‘A friend?’ bleated Kohler, thinking of Luc Tonnerre.
The rounded shoulders automatically lifted. ‘Perhaps. Let us say a friend for now. An assisted death. A death by agreement but under the laws of even your own country, one of murder all the same.’
‘Then why didn’t he simply kill himself?’
‘Perhaps it is that he couldn’t bring himself to do it and needed help.’
‘Was he high on ether?’
‘It’s too early to say. After the tests … A little patience, Inspector. Then we’ll be positive.’
‘But you think that might have been the case?’
Detectives were always wanting answers before they could be given. ‘There is the possibility but no evidence of the bottle nearby or of the means of drinking it. Oh bien sur there are those other bottles but they’ve been there for ages, and certainly one could pour it into a glass and down it quickly perhaps, even though it is highly volatile, but with lips like that … ah, one cannot drink from a glass so easily, can one? And that, Inspector, is all I can say for now.’
‘Then which of them died first?’
The Bavarian was so intent. ‘This, too, I cannot say since the times of death are very close.’
‘But …?’
Tremblay sighed impatiently. ‘But if pressed, I would say the girl first and then the man, both most probably on Monday morning at perhaps 9.00 or 10.00. I am only guessing.’
‘Just after dawn.’
‘Yes.’
Louis and himself had been on the train coming back from Lyon with no thought at all of what was to come. ‘Louis said you were good.’
‘He’s too kind.’ Jean-Louis had seen what they had just discussed, of course, but had not let this one know, out of deference to his German masters perhaps.
‘What about the girl? Was she also drugged?’ asked Kohler, throwing a worried glance towards the end of the barn through which Talbotte and Louis had disappeared too long ago for comfort.
‘The girl … ah yes,’ said Tremblay, looking at the lorries, then very seriously up at him. ‘Inspector, I think what you really wish to ask is was she co-operative in any way, and this I cannot tell you until I have analysed her blood and organs for the presence of ether, or any other deleterious substance.’
‘But is it possible?’
‘Anything is possible. God made the world that way so that we might find within us the urge to do right, not wrong.’
Tremblay gave a mildly self-conscious smile at his little sermon. ‘Personally I do not think such a thing ever entered that girl’s mind, Inspector. She may well have been coerced into doing as they demanded of her and that is why she ran her hands through the hair of at least one of her assailants who was not Monsieur Verges, by the way. No, not at all. The assailant’s hair was natural and growing in place.’
‘There was an ear-ring …’
‘Jean-Louis wishes me not to mention it in my report for now but has shown it to me and told me exactly how and where it was discovered.’
‘Any thoughts?’
‘Besides his own? No, not at the moment. A brave child. Another Jeanne d’Arc’
‘Didn’t the Burgundians capture and sell Joan to the English?’ asked Kohler, frowning over his knowledge of French history since it was still fuzzy even after a good two years of putting up with Louis.
‘Ah yes, the Burgundians to their eternal shame, Inspector, but it was most definitely others who burned her at the stake in 1431 and then forgave her after a new trial in 1456, and in 1920 made her a saint!’
More than 500 years later! It said something about the French. They carried their guilt through the centuries, periodically mulling it over and trying to exorcise the misfortunes of a hotheaded moment. Idly Kohler wondered what they would say about the Occupation fifty or a hundred years hence?
Guilt again? he asked himself, snorting inwardly. Further trials and more of the periodic soul-searching! ‘I guess I had better find Louis.’
‘I wouldn’t. I would leave them. They have things to discuss in private, old cases, new cases, this one, that one, who knows?’
‘Blackmail?’ asked Kohler darkly.
There was another shrug. ‘Perhaps. Who cares so long as it accomplishes the desired purpose of gaining you both the necessary time to pursue the investigation without undue interference?’
With perfect timing, God used the coarse sieve and turned on the tap. Raindrops drove themselves into the snow and pretty soon they were seeping into a poor detective’s shoes whose soles, with all the exercise, had opened, lacking as they were for glue and stitching thread due to the extreme shortages of labour and materials. It was the last straw. ‘prefet, don’t give me shit and muscle! I want full details of the robbery! Everything you have!’
Talbotte’s fist was raised. His voice erupted. ‘You idiots smashed up my best mouchard! I would sooner co-operate with the Devil! The Devil!’
‘Ah, merde, I have thought that is who you were!’
A fist lashed out through the darkness. The rain came down. St-Cyr ducked, feinted left, right … tried to shout at himself No, idiotl He’s the prefet of Paris. Don’t try to defend yourself. Don’t let Joanne’s death get in the way of common sense! ‘Look, why can’t we co-operate for once, eh? A few small questions. They’re really nothing. Boemelburg has assigned Hermann and myself to the case.’
‘To the robbery!’ roared the prefet. ‘There can be no connection with the murder of that little cunt!’
‘Ah yes, the girl in the tower, prefet. A connection.’
‘There is none and therefore you and that … that turd of a Bavarian have no authority here. None, Jean-Louis! Absolutely none!’
‘Oh but there is a connection, prefet, and because of this, we need your help.’
‘I’ll kill you!’
‘Some other time.’
‘I’ll tip the Resistance off and they will complete the job!’
‘And Boemelburg will learn a few things, eh, about a prefet who co-operates but hides the truth.’
‘Such as?’
‘Ah, don’t be so impossible! Gold bars, louis d’or, diamonds and fur coats-two mistresses, one in Clichy on the rue de Neuilly, the other in Les Lillas on the rue de Paris, an Italian, a sweet little thing not twenty, eh, prefet? Eighteen and the same age as the one in the tower! Hey, those girls of yours are expensive even for a well-paid civil servant such as yourself who has not been doing his job.’
A hand was tossed. ‘You have no right to make insinuations! No right! Everything was turned over to the authorities, the SS of the avenue Foch!’
Valuables from Jews who were then deported! Twelve thousand of them had been rounded up by Talbotte and his men and their safe deposit boxes opened. ‘Almost sufficient for your retirement and expenses, prefet. I have a list. After the round-up of last July, I made it my business to find out exactly what you had personally misappropriated.’
‘Batard!’ came the shriek. Talbotte lunged at him. St-Cyr crashed into the side of a police van. Fists pummelled him, a head bucked and slammed him in the face. His chin went back … The eyes … Talbotte’s fingers were ripping at his eyes …
The fist …’Ah Jesus, prefet, give it a rest! We’re not trying to take your job away or show you up!’
Blood poured from the prefet’s nose. One eye was closed and rapidly swelling. The lower lip was bleeding profusely. A tooth had come loose.
Kohler held the lantern a little higher so as to get a better view of the damage. Grinning hugely, he asked how St-Cyr’s hand was and said, ‘Hey, I think you’ve done a job on him. Why not let me do the talking?’
‘No! He will answer only to me since I have not yet applied the shoes, Hermann. A few simple answers to show that our two police organizations really do work in harmony.’