And so much for the Veronal this one must have known was missing. ‘Are those shopkeepers she frequents veterans?’
‘Why, yes, some of them. They must be, mustn’t they? Mon Dieu, how many fought in that last war?’
‘Too many, myself among them.’
‘My husband also.’
But had that girl purposely left a full shopping bag somewhere safe outside the flat when she had returned today? If so, there had been no evidence of previous such forays.
‘Noelle always managed a little, Inspector. Indeed, there were those here that I had to caution about being envious. The girl was tres jolie. The figure, the complexion, those eyes of hers, the way she walked … They all saw these, of course, and some wanted to think the worst when she would come back loaded with a cabbage or, better still, a few potatoes or a small cut of beef most could only imagine.’
‘But did that happen often and did those “veterans” you spoke of help her in other ways?’
‘Not often, only enough to engender envy. She always knew the prices and would complain about the inflation, like everyone else. She could be kind, too, Inspector. Once she gave me two eggs for my grandsons; once a chocolate bar they were to share. “Sharing’s something that must be learned,” she said. “It will help them with their mathematics also.” Swiss it was and very good, though my daughter-in-law and I only had the aroma of it and the pleasure of watching as it was shared one square a day for each until gone. Other things, too. Shoes … Where or how she managed to get them, I’ll never know, but when I spoke of their need-small boys will keep growing no matter how skinny-that girl found a way. Five hundred francs they cost me for the two pairs but a bargain. A positive bargain!’
A sainte. ‘And the means?’
‘Pardon?’
‘Come, come, madame, had she something to give in exchange other than the cash?’
‘That I wouldn’t know, Inspector, nor would I have asked.’
Nothing among the contents of today’s shopping had indicated any advantage beyond being adept at scrounging, but sometimes she had had success, and sometimes she hadn’t. ‘Wood shavings and sawdust …’ he muttered. ‘Where would she have got them?’
‘Where but from the maker of the coffins that are used for those here who have no known relatives or names.’
Those coffins were made of spruce, not oak or mahogany, or teak and walnut-had there also been rosewood and birch? he had to wonder, but would have to wait until he could ask the gerbils.
Herr Kohler hadn’t just driven them home from the church, thought Marie-Leon. He had driven to place de l’Opera and had let the car sit a moment opposite the Cafe de la Paix, which had appeared, of course, to be all but in total darkness, the velo-taxi stand also, but lots of traffic, lots of coming and going. Shielded torch beams had flicked on and off to save on the batteries few could find even if they had the cash to spare. Cigarettes had glowed, there’d been laughter-that of girls, that of their men friends, all of them out for a good time.
Without a word, he had then driven to the Ecole Centrale, where Madame Guillaumet had taught night school and in front of which she had stepped into that taxi totally unaware of what was to happen or even that its driver wasn’t the same as she had spoken to earlier.
He had taken herself and Annette to the passage de la Trinite where the only light was from the cigarettes of the women in that place and the dim blue bulb above the door of a maison de passe. Dieu merci, he hadn’t insisted on taking her to the Hotel-Dieu to be confronted with the sight of that poor woman. Would he save that for later?
Now they sat in the car, in the darkness of the rue Taitbout, he having wisely parked some distance from her building, but she had to wonder if he would insist on coming up.
‘I don’t condemn,’ he said, but in spite of this, there was a sadness to him that could only mean he thought the worst of her. ‘I just need answers.’
The ignition was switched off, her heart sinking. Annette sat very still between them and yes, it was as if she could hear her daughter swallowing. ‘Inspector …’
‘Annette, there are some things in the backseat that you and your mother could use.’
‘I can’t accept them, Inspector. I mustn’t. Please …’
‘A few potatoes, some onions …’
‘If you give me anything, or even come up to the apartment, Monsieur Aubin, the concierge, or that wife of his will report it. His brother-in-law is a file clerk at the Prefecture.’
‘I am the police.’
‘That won’t matter, not with them. It will only be sauce to the goose.’
‘Then start by telling me why you went to confession?’
‘Was I sexually intimate with Gaston? Ah, mon Dieu, you’re just like my stepsister and everyone else! My husband is a prisoner of war. I deliberately offer temptation and am lonely, aren’t I? Vulnerable, ah, oui, oui, and am also having a hell of a time making ends meet!’
Cringing, shuddering at such an outburst, Annette tried to make herself as small as possible. If she’d had magic dust, she knew she would have showered it on herself to vanish, but would have sneezed!
When Herr Kohler didn’t say anything, Maman knew she must.
‘You needn’t worry about my speaking of such things in front of my daughter, Inspector. Annette has had her ears scorched by that priest.’
‘MAMAN, I DIDN’T TELL HIM YOU WERE SLEEPING WITH ANYONE OTHER THAN ME. I DIDN’T!’
‘Then what did you tell him, petite?’
‘I DON’T HAVE TO TELL YOU. THE CONFESSIONAL IS PRIVATE.’
Oh-oh.
‘Hate it or not, private or not, you had best let me in on it. Silence is by far the hardest of punishments, is it not, especially when one is forced to sleep in one’s bed in another room and it is terribly dark and there is no one to talk to.’
Tears wouldn’t help, but the rain of them couldn’t be stopped. The car would fill up, Annette knew, and then … then this Gestapo who had such a terrible slash down the face, would have to open the door and flush them all out on to the street!
‘Annette …’
‘Father Marescot says Papa is holding steadfast and that you should also do so and not be tempted.’
‘I’m not. How dare that priest …’
The nose was wiped with the fingers, a hiccup given. ‘You are, Maman. I have heard you!’
‘Heard what?’
‘Must I confess to you?’
‘Most certainly!’
Again the nose had to be wiped, the Boche trying to find a handkerchief she wouldn’t have used even if taken before the firing squad! ‘You … you touch yourself. At night, in our bed. You catch your breath and … and then you cry out through your teeth so as not to waken me. Sometimes it takes a long, long time and you only sigh; sometimes the sigh, it is given at the last, after the … the tooth-cry and the gasp.’
Ah, Sainte-Mere, Sainte-Mere! ‘Cherie, listen to me. I only do that because I miss your father. I … I think I still must love him, but no longer know if he’ll feel the same about me.’
‘Father Marescot says that what you’ve been doing is a sin and that you’re going to burn in hell. Papa and I will never see you in heaven when we die. Never, Maman. Never!’
Ach, du lieber Gott, what was the matter with that priest?