Doubt showed. ‘Would it do any good for her to speak to Hans?’ A last attempt.
‘No … No, I have already tried. I’m sorry. It… it was of no use.’
‘She won’t try to sleep. She can’t. She paces up and down and goes from room to room chasing memories and having a last look.’
‘That is as it should be, madame, and I am sorry I cannot offer more.’
‘Will they really send you to the salt mines?’
‘Silesia? Ah no, no, they will have a little something else in mind.’ The firing squad.
Again doubt showed in the look she gave him. There was hesitation too, but this was quickly followed by resolve. ‘Then it doesn’t matter, does it, if your wife should come back to you?’
‘Marianne …? Ah, I don’t know what she’ll decide to do. I haven’t really had a chance to think about it lately. She’ll either be there waiting at the house or she won’t. My son Philippe as well, of course, but the Germans won’t let me see them. Of this I’m certain, so in a way it really doesn’t matter what she does since I won’t know of it in any case.’
They both fell silent. Mademoiselle Arcuri hunched her shoulders against the cold and gripped the torch more firmly as its beam passed over the floor at their feet.
‘Madame, I …’ He felt so useless at things like this.
She looked up suddenly. ‘Please, there is no need to say anything, Inspector.’
‘Until the morning then? Try to get a little sleep, eh? You’ll need your strength. You’ll have to be stronger than you’ve ever been.’
Just before dawn an icy mizzle drifted over the Vouvray area. One could taste the smell of wet, decaying leaves, of vines and ripe, fermenting grapes, of woodsmoke, fresh dung and distant coal-fired furnaces.
Thick and blanketing everything, it made greyer still the grey of the chateau’s walls as the light began to grow.
St-Cyr waited. The fog was a nuisance. Would it slow Boemelburg and the others? Was it only a local phenomenon?
Boemelburg’s Daimler purred from under the entrance arch, its headlamps unblinkered. A great, shining Mercedes followed – von Schaumburg was taking second place, or was that the General Oberg’s car from the avenue Foch?
‘They’ve all come,’ said Ackermann with a contemptuous snort. ‘So, a little something for them to witness.’
A third car entered – another German staff car – then a fourth, a black Citroen, the car of Osias Pharand.
The Prefet of Paris followed in the Peugeot the Germans had allowed him. Three men tumbled from it, and even at a distance, St-Cyr recognized the prefets of Barbizon and Fontainebleau.
Ackermann took off his cap and placed it carefully to one side on the walk. ‘There are some letters I would like delivered. One is to my Fuhrer, explaining everything. One is to my superiors, and one to my wife and family. Please see that the General von Schaumburg receives them.’
Not the General Oberg. At the very end, Ackermann couldn’t find it in his heart to trust the SS. ‘I will, of course,’ said St-Cyr. ‘Is there anything else, General?’
A look, a last word, a prayer … They were standing right in the middle of the chateau’s inner courtyard, right next to the central fountain whose stone greyhounds viciously leapt at a cornered stag.
‘No. No, there is nothing. You may go.’ The fountain had been turned off and the pond drained for the winter.
The countess had come out of the front door to stand on the steps beside Mademoiselle Arcuri and her son; so, too, the parents of Jerome and Yvette Noel.
Hermann, walking as quickly as he could, had reached the first of the staff cars and had given the Nazi salute. St-Cyr turned his back on Ackermann – he’d have to take that chance. He began to walk diagonally across the grounds towards the cars and Osias Pharand.
The fog was everywhere. Ackermann would wait until he’d reached Pharand and had turned to watch him just like the rest of them.
‘Louis …?’
‘A moment, Chief. A general must do his duty.’
Ackermann looked so very alone out there, standing rigidly to attention in his black uniform and giving the Nazi salute like that.
St-Cyr began to count silently. The muzzle of the Luger went into Ackermann’s mouth. No one moved. There was a hush broken only by the whirring flight of a small covey of pigeons.
The shot, when it came, tore the roof off Ackermann’s head and echoed from the surrounding walls.
It was Hermann who led them to the stables and who said in all seriousness, ‘They tried to arrest him, Herr Sturmbannfuhrer, and he killed them.’
‘With a pitchfork?’ asked Boemelburg blandly.
‘With a pitchfork, Herr Sturmbannfuhrer, and a pistol.’
Boemelburg studied this man who was an outright liar and a thief at times but a damned good cop.
Kohler took a chance and turned aside. ‘Offer the Generals von Schaumburg and Oberg a deal, Herr Sturmbannfuhrer,’ he said quietly.
‘A deal…?’
‘It’s in the interests of all of us.’
‘Yours in particular, Hermann?’
‘No, Herr Sturmbannfuhrer. The honour of the Reich.’
Boemelburg nudged the corpse of Jensen with a toe. The prongs of the pitchfork would have made a mess of the kidneys. ‘Proceed,’ he said, indicating they should go outside.
‘The price of that honour has been paid and guilt fully admitted, Herr Sturmbannfuhrer. Tell them the whole matter should now be forgotten. Berlin will want the trowel of racial purity to smooth everything over and hide the defective mortar.’
In other words, shut up about it. ‘Neither you nor I can tell generals anything, Hermann. What’s in it for von Schaumburg?’
‘Peace, I think, with Berlin first but also with yourself and the General Oberg. Let’s face it, Herr Sturmbannfuhrer, all three of you must know you have to coexist somehow. No more taps on the General von Schaumburg’s line. No more watching his men – especially those like his nephew of which nothing whatsoever will be said. It’s really a very small price to pay.’
‘Steiner … Yes, yes, I can see that might help. There is one small matter for your tender ears, Hermann. Glotz was in charge of the investigation into that Resistance business with St-Cyr. He caught the lot of them and they’re in the Cherche-Midi but will soon be transferred to Dachau and Mauthaussen. St-Cyr’s pair of broken shoes proved useful. Louis will, of course, be upset.’
‘Is that all he’ll be?’ asked Kohler warily.
Boemelburg didn’t flinch from it. ‘Glotz, being under Herr Himmler’s patronage, was a little over-zealous, Hermann. They had uncovered a tripwire attached to the front gate but had failed to remove it or to defuse the bomb.’
Kohler swallowed hard and blinked his one good eye. ‘Louis’s wife and kid?’ he asked. In the name of Jesus, would this madness never end?
The Head of the Gestapo in France nodded. ‘Only pieces of them, Hermann. The house is a mess.’
Outrage came from deep inside him. ‘Did Ackermann and his boys wire it?’ demanded Kohler, looking off towards the body which still lay out there in its no man’s land. ‘That bastard would have said nothing of it to Louis in hopes the poor schmuck would go home and blow himself to pieces.’
‘Let’s just say Glotz has been sent to Kiev, Hermann, filling the place you were to have taken.’
Then Glotz had left the bomb to pay them back. ‘I’ll try to tell Louis when we pick up the monk’s confession. I’ll leave it for now,’ said Kohler.
Boemelburg studied him. ‘Just don’t become too friendly with your partner, Hermann. Louis is far too loyal a Frenchman. The girl with the shoes … Apparently Louis came face to face with her in a cafe. He told the proprietor that whole business with the Resistance was a terrible mistake.’
‘I’ll watch him. I won’t let him get in the way and I won’t let him get into any more trouble.’
‘That’s good, Hermann. I knew I could count on you but there is, of course, always a place for you in Kiev. Please see that you deliver the diamonds to my office when you file your report. They will, of course, have to be confiscated.’