Kohler swept his eyes over the dodgy little pseudo-Führer with the tiny grey moustache. ‘Self-immolation, eh? Hey, that means remorse, my fine one Who reported the killing to you?’
‘Remorse …? Ah, Foumier, one of my best men. He … he was discreet. Please believe me, we held off for as long as possible.’
‘Who invited the press?’
‘No one. All will soon be charged with breaking the curfew and will spend the rest of the night in the cells. If we smash a few cameras that is just too bad, since it is all but impossible to replace them.’
Curfew was at midnight now unless otherwise reduced as a citywide punishment and reprisal in addition to the taking of hostages for some act of terrorism or disobedience. Kohler glanced beyond the sous-préfet to the darkened shapes of the members of the news media. Paris-Soir, Le Matin, et cetera, et cetera. All collaborationist and controlled, as were Radio-Paris and Radio-Vichy. ‘Did your man tear her coat pocket when he took a look at her identity papers?’
Indignantly the sous-préfet leapt to the defence. ‘Her pocket …? Ah, but … but I myself have asked him this and he has denied it. Please, we are not so careless.’
‘Then why the subservience, Sous-préfet? Why the hangdog look? I’m not about to eat you.’
‘Nor I you, particularly as there are others who are hungry for the hearts and livers of a certain two detectives.’
‘Where’s Talbotte?’ asked Kohler suspiciously.
It would be best to fry the goose in axle grease and not to smile as the flames consumed it, even though, when seen in the lantern light, the Bavarian, he was especially formidable. ‘The préfet of Paris and the Île-de-France is keeping his distance, since the Kommandant von Gross-Paris is completely in charge of the investigation.’
‘And your boss hates my partner with a passion. Hey, I think I’ve got the message.’ Insidiously jealous of his turf, Préfet Talbotte had been flattened by Louis on a recent case. Unfortunately, the Sûreté’s gumshoe had told the préfet in no uncertain terms that he had been gathering evidence against him. Evidence of corruption outright collaboration and worse. Ah nom de Dieu, de Dieu, things were never easy and could only get more difficult. ‘Let me talk to the one who found her. Tell the relatives we don’t want to see them anywhere near here and will call on them shortly. Oh, by the way, where are her mother and father?’
The préset had warned him of these two detectives. He was to ‘cooperate’ but to do so while keeping one hand behind his back, fingers crossed. ‘Dead also, but some time ago.’
‘Dead?’
‘Yes. The aunt and uncle are raising her as their own. Monsieur Vernet makes things for the submarines of Herr Dönitz. Other little items also. Tank parts, gun parts, munitions and explosives. Classified things. He is very important, very well connected and not inclined to take no for an answer, but I, ah! I am sure he will find the will to understand your request, though he will most certainly bring the matter up when he confers with the General von Schaumburg at their weekly briefing. It is tomorrow, I believe. Yes … yes, now that I have thought the matter over, I am absolutely certain it is always on a Monday unless something interferes.’
Ah damn …
When the man joined him, Kohler drew him aside into deeper darkness but still, though he wanted to, could not find the stomach to offer a cigarette. It would be too much like bribery in any case, particularly as tobacco was almost always in such short supply.
‘Begin at the beginning. Leave nothing out.’
‘Of course. Part of my beat includes the Jardin d’Acclimatation, particularly the children’s zoo, and amusement park. Sunday afternoons are busy, even in winter At fifteen-fifty seven hours I was patrolling near the Norman farm. Monsieur Amirault, the custodian of the doves, he has hurried to summon me. A murder, a child, the Sandman. Together we have run from there to the riding stables, then to the clay-pigeon shoot, and from there to the cage. He … he is also in charge of the clay pigeons. Sometimes one of the Boches, the Germans … Ah, excuse me, Inspector. Sometimes they … they command him to release a few doves so as to … to perfect their target practice.’
Hence the custodian’s absence during the murder, was that it, and all carefully thought out so as to have an answer ready? ‘We’ll see. We’ll have to ask him ourselves.’
‘As you wish, Inspector. We are here to assist you.’
I’ll bet, thought Kohler, snorting inwardly and cursing Talbotte for the bastard he was. Police couriers must have been hurtling back and forth. ‘Was anything other than her identity card touched?’
‘Anything else …? But … but … Ah no, of course not. I have simply leaned over her to tease the ID out, then have put it back just as I found it with … with the pocket torn a little.’
‘But to get at it you would have had to dig into each pocket?’
‘I was lucky. The left pocket. I had no need to try the other one.’
‘Good. Then tell me who lifted her change purse?’
Ah merde, had it been stolen? ‘But … but there was no purse, Inspector. I swear it.’
‘Yet she comes to the Bois without a sou? An heiress to what?’
‘Billions.’
‘Sweat a little, mon fin. Think about it, eh? To say there was no purse is to imply you had a thorough look. Let honesty touch your heart lest we haul you in, and haul we will if we have to. As sure as that God of my partner’s made heiresses, He gave them the wits to take along a little change for the pony rides.’
‘I … I will have to ask the others.’
‘You do that. Now lead me to the custodian. Maybe it’s his tongue that needs loosening.’
‘Two girls,’ said St-Cyr softly to the victim as the doves watched him with such sorrowful eyes he knew they were freezing. ‘School friends who tried to switch identities. Both of you would have worn your school uniforms under your coats, since the hems of the skirts, the lower parts of the socks, the boots and gloves would have been seen. Yes, yes, am I right? The braids perhaps tucked underneath your hats and your coat collars turned up to further hide the difference in your hair-ah! yours is indeed turned up. Everything would have matched, but then what would be the sense of switching coats? A mistake, you say? A restaurant? A cup of that ersatz hot chocolate which tastes like clay and is not made with milk but with saccharine added? Ah no, my little friend.’ He sadly shook his head. ‘These days no one-I repeat no one-hangs their coat up in a public place for fear of theft. It’s usually far too cold inside anyway. No, you see the switch was deliberate. We have the note you dropped. Je t’aime. Presumably, since it was in your hand when attacked, you treasured it and perhaps had received it only moments before. Therefore, unless I am very mistaken, your friend the heiress wore her school coat and uniform on this outing while you wore perhaps a brightly coloured coat and beret or toque-not your school ones. All else was the same so that at a distance, especially from behind, one could not tell the two of you apart except for the coats, the scarves and the hats-yes, yes, that’s it, isn’t it, but why was the switch made?’
He paused. He looked at her. He silently pleaded for answers, then breathed, ‘You must have known you would be followed, but by whom? You had both planned it all well beforehand, hadn’t you, but had not thought either of you would be killed once the mistake was discovered.
‘Then was it the Sandman?’ he asked and had to answer sadly, ‘How could it have been?’
It was not good, ah no, it most certainly wasn’t. The city was up in arms and demanding they put a stop to the killer. In this, Parisians were united with the Occupier, and God help His two detectives if the assailant turned out to be anything but French. Ah yes. There were perhaps one hundred and fifty or even two hundred thousand of the Occupier in Paris and its environs. Who really knew how many of them there were? The Germans coveted the city and used it for rest and recuperation, so the traffic in and out was constant. Soldatenheime-hotels and guesthouses-were scattered throughout to billet the common soldiers. The Ritz was for generals and very special people; the Claridge, at 74 Champs-Élysées, was for still more generals and holders of the Knight’s Cross. Of the one hundred and twenty licenced brothels, forty were for the troops, four for their immediate officers, one for their generals, two for the SS and no less than five for the Gestapo, to say nothing of the countless ‘trade’ commissioners and buyers, et cetera.