‘And walk naked, is that how I did it, schoolteacher? Naked and with my little bag of stone tools? If so, please tell me who drove him towards me since I did not kill him?’
Danielle was only trying to agitate her so as to escape. ‘You know our father did it. Only he could have walked right up to Monsieur Auger.’
And now you believe it, snorted Danielle inwardly. ‘And what will you do when we three meet? Beg him to tell you the truth, or try to buy your life by letting Herr Oelmann have him?’
They were quite some distance from the shore. The water was getting deep. ‘Mother didn’t deserve to die and neither did Monsieur Auger.’
Were there tears now? wondered Danielle, her hands still held aloft. ‘Beware, schoolteacher. You mingle with the darkness of Cro-Magnon times or was it from the Neanderthal the amulet and the figurines came?’ she taunted. ‘The Abbe Brule made a mistake that father you worshipped so much failed to see in his eagerness and inexperience. And that, my dear half-sister, made him believe the Neanderthal capable of feelings for each other which I’m certain they had.’ She tossed her hands for emphasis. ‘Love and sex, eh? Tenderness and nurturing, and even a belief in the hereafter, since they often buried their dead in the fetal position with dustings of red ochre, tools, and food for their journeys.’
A sadness came. It could not be avoided. ‘The amulet and the Adam and Eve are Cro-Magnon, aren’t they?’
‘Of course. Even Courtet could tell you that but he’s a nothing. He’s no match for our father who hated him so much he refused to let him see the contents of that trunk and made our grandparents swear they would never release it.’
‘Then how did you convince them to do so?’ she asked sharply.
‘Me? Hah! by simply getting the Germans to move it. Our grandparents were very upset at the loss but what could they do since it had been sold? The Professor wanted it so badly, and I made certain he got it because, my dear half-sister, that was what our father wanted. Revenge for having lost the bet that forced him to go to war. Revenge for having had his career terminated. So Henri-Georges created, with my help, a cave so beautiful it would rival Lascaux. A swastika was thrown in for good measure – it was his idea – and what do you think happened, eh? A professor from the Sorbonne who should have known better, made a terrible mistake and became an utter fool. A failure the Germans must now punish.’
They were well out in the river and it was dark, so dark. ‘But mother found out what you were doing, and when she went to meet our father, she refused to wait until the film had been made, refused to go along with any of it, so he … he killed her. It’s true then. True!’
And now you stupid, stupid cow, you have yet to realize in your grief that I am no longer your prisoner and will kill you to save myself.
Kohler cursed their luck. He was soaked right through and damned tired yet still there was no sign of Juliette and Danielle, and he knew he had let Louis down.
Wading in to the bank, he grabbed a branch to steady himself while he drained his shoes and stuffed his stocking feet back into them. He was upriver a good piece and perhaps not far from Auger’s farm. Would they have made for the cottage? Was it worth a try? Hours … it had been hours since Louis had been taken. Ah merde, what was he to do? The stars were fading. The damp, sweet smell of hay came to him and then, as he moved inland, that of the mare.
He stopped. He was in the middle of the pasture now. No sign of the mare, no sound of the geese. Someone must have taken them away.…
The cottage was nestled among walnut trees whose dark silhouette all but hid it.
When he reached the door, he knew he was not alone. When he softly hazarded, ‘Madame,’ she fired.
* * *
One by one they had returned to the cafe. Now there were four of the Sonderkommando with Herr Oelmann. The handcuffs, St-Cyr’s own, were too tight, his arms were aching. The chair, it was too hard, and he had had nothing to wet his throat in hours. Not a sip of the vin paille, not a taste of his beloved pastis.
When Juliette was flung into the cafe to lie bleeding from the forehead on the floor at his feet, despair swept through him. The cut was ragged, about six centimetres long and above the left eye. A handaxe? he said to himself. A handaxe.
‘Hermann … what has happened to Hermann, madame?’
She gave no answer. She was dragged up and thrown into a chair. She was slapped hard and spat blood when they demanded to know what had happened. ‘I tell you nothing, messieurs. Nothing!’
Ah nom de Jesus-Christ! ‘A moment, messieurs. A moment,’ he urged. ‘Bathe her face and dress that wound. Can’t you see she’s terrified of you?’
She was soaked right through. There was mud on her bare feet. A toenail had broken in half. The toe was bleeding.… ‘Messieurs, I beg you,’ he said. ‘Please, I need to know where my partner is.’
‘He’s dead. Dead!’ she cried and sucked in a breath. ‘Danielle … she got away from me. Hermann, he came to Monsieur Auger’s cottage. He did not know she was in there, that for hours she had been hunting me. Me! I had lost the gun, Jean-Louis. She had it! He.…’
Hermann … Hermann, he said to himself, what have I done by getting off that train when Deveaux asked us and you wanted only to continue on to Paris to see your new girlfriend?
The dawn had not yet come, the night was very dark. Cold ashes met fingertips that felt so stealthily they hardly moved.
Verdammt, where was she? wondered Kohler. The cottage was small – just this one room. A table, two benches, stoneware crocks, a bed with big drawers beneath it, a plain armoire, both doors closed and walnuts scattered all over the floor in a desperate but futile search for cocaine.
When he felt the ladder, he felt the smoothness of peeled poplar and the steepness of it. An attic, had she gone up there? Was she now on the roof or only leading him to think this?
Danielle Arthaud, he said and realized in that instant where she was.
The Webley would be with her but had she managed to pick up the handaxe that had fallen to her feet in her dressing-room? he wondered. Had Juliette not seen this happen? Was the schoolteacher now lying dead out there or drifting slowly downstream to catch on a gravel bar and swing lazily back and forth in the current?
He heard Danielle sigh. He knew she was desperate. She hadn’t hit him with that one shot of hers. He’d been through that sort of thing countless times and had known better than to stand in the doorway.
When his fingers touched the soaking wet cloth of her skirt, they found the hem and then the zipper at the back and he had to wonder why the two were so close together.
He heard the hammer fall. Even as he grabbed her wrist and tried to force the gun aside, the sound was there. The metal of the handcuff bit into him. A blinding flash of white-hot light was followed by a deafening bang but then he saw her swing the handaxe. She cried out. She screamed and kicked and bit and fought to kill him … kill him.…
Kohler clutched the gun and the hand that gripped the stone. ‘Batard!’ she shrilled and tried to bite him. He was forcing her back.… ‘My arms … my arms,’ she cried.
As she hit the floor, the gun went off and she pulled him with her, wrapped her legs around him. Together they rolled about, banging into things.
He gave a ragged gasp. Her chest heaved. He was so big, so heavy and strong and he had pinned her to the floor. Ah no.
The gun came free only with difficulty and he slid it as far away as he could. The handaxe was next and that, too, he removed.
She would bite her lower lip to stop herself from shaking, would bite right through it if necessary.