‘Henpecked, is he?’
‘The roots of your suspicions are deep, Inspector. Why is this, please?’
‘Just answer the questions.’
‘Or you will get angry with me, eh? Hey, monsieur, you’re perturbed enough when it is I who have been subjected to such indignities, I …’
He wasn’t having any of it. ‘Yes, then. He is henpecked and not just by that wife of his, by his four daughters, two of whom are married. They constantly examine every aspect of his life and criticize him amongst themselves.’ She blew her nose.
Creases framed the frown she gave. Her lips were parted slightly as if she wondered, still, what he was thinking of her answers. The nose was not big or small but decidedly impish. The thick, auburn hair was a little less than shoulder length, in waves and curls, masses of them, and worn over the brow with only a part in the middle to all but hide her frown and emphasize her eyes.
‘Life on the sly with a thirty-two-year-old zoo-keeper and veterinary surgeon must be better,’ he grunted. ‘Should they ever discover the affair, your Monsieur Laviolette will immediately blame his wife and daughters to their faces for having caused him to stray!’
Taken aback, she said softly, ‘He’s not vindictive. Oh bien sur, the house, it was an investment and not much – he wouldn’t let me spend a sou fixing it. He always said she would only find out if he did. But …’ She clutched the robe about her throat and tossed her head. ‘But he has made his promises and I believe he’ll keep them.’
New laundry for the old and she beginning to distance herself from the explosion. ‘You’re far too intelligent to believe it, Madame Lemaire. So when, please, did the two of you first meet?’
Ah damn him. ‘Last summer. 13 June.’
‘And he was feeding oats he had gathered in early summer to the zebras?’
Merde! how could she have been so stupid? ‘He had purchased a small sack of last year’s harvest from a farmer. I thought …’ She shrugged. ‘Well, that you would understand that’s what I meant.’
‘And when, exactly, did the affair begin?’
Laviolette would be questioned closely, therefore she had best answer as truthfully as possible. ‘The end of June,’ she said. ‘I … I only make 650 a day, Inspector. It’s not so much for a woman who does a man’s job, is it? That’s when we decided on our little arrangement. He wanted someone to live in the house, otherwise the authorities would have taken it over, isn’t that so? It was close to my work. In a few minutes by bicycle, a little longer on foot, I could be there without the expense of the metro or autobus but now … now I don’t know what I’ll do. His wife is bound to find out. The press … Ah nom de Dieu, I had not thought of them.’
A study in contrasts, the expressions she gave in quick succession changed from firmness of resolve to doubt, hesitation and despair as she realized they had already mentioned the press.
‘The bolts on your side door, madame?’ he said.
‘Pardon?’ she managed, startled by this new direction.
‘Why were they left open? Ah certainement, the Gypsy had the key but there were two other bolts, one at the top, the other at the bottom. The owners of those old houses felt they never could take chances. The cambrioleurs of those days were tougher than they are today.’
The housebreakers … ‘The bolts stick in winter because the cold freezes the dampness in the wood, so I …’ She shrugged. ‘I left them open, otherwise it would have been a window for me and those are – were, I should say – stuck tightly and shuttered also.’
She’d try to have an answer for everything. ‘Then only the key was necessary. The Gypsy entered at about 4 or 5 a.m. Did he have two suitcases or a rucksack – what, please?’
She drew back, and again threw a frantic look towards the street. ‘I … I wouldn’t have known, would I? He wouldn’t have carried all that loot upstairs. He’d have needed his hands, his wits …’ Why was the Surete so suspicious of her? Why? she wondered anxiously. ‘I awoke to find a gun pressed under my chin and a hand clamped over my mouth. He was lying on top of me, Inspector. Me! Can you imagine what I thought? Ah! a woman’s worst nightmare. He assured me that wasn’t the case, and since he had the gun, I did not resist.’
The Inspector fiddled with the pipe he had taken out but had yet to pack with tobacco. He was waiting for her to add to what she’d just said and she knew that if she did, it would not be wise of her, but if she didn’t, he’d believe her evasive. ‘He lit the candle I have beside my bed – or had, I should say. It’s necessary to have such things due to the frequent electricity outages, is it not? He let me see him. He was tall and thin and blond and had the sharpest blue eyes of any man I’ve ever met. Swift, calculating – far ahead of my thoughts or anyone else’s, I must think, and very sure of himself with women – with men, too, I suspect, though I cannot say for certain. The nicest smile, the gentlest hands. Tres caressant, you understand, even when tying a vulnerable woman and gagging her.’
‘Yet he warned you to lie still.’
‘Yes!’
‘And when we left the house together, madame, you said on the doorstep …’ St-Cyr flipped open his little black notebook. ‘“No one told me this would happen.”’
‘I … I didn’t know what I was saying. I was angry. I was scared. I’d been put upon.’
‘Who was it that failed to warn you?’
‘No one. I’m not lying, Inspector. I’ve no reason to. How could I have?’
Ashen, she threw another glance at the street. He couldn’t let her go. He had to keep an eye on her and keep her from the Gestapo. ‘And now you have no house or clothing beyond what you wear. Permit me, please, to offer the use of my house until you’re settled once again.’
‘Is it that you wish to keep me a prisoner?’
‘Ah! of course not. The house is empty. There are two bedrooms and if I am ever there, you may lock your door and leave the key in the lock though, as a detective, I would not advise this elsewhere.’
‘Why is that, please?’
‘Because as every experienced housebreaker knows, such a key can easily be manipulated.’
‘And your partner?’
‘Lives with two women and at the moment, has his hands and flat full.’
‘And you have no one?’ she asked, fiddling with her robe.
‘A chanteuse, but she’s very understanding and works nearly every night. Besides, she has her own place.’
‘Then perhaps I could stay with her. Would this be possible?’
‘Perhaps, but you will need clothing, and this I have plenty of – my dead wife’s. I … I haven’t had time yet to pack up her things. You’re about her size, I think, though she was a little younger than yourself.’
‘Ah!’ she tossed her head in acknowledgement. ‘And how, please, did that one die?’
There seemed nothing else for him to do but to tell her, and she knew then that he had deliberately manoeuvred her into accepting and that he had not yet wanted to let go of her.
And his partner? she wondered. Would that one reinforce the Surete’s doubts or merely treat them with impatience?
And why, please, had the Gestapo not come for her, not yet? Were they leaving it to this one and his friend? Was he offering the house to keep them from her?
‘All right, I accept. It’s very decent of you but I should warn you I sometimes have to work late and for this, I must stay overnight in my surgery. Just so that you understand and don’t come looking for me.’
‘Of course.’
*
The look Boemelburg gave would have broken glass. Grabbed by two strong-arm boys while frantically clearing rubble, Kohler had been hustled into a black Renault and hurtled across town at 180 kilometres an hour.
‘Four men, Hermann. Dead, do you understand? Two others so injured they will not recover. Did you think von Schaumburg wouldn’t shriek at me to find and arrest those responsible immediately?’