought Kohler. The bastard was just too decisive, too intent.
There was a brief grin. ‘All right, I washed them off but only to examine them. I didn’t think. Is there harm in that?’
Louis laid his pipe aside in the ashtray the girl had slid his way. Kohler could hear him saying to himself, Men like you never stop thinking, Captain. Even your C.-in-C. questions your saying such a thing.
He gave another sigh and let his fingers trickle away from the fragments. ‘Not unless you were trying to protect someone, Captain.’
‘Who?’
Préfet Kerjean did not look up. Freisen silently swore and then finally said, ‘Out with it, Johann. That is an order.’
The Captain shrugged. ‘There was no one with the fragments when I came along the tracks from the pits. I was hurrying. I did hear someone up ahead but could not see who it was. An argument. Two men … in French.’ He looked at the Préfet and said. ‘Why not ask him?’
Kohler thought Louis would ignore the inference and nodded inwardly when he did.
‘French? What did they say, please?’ asked the Sûreté.
‘I couldn’t tell. A challenge perhaps.’
‘And then you found the body, Captain, yet you did not immediately go for help? You waited almost twelve hours?’
The table-edged Morse stopped. Suddenly there was a brief pause and then a decisive tap. ‘Chief Inspector, I knew I would be blamed. I hadn’t done it. Indeed, if I wanted to recover our money why, please, would I kill the one man who could help us get it back?’
‘“Our money?” Please explain this, Captain.’
Fräulein Krüger hesitated. Kohler knew the point of her pencil had just stabbed itself through the paper.
The Captain heaved an impatient sigh. ‘Very well, if that is what you wish. I’m not alone in this venture. I myself put up …’
‘Is this necessary?’ demanded Freisen. ‘It really has no bearing …’
‘Everything has bearing, Herr Freisen. That doll’s head, those fragments — blood not on them. Twelve hours of delay you yourself were a party to.’
‘Verdammt, the French! How dare you?’
Louis paused, Kohler could see him impatiently debating whether to answer. ‘I dare because in murder, Herr Freisen, that is so often the only way to uncover the truth. Now, please, allow the Kapitän zur See Kaestner to explain since he is the one we are here to interview.’
And you have set them at each other’s throats by down-grading the C.-in-C. to Mister and using the Captain’s full rank, thought Kohler, pleased.