As he looked up with moistened eyes to that God of his in question at this new trick of fate, a pigeon huddled on a window sill. ‘We are but soul mates in this world of Yours,’ he said, identifying closely with the pigeon. ‘Fellow passengers in this lousy Occupation.’ Suddenly its wings flapped madly and it fell a metre or so, caught by a foot, a snare …
Flapping, the thing was dragged up and into the flat without the shutters opening more than a few centimeters. In his mind’s eye the cinematographer saw the neck being wrung, the thin little body twitching even as the feathers were being ripped from it.
Lorient, he read. Dollmaker arrested in murder of shopkeeper. Most urgent you send experienced detective immediately. Fragments of bisque doll not-repeat not-his.
Dollmaker … a member of a U-boat’s crew? An important member-yes, of course. Otherwise Admiral Doenitz would not have intervened. The engine room perhaps? The cook, the armourer, the sonar operator or navigator? Someone who made dolls to while away the hours and was vital to the sinking of Allied shipping.
It would keep Hermann busy, though he badly needed a rest. It would help to take his mind off his sons as the ring of steel closed around the Sixth Army at Stalingrad.