Arm in arm they walked away, the crowd parting before them and then closing ranks in solidarity.
St-Cyr headed for the far end of the room where space had been reserved before the fireplace. Six Louis XIV chairs, in white enamel and royal blue, patterned damask, had been carefully arranged in a semicircle on a carpet that was centuries old.
The middle armchair faced the length of the hall and had a footstool placed in front of it. The abbot? he wondered, taking a sip of forgotten wine. Was this to be the salve of recognition after the wounds of the church service?
Six chairs …
His arm was yanked. The wine sloshed – a waste, such a waste! ‘I demand to know why you’re here?’
Calmly St-Cyr found his handkerchief and began to dry his fingers. ‘General, I am conducting an investigation into the murders of Jerome Noel and his sister Yvette.’
‘Where’s Kohler? I demand to see him.’
The one half of Ackermann’s face was more livid than the other, but one should not dwell on such terrible things. Yet still, St-Cyr could not resist antagonizing the man and gave that nonchalant shrug he reserved for infuriating obnoxious Nazis. ‘That I do not know, General. We often work alone before comparing notes. That is the way these things are usually done.’
Ackermann snapped his fingers and the two men who’d been with him at the funeral service came instantly forward – young, tall, blond Aryans with perfect blue eyes and clean-shaven cheeks that looked burnished by the lotion. Immaculate in their black uniforms.
Killers if given the chance.
‘Find him. Search the grounds and when you have him, take him to the stables and then come and get me.’
‘Pistols at dawn is it?’ taunted St-Cyr.
‘Pistols at dawn, Inspector. Now if I were you, I’d leave here while you can.’
St-Cyr ruefully studied his glass. The Domaine Theriault’s demi-sec had been superb. Not too dry, and not too sweet.
Ackermann could barely control his temper. ‘But you are not me, General, and I have my duties to perform so please don’t get in the way.’
‘French pig, I could have you shot for that!’
‘Perhaps but then you are in no position to do so if you wish to clear your name, isn’t that so?’
Ackermann’s right hand swung back. St-Cyr waited. They were alone – isolated from the crowd who had kept their distance for all too obvious reasons.
‘You are the prime suspect in the murder of Yvette Marie Noel, General. If I were you, I’d desist entirely from this nonsense of duels. Let the investigation proceed to its conclusion. If you’ve nothing to hide, you have no fears. Then and only then should you settle whatever differences you may have with Hermann.’
‘Kohler … you mean Kohler. The Resistance killed the girl, you fool. I’ve the written reports of the prefets of Paris, Fontainebleau and Barbizon as well as those of your superiors, Pharand and Boemelburg.’
‘But not that of the General von Schaumburg,’ said St-Cyr quietly.
The hard blue eyes raked him savagely. Again the hand started its swing only to remember place and protocol. ‘One voice is nothing among so many,’ snorted Ackermann.
‘Then you will have no objections, General, to answering truthfully. Did you kill Yvette Marie Noel?’
That face became a mask of control.
‘I did not kill that girl. I had no reason to. I didn’t even know her. I’d only seen her once with Gabrielle.’
Ackermann touched the scar tissue to calm the twitch. St-Cyr gave him a moment. Exhaling sadly, he said, ‘And me, I believe you did, General, and what is more important, I can prove it.’
Again there was that contemptuous snort, a lifting of the right hand.
‘You’re bluffing. I wasn’t anywhere near Fontainebleau on the night she was killed.’
‘Yet you answer so readily, General? Is it that Yvette in her last moments failed to tell you of the little diary she kept? That girl meticulously recorded everything, General. Places, times – your name is repeatedly mentioned in connection with that of her brother.’
‘I don’t believe you. You’re lying. Produce the diary. Let’s see it then.’
His voice hadn’t climbed. He’d been exceptionally cool, the face a mask to thoughts. Had he known that bit about his being mentioned had been a lie? Had Jerome told him what was in the diary? Ah now, had he? What if he had? Mon Dieu, this thing … Another thread …
‘I demand to see it,’ snapped Ackermann angrily.
A reaction at last! St-Cyr gave that infuriating shrug again. ‘Because of the … ah, how should I say it, General? The delicacy of the matter, it is being kept securely in the General von Schaumburg’s private safe. Together with our signed reports, of course.’
The snort of contempt was even harsher than the last one. ‘If you’re so certain, then why are you here?’
The lie had really worried the general. ‘Because of Jerome. To complete the case we must find his killer.’
One could read nothing in the Frenchman’s gaze. ‘And have you?’
St-Cyr turned away to sweep his eyes over the assembled chairs. ‘One for the abbot, one for the parish priest, two for the parents Noel, one for the countess, and one for Rene Yvon-Paul who must, of course, take his father’s place as the future head of the Domaine Theriault. Six chairs, General. Six.’
‘I asked you a question.’
Pale and badly shaken by the sight of them, Mademoiselle Arcuri had started towards them and then had thought better of it.
‘Six chairs, General. A most interesting observation and the very key I’ve been looking for.’
As St-Cyr and the general stood there, the six filed out of the side door and began to make their way towards the chairs.
‘I demand an answer,’ seethed Ackermann.
‘Then I will give it to you, General. Yes … yes, I believe I have now found the killer of Jerome Noel.’
‘The countess? Gott in Himmel, you’re an even bigger fool than I thought!’
Like the lady she was, the head of the Domaine Theriault indicated the abbot was to sit in the chair with the footstool while the parish priest sat on his left and she herself on his right.
The Noels waited until Rene Yvon-Paul had taken his place next to the countess, then they, too, sat down.
Coffee was served, a glass of wine …
It was all so beautifully clear. The countess, by arranging the chairs at the head of the room, had simply ensured everyone would see that the abbot, the priest, the Family Theriault and the Noel family had agreed the matter of the land claim had been settled once and for all.
The price had been paid and the sum accepted because that was the way things were really done in the countryside. The law and justice came second because there was a greater law and that was the one they had to live by.
‘General, you must excuse me. My glass needs refilling. Please do not leave the premises until your name has been cleared.’
*
‘You took the heat off me. Why did you do a thing like that?’
Without the veil, the mirage was still a mystery. ‘Because, Mademoiselle Arcuri, you and I have much to say to one another and the sooner we do so, the better.’
She refilled his glass without spilling a drop. ‘He’ll try to kill you and your friend.’
‘Perhaps, but then …’
‘He’ll try to make your death look as if the Resistance had done it.’
The violet eyes were anxious. A tough woman, just like the countess, but tough in her own way. Not on the run, not yet but in fear of her life, that was all too clear. ‘Will you answer my questions freely?’
His tone of voice, it had been … Ah, what could she say? That of a man who could be moved to compassion? Or that of subterfuge? ‘Yes … yes, I’ll answer if I can, but not here.’
‘Then please find us a place where we won’t be disturbed.’