It was a silly thought and such jealousy had no meaning here.
‘Je suit partout, madame,’ said Boemelburg quietly.
‘Oui?’ she blurted, blood trickling down her chin, the fear in her wounded eyes all too clear.
‘At 1630 hours Thursday a woman telephoned them to report that she had “information on the whereabouts of the estranged wife of Henri Doucette”.’
‘And?’ she asked, biting off the word.
‘Did you or did you not give them the address they then printed?’
She sucked in a breath and wiped the tears from her eyes. ‘“Estranged”, it’s a big word for an anonymous informer to use.’
Verdammt! he’d have to cut to where it would hurt. ‘Your husband, madame?’
‘My dead husband, yes?’ she blurted in tears.
‘Your wireless code was similar to that of his unit during the invasion. It was modified but followed the pattern of those advocated by Delastelle.’
Ah no, the book … ‘Honore told me very little about his life in the army. If his code, or one like it was being used by whomever hid that wireless set in my zebra house – and I’m not saying there was a wireless set there – I … why I know nothing of it. How could I?’ She wiped blood from her lips and nose with the back of a hand that trembled. Smarting, she blinked her eyes to clear them but could not seem to stop herself from shaking.
Engelmann passed in front of the lamp to throw his shadow over her. Then he stepped behind her and she had to ask herself what was he going to do now?
‘Your student days,’ breathed Boemelburg. ‘One of your professors mentions “a remarkable ability with electronics”.’
‘I …’ she began, only to flinch as she felt Herr Engelmann’s hands brush the back of her neck. ‘I was young. I was interested in everything. It … it was just something to do.’ She shook him off.
‘But when asked, the professor was quite convinced you could have built a wireless set and would have had no trouble in operating it. “As a student, Madame Lemaire belonged to a group we called the Cricket Talkers, the Society for the Improvement of Wireless Transmission.”’
‘But … but why would he have referred to me as Madame when I was to him unmarried at the time?’
Tears were blinked away. Verdammt! why would she not confess without the use of reinforced interrogation? ‘The questioner gave him your married name,’ snapped Boemelburg gruffly.
‘Then he should have used Carriere, Sturmbannfuhrer. My father is a pharmacist, a gold medallist, as is my mother. This professor you speak of did not know me. If he had, he would have shaken his head in despair at the memory of all my questions, and would have referred to me as Ceci or la petite espiegle.’
The little imp! Furious with her, Boemelburg grabbed the front of her nightgown and, bunching it up, shoved his fist under her chin so that she was pushed back into Herr Engelmann. ‘Bring the other one!’ he shrieked.
The left side of Nana’s face was very red and swollen. Her lips were bleeding again. The bruises on her neck were darker, bigger. Violently she was thrown into the light. The nightgown had been torn and hung by a single shoulder strap. She’d been banged up against a wall and had been struck repeatedly.
‘I’m your only link,’ she hissed, yanking herself free of Engelmann. ‘I may even know where Janwillem is hiding, but as long as I live I will tell you nothing!’
Ah nom de Dieu, winced Gabrielle.
‘Leave us. Get out!’ he shouted in deutsch at Engelmann, and when the door was closed, took a moment to study these three. Everything in him said that things were not as they should be. The wireless signals, the Gypsy, the robberies, each of which must have been well surveyed beforehand. The murder of the Spade … the death of Hans Wehrle … Berlin were demanding an end to things. Himmler had taken a personal interest and had been shrieking for blood.
Calming himself, Boemelburg indicated they should sit together on one of the couches. Cursing them silently, he gave them each some of the cognac. ‘Now tell me’, he breathed, ‘where Dr Vries and his woman are hiding. Do it, damn you, or I swear I will have you taken from this house and given over to those who would like nothing better than to strip you naked and beat you until the answers gurgle from your battered lips and punctured lungs.’
Ah Jesus … ‘If … if we knew …’ began Suzanne-Cecilia only to feel Gabrielle’s warning hand on her arm.
‘Nana …’ Gabrielle tried to find her voice. ‘When … when Janwillem left you in the spring of 1938 you had just discovered you were pregnant. Do you remember we met at the Cafe de la Paix? You were so upset, cherie. You thought Tshaya must have come back into his life and that he was staying with her father’s kumpania. A woods to the west of Paris, some ruins – I think you said it was at an old monastery, or what was left of one.’
Nana stared at her cognac and tilted the glass to let some of it run over her fingers, but if she thought the Vieille Reserve a deliberate reminder of the Spade’s murder, she gave no indication of this.
She bathed her lips and indicated Ceci should do the same.
‘That … that was all I knew at the time,’ she said. ‘A place the gypsies had been going to for centuries but one, yes, that the Deuxieme bureau des nomades knew nothing of.’
There, she would let this Gestapo pig digest the crumb she had given him.
His watery blue eyes sought her out. ‘Are we to search every woods to the west of the city?’ he asked blandly.
‘Only those with ruins,’ she countered swiftly. ‘I don’t like being hit, Sturmbannfuhrer, nor having my nightclothes ripped from me, nor do I like being nearly drowned when a few sensible questions calmly given are all that is necessary. Janwillem is not himself, not any more, but your people and the Norwegians before them kept him in prison so long he can only think of himself as a gypsy and therefore at complete odds with the rest of us. Get that into your head. You’re a Gajo; he’s now of the Rom completely.’
‘Versailles,’ hazarded Boemelburg only to see her vehemently shake her head and hear her acidly toss the words at him. ‘It’s too popular, too fashionable, particularly these days.’
‘Then try to think. Try to give us a little more.’
‘So that the guillotine or the axe might fall on a neck whose head was empty?’
He sighed. ‘That temper of yours is far too swift for your own good. If you and your friends are innocent, I will personally see that you are cleared of all charges. You have my word on it.’
Is it as good as your Fuhrer’s? she silently asked. Will you apologize for what you’ve done to us? ‘Agreed,’ she said but did not try to smile.
He gave her a moment. Gabrielle took her by the hand. ‘A monastery … You told me the gypsies always marked the way they had travelled by using special signs. You wanted us to look for Janwillem, Nana. You were certain that together we could find him.’
‘The patterans,’ she said. ‘The trident, the cross – heaps of leaves or grass at a corner of a crossroads, branches piled up in winter.’
‘The swastika,’ said Suzanne-Cecilia. ‘I remember once reading of it. An ancient symbol from India which was adopted and used by the gypsies in their wanderings. The gypsies …’
‘Don’t you dare taunt me, madame. And as for you.’ He looked at Nana. ‘De Vries would not have marked his trail this time.’
‘Not unless he wanted other gypsies to follow and to gather,’ said Nana softly.
‘For what purpose?’ he asked.
She let him have it. ‘Sabotage, since the times are no longer ordinary and there are so few of their people left. He has everything he needs, hasn’t he?’