As he closed the purse, he was momentarily lost in thought and was not conscious of her standing in the doorway to her bedroom. She grabbed the sides of the doorway to stop herself from shouting at him, and when he struck a match, she did not say a thing as he held it to the papers she had taken from Hermann.
Then he turned to look up at her as he held them over an ashtray, coning the flame upwards so as to contain the embers.
At last he said in German that was really very good for a Frenchman, ‘In the morning, Frau Weidling, you will accompany me to the Lycee Ampere, then to Number Six rue du Boeuf, and then to the Croix Rousse to talk to the concierge of that tenement.’
‘And if I refuse?’
‘Then we will go to the Prefecture.’
‘I’ve friends.’
‘That is understood.’
Kohler tried to keep his eyes open long enough to focus on the profiles he had dug out of Leiter Weidling’s briefcase. Louis was still with the woman in the other bedroom.
‘Profile One: male in mid-to-late 30s. Well-educated, sophisticated …’ ja, ja … ‘able to move freely among established society and the leading hierarchy …’ Come on, cut the drivel, get to the meat of the thing … ‘sees fire as a means of purging the evil within himself. Is fascinated by it but does not display the usual pyromaniac …’ Did they have to use such big words in Berlin? And here he’d thought all they understood was Heil Hitler and Raus! Raus! Get out! Get out! Halt or we’ll shoot!
The usual firebug traits of hanging around the scene of the fire, offering help, condolences …’ et cetera, et cetera … ‘Prefers to read about it in the newspapers and to sustain excitement in this manner. Will most probably have kept a record of every fire he has caused.’
Ah merde, a library. His head dropped as he thought about it, and for perhaps ten seconds he slipped away only to awaken with a start.
‘Profile Two: male’-here the age range was very broad but grouped: ‘18-26; 30-45; 50-70 …’ Seventy? Again there was a lot of psychological drivel …’ uncomfortable in established society who consider themselves his betters. Intelligent, well-educated even if at tradesman level, may speak several foreign languages fluently, a leader …’ ja, ja … ‘Ambitious, conceited, not above destroying others to get ahead, nor using others to gain position. Views himself as a hero and strives always to demonstrate this. Is totally without conscience … very knowledgeable in the ways of arson and clever … Likes to confuse and torment investigators and to demonstrate that he is far superior to them. Sexually very attracted to women who see fire as a means of sexual arousal …’ Arousal …
Kohler nodded off. Flames leapt before him. The papers began to slip away. A woman was coming toward him through the flames. Rich, dark auburn hair and stunningly dark grey-blue eyes. She was … was rubbing her … her … ‘Ah, mon Dieu. Verdammt, idiot! Wake up!’
Arousal … ‘Jealousy may motivate the urge to arson, fire being used as the supreme act of revenge on a partner’s illicit lover or to purge the couple, killing both of them. May often return to the scene of the fire. Plans fires well in advance, often staging them in groups of three at widely diverse points so as to further confuse and elude investigators. Favours gasoline for its shock factor, since everyone understands its explosive nature, but likes to use other means to demonstrate the fullness of his knowledge. May be sexually infatuated with an unobtainable woman or actively engaged in the sexual suppression of another such as a close relative.’
Incest? Ah merde. And no time to close his eyes.
Louis and Frau Weidling must have gone into the salon. Surely Louis wouldn’t leave him here alone?
‘Profile Three: female, age 26 to 34. Uses fire as a fetish to attain sexual gratification and climax. Returns repeatedly to the scenes of her fires. Either has a troubled conscience and is constantly tormented by what she has done, or has no conscience whatsoever and thinks only of orgasm.
‘Enjoys masturbating when in the presence of fire so that she may see flames and feel their heat but never let them touch her naked body. Hence, the flames are seen here to take the place of the male erection which she totally rejects. Has strong lesbian tendencies but avoids any lasting relationship and enjoys arousal through the sight of pain in others. To this end, collects images of female murder victims.’ Shit!
It was really furnace stuff. Naked, as a child, and whipped by her grandfather to cleanse her of unclean thoughts, the file he’d found in Klaus Barbie’s office had indicated. Sodomized by the old bastard because it was safer to shoot the stork up there and female buttocks … Well, at the age of fifteen, what could one say of Prussian sea captains who’d seen it all?
A door closed at a soft word. A light in the hall went out. The blanket slipped from his shoulders as he stuffed the papers back into the briefcase and tried to close the lock … the lock …
‘Johann … Johann, darling, is that you? I … I thought you had gone with the others?’
Kohler switched off the lamp and held his breath. ‘Johann …? Johann, St-Cyr thinks it’s me.’
The door was nudged open and, though he tried to see her, his eyes were not so good. They kept on closing.
‘Johann … Johann …?’
Her perfume enveloped him. He remembered the belfry, remembered a street some place and a whorehouse with palms and lights and ostrich plumes. Corsets too.
‘Johann …?’
She would have a gun, a little pistol. She would find him naked and that would be it. Kohler of the Kripo shot for the attempted rape of a fire chiefs young wife. Ah merde, Louis … Louis, where the fuck are you when needed most?
The saucer of saccharine was filthy. Dead flies from August were one thing, cigarette ashes from then on, another. And the muck they called coffee in the Cafe de la Gare was about as tasteless as the water from a pugmill in a brickyard.
Zombies, in from the cold, coughed, hawked phlegm and blew out each nostril with a knuckle pressed to the other. They shuffled as if in giant boots, their breath steaming. Like a dunghill just before the frost had crucified its inhabitants, the Gare de Perrache was crawling with people. Trains to here, trains to there with long waits in between and no one seeming to care that pride, self-respect and pie de vivre had once been hallmarks of civilization.
Four German soldiers sought a table in between trains but found none. Their rifles were slung over greatcoat shoulders that no longer bore unit insignia for fear such information might be fed to England via clandestine wireless or courier.
Posters decried waste, USE THE WATER FROM YOUR NOODLES TO MAKE A NOURISHING SOUP. SAVE THREAD. UNRAVEL WORN-OUT SOCKS TO MAKE NEW ONES. OPEN YOUR CURTAINS TO LET IN THE SUNLIGHT. DON’T FORGET THAT IT IS A SOURCE OF HEAT. In winter? In Lyon?
WHEN BOILED, BONES RELEASE MUCH PROTEIN AND NOURISHMENT. NEVER THROW THEM OUT BUT ALWAYS THINK OF REUSING THEM THEN SAVE AS A LAST RESORT FOR MAKING SOAP OR POUNDING INTO FERTILIZER.
Make jam without sugar-oh, he knew it well. Do the washing in cold water. It was like a catechism. Use sand for the difficult stains, never mind the fabric! MAKE SALAD OIL OUT OF WHITE LICHEN, A LITRE OF WATER AND A CRUST OF BREAD-what bread? TO TAKE AWAY THE CHEMICAL ODOUR AND TASTE, PURIFY THROUGH POULTICE MUSLIN-in wartime, with all of it confiscated for wounds on the Russian Front? Ah maudit! CONSUME THE OIL WITHIN 48 HOURS TO PREVENT IT FROM GOING RANCID. Rancid!
TWO HUNDRED GRAMS OF MUSHROOMS ARE EQUIVALENT TO ONE SERVING OF BEEFSTEAK!
Starved for tobacco, St-Cyr searched the saucer of saccharine for a cigarette butt to no avail. Hermann was taking forever. What could have kept him? Surely he hadn’t forgotten they had agreed to meet here?