Had this one been a Hauptmann in the last war? wondered Deloitte uneasily, ‘I dropped them off at the puppet theatres and the giant doll’s house. They were to spend a little time there and then were to have tea in the children’s restaurant. Nénette was fond of taking tea. Her mother was British. The child used to say it made her feel closer to her dead mother.’
The doll’s house might have suited the switching of the coats, but as for the rest of the outing, it had probably never happened. ‘At about what time did you drop them off?’
‘At thirteen-ten hours-it’s in my log, in the glove compartment. Monsieur Vernet requires that I keep an accurate record of all trips just in case the authorities might wish to question his using his own car.’
‘Don’t be blaming me for what’s happened, eh? Just stick to the matter at hand.’
‘I will.’
‘The eleven o’clock Mass?’
‘The ten o’clock.’
‘Two hours, then. What the hell did they do, Sergeant? Pray for that long?’
Sergeant … ‘Mademoiselle Nénette wished to visit the belfries of the Notre-Dame, and one of the good fathers was prevailed upon to allow her to do so, since it was not a regularly scheduled time for such a visit.’
‘Okay, so why the interest?’
‘Look, monsieur …’
‘It’s Inspector.’
A fist was clenched only to be relaxed in defeat. ‘Inspector, the master did not want Mademoiselle Nénette doing such a thing but … ah, the child, she has pleaded with me and I … Please, I … I could seldom say no to her, especially not after the deaths of her dear father and mother. It is to my discredit and shame that I let her and Mademoiselle Chambert disobey her uncle’s wishes and now … now … all those trips I let them take on the métro, all that freedom, it has come back to …’
‘Easy. I know how you must feel. The ten o’clock Mass, the belfries, and then the doll’s house? That’s fine, were it not for one thing I’m certain you’re as aware of as I am. The Sandman has killed four others, and one of those murders was up in the belfries of the Notre-Dame.’
The chauffeur’s head was bowed in defeat. Had the man a rifle and helmet, they would have hung at his sides, and how many times had he himself seen such things? wondered Kohler, remembering past battlefields and war-weary men.
‘The belfry?’ he asked gently.
There was a nod. ‘Nénette had read all the newspaper reports. She and her little friend were both much concerned and wishing they could do something to … to put a stop to … to the killings.’
Amateur sleuths, then. Ah nom de Jésus-Christ, what had the two of them stumbled upon? ‘Look, I won’t say anything of this side trip to the belfries unless I absolutely have to. Just tell me where I can find Mademoiselle Chambert. I presume she went off somewhere because I don’t think she was with the girls when it happened. Did she go home? Is she now under sedation?’
His expression was grim. ‘Ah no, Inspector. You see, she has … has not yet returned.’
‘Not returned.’
‘No, and that is most unlike her.’
The snow continued, and all about the garden was a hush, that of the city, too, and one could never quite adjust to the silence where once there had been traffic and commotion at nearly all hours.
‘Madame …’ said St-Cyr. ‘You mentioned a companion?’
‘Yes, Liline Chambert.’ The women drew on the cigarette and snuggled her toes deeper into the warmth of his hands. ‘Liline and Nénette were always very close. Like two sisters, though one is much older, of course. Eighteen, I think, or is it nineteen now? Antoine … my husband, he gave the girl a part-time job to help fill the void that was created by the tragic deaths of the child’s parents.’
‘The bombing,’ he sighed, for she had told him of it. ‘Escape to England only to find no escape at all.’
Not escape, please. We … we do not say such things. My brother-in-law went to England on business and to try to calm the fears of those people, and since my sister-in-law was British, she went along to visit her family.’
The detective indicated that he understood the delicacy of using such words as ‘escape,’ but made no comment about calming ‘the fears of those people’. His hands had long since lost timidity and now gently massaged her feet. Had he a wife? she wondered. A woman? Certainly he seemed to understand her need to be calmed, yet he sat so like a priest in his suit and fedora, with the snow dusting his shoulders and sleeves, she had to wonder about him. Her long legs were stretched out; her back rested against an arm of the bench. She was cosily wrapped in his overcoat, but was it that he was worried she might explore the pockets of his coat? Was that what was troubling him? If so, he need not have worried, no, not at all.
She heaved an inward sigh and said silently, It was my duty, to examine those things Nénette had in her pockets. I had to make myself aware of what the child had discovered.
‘Antoine,’ she said. ‘Bien sûr, he … he has done everything possible to make things right for Nénette. He gave up his beautiful house near Rambouillet, the house his father had given us at our marriage, and moved us in here. He kept all the servants. He wanted the child to feel at home in the house she had always loved.’
‘And had inherited.’
‘Yes. Yes, that is so, of course. The factories, too, when she comes of age-everything, you understand. Just everything. But … but now …’
She gave a ragged sob and burst into tears-flung the cigarette away and cried, ‘Ah merde, merde, why did I not force Antoine to listen to her?’ She sucked in a breath. ‘Forgive me, I … I had best go in. I might say things I shouldn’t. He … he’s not to be blamed for what happened, is he?’
Passing her the clean handkerchief he always kept for such occasions and others, St-Cyr gave her a moment. He took out his pipe and tobacco pouch and began that pleasant task of preparing to settle down.
A spare few, careless crumbs of tobacco fell on her bare feet, a waste, a sacrifice he would normally never have made had he not wished to unsettle her-yes, yes. And she felt them as if they were grains of silicon carbide or the hot turnings of metal from a lathe in one of the factories, even to catching in her imagination the pungent odour of burnt cutting oil. ‘Inspector … Antoine just doesn’t understand children. He’s far too busy now, since the death of his brother. He’s been dragged in from semi-retirement and forced, yes forced, to work for a living. Children have their little games, isn’t that so? It was just a game, wasn’t it? But … but,’ she blurted in tears again, ‘it wasn’t a game! It wasn’t!’
Her feet began to leave his lap. He clamped a hand down on them and said, ‘No, we will stay. A child has been murdered, madame. Murdered.’ He softened his voice. ‘Now, please, what game?’
‘She … she had been following the killings. She was convinced the … the Sandman would strike again and … ah, may God forgive me, and in the Bois, in or near the Jardin d’Acclimatation.’
He gave her another moment and at last, when he made no comment, she said, ‘Antoine, he … he dominates everything. He issues directives as the Occupier does ordinances. He believes I talk nonsense when really I spoke the truth and warned him the child was on to something.’
Snow was brushed from the detective’s sleeve. A match was struck and then another and another. At last his pipe was lit and savoured in that first moment, and she knew then that he was delighting in the pause, that he was relishing the time to reflect on what she had said.
‘They … they went to Mass, Inspector. Liline and Nénette. Liline, she was like Antoine in that she didn’t believe the child either but would humour her all the same. They … I know they visited the belfries of the Notre-Dame. Nénette, she confided this desire to me the other day. She … she has said she had to see where one of the schoolgirls had been murdered.’