The change purse was swept up and stuffed into the giant’s coat pocket. ‘The doves, Inspector, they are for … for the one who has shot them this … this afternoon.’
Ah! Now we’re getting somewhere. And who might that have been?’
The … the General von Schaumburg.’
Ah nom de Jésus-Christ! what the hell was this?
‘I am to see that they are delivered to the head chef at the Ritz tomorrow morning. They … they are for a little dinner party General von Schaumburg is throwing in honour of General Halder’s visit.’
How cosy, and no wonder Old Shatter Hand wanted a certain two detectives right under his big Prussian thumb and no questions asked. Shit!
‘All right, you can lower your hands, but put the last of the sticks on the fire and break up one of the chairs. I have to see you better.’
‘The chairs … but … but they are from the reign of the Sun King?’
‘Hey, he won’t mind. Oh, all right, just the sticks. Turn sideways to the light. I want to see if you’re not just a petty thief but a liar also.’
A liar … Ah merde, he had meant it, too. ‘Please, I did not steal the purse. It had fallen from her pocket-the left one-and was lying there when I found her. I was afraid the cows-the police … ah! forgive me-would steal it.’
‘Mort aux vaches, eh? [Death to cops.] The left pocket. You’re sure of this?’ In searching for her ID, the killer must have dragged the purse out.
There was a nod. When approached, the custodian stank of sour wine, no bathing whatsoever, lots of garlic to ward off hunger, and those damned rutabagas. Bad teeth showed nicotine stains, but glimpses of gold gave a hint of better times. ‘Was von Schaumburg alone at the clay-pigeon shoot or were there others with him?’
Things would not go well, thought the custodian. The greatcoat was huge, the fedora fierce, the face … Ah, gentle Jesus, help this sinner … ‘Alone. Just the Kommandant von Gross-Paris and myself. The time, it had been reserved, you understand Fifty of the clay pigeons and then … then the doves. I … I visited the cage twice, Inspector. Taking eight birds first because the General, he has thought they would be enough, then another four after he had explored the breasts of the others and had decided more meat was needed.’
A connoisseur. ‘Did you see the child? Was she anywhere near the cage? At exactly what time?’
‘From two-thirty until three-thirty, the shooting. “An hour of sport to tame the eye and calm the blood,” the General has said. But at the last, the doves to fill the casserole, since one cannot eat clay pigeons, can one? It’s impossible. I … I would have been at the cage from three-ten until three-fifteen-one does not keep a general waiting, so I ran from here to there and back and the doves they are very tame and unsuspecting usually.’
‘Hey, that’s interesting. And then?’
‘Again at three-twenty perhaps, or three-twenty-five, the … the new time. Berlin Time.’
The birds looked in excellent shape, not torn to pieces by birdshot that would only break the teeth if left. ‘A four-ten shotgun?’ asked Kohler curiously.
‘The sixteen gauge, the full sweep so as to lead them on the wing and spread the pattern, letting only a few of the pellets caress the necks and kiss the heads.’
‘And the child?’ The fire was dying. The hearth was littered with white feathers …
‘Well?’ shot the detective suddenly.
It would do no good to lie to him. The slash down his face, the graze across his brow … ‘I … I did not lock the cage as was my custom, Inspector. The child, she … she would have run in there to hide at … at about three-thirty. Or perhaps it was after I had first gone there, so at three-fifteen.’
The custodian shrugged as if to say, How is one to know exactly when one is occupied with other matters and does not even suspect such a thing of happening?
Kohler hauled out a packet of U-boat cigarettes and tossed it among the feathers. ‘Okay, I think you’re telling me the truth, but I’m still going to need your help or it’s no deal with the change purse. Try to remember who else was about. The riding stables are just over there on the other side of this cottage, the route de Madrid passes behind the fireplace. There are woods in front of the clay-pigeon shoot. The allée de Longchamp is to my right and not two hundred metres away. Were there other children?’
Such an eye for detail demanded answer. ‘Yes. Walking in the woods.’
‘With the nuns?’
Nuns? I saw no sisters of the cloth, Inspector. ‘They do not like to come near here when … when the doves of peace are being slaughtered.’
‘The doves of peace? There’s no signboard proclaiming that.’
‘Ah no. No, Inspector. It is only that since we are a … a defeated nation that …’ Ah, why had he said it? wondered Amirault desperately. ‘It is only since the war in Russia has turned against you … you people that … that some have taken to calling them such.’
Was it yet another sign of the growing discontent? wondered Kohler. People were beginning to think the end of the Occupation might come. Their only question was when. ‘Okay, so a man … the Sandman. The child is running. She sees the cage and that the lock is off. She darts in there, but …’
‘But he finds her, this sadique. He opens her clothing, pushes it up but … but there is no time. He kills her. Black … Ah now, a moment, please, Inspector. I did see something black out of the corner of my eye, but the General, he has told me to gather in the doves he has shot and I … I have done so.’
‘The first or the last batch?’
‘The first. Yes, Inspector, I am positive, because there were eight of them and one had flown into the forest and I had trouble finding it. The General, he has insisted he had taken it on the wing and has cursed me for doubting him. He was correct, of course.’ The custodian ducked his head in deference.
‘Then the time was between three-ten and three-twenty and you saw someone in black. Black like your jerkin, eh? Black as in a Gestapo uniform? Black as in a woollen overcoat, or maybe it was dark blue like the one she’s wearing?’
‘I …’ Ah nom de Dieu … ‘I cannot be certain. Black, I think, but dark blue, I don’t know. Perhaps.’
‘And the cage?’
‘Please, I … I should have locked it. I will lose my job. It isn’t much, but …’
‘But others depend on your salary,’ came the sigh. Two hundred francs a day, would he be paid even that when a loaf of bread, if he could find it, would cost him at least a hundred? ‘What does the General pay you for the doves?’
‘Twenty francs each.’
‘Mein Gott, the price of bloody crows on the black market is ten and they taste like hell even after hours of boiling!’
‘You must use the mustard sauce.’
‘Never mind the fucking sauce!’
Kohler pulled out the thin remains of a wad of notes that once would have choked a horse had it not been for the cook of U-297 on their last investigation. ‘Here, I’ll pay you one hundred each. You keep them here and I’ll personally deliver them to the General at oh-seven-hundred hours tomorrow, or is it already tomorrow?’
It was. The countdown had begun for their first report. They had about six and a half hours left. No time to telephone Giselle and Oona at the flat to tell them he was home, no time to drop in and surprise them. No time even for Louis to go home to an empty house and a wife and son who were no longer there.
‘The Resistance.’ He let a breath escape in midthought, didn’t really care if the custodian understood. ‘They did it. Thinking my partner was a collaborator, they set a bomb for him. His wife and son came home from the arms of her German lover to an unexpected surprise.’
A month ago-had it been that long? he wondered. A little longer, he thought, and said, ‘We try not to talk about it, and sure someone new has come along-war does that. It speeds up death and love, makes friendships instant but then destroys them. He’s still on the Resistance’s hit lists. Well, some of them, but he’s no collabo. Now forget I said any of that and have the doves ready for me at oh-six-five-five hours. Leave them unwrapped. Just tie a string around each of their necks so that I can dangle them from my fist.’