‘And Marie-Leon Barrault?’ asked Louis.
‘Innocent too.’ It had all been lies and they’d made damned sure the Scapini Commission in Berlin learned of it, since they’d had that sour little priest, Father Marescot of the Notre-Dame de Lorette, write the letter.
When Gaston Morel had told her to take the lift in the Hotel Grand, and she’d been photographed doing so, she had gone up to the fourth floor, to a room where one of the Bonzen dabbled on the side in the black market and had aspirins, cough syrup and other medicines for sale. Good stuff, too. Things one could trust, Annette having had a bad cold at the time, a temperature, and the only occasion in which her mother had accepted money from Morel. And as for the manager of the Cinema Imperial trying to get her to have sex with him, one word had been enough, and the muzzle of Louis’s Lebel.
Suzette Dunand they had safely seen on to her train. She might be home by now and would have lots to say when she got there.
‘Which leaves only us, Hermann.’
It didn’t, not quite, but no matter. ‘My boots are leaking again.’
‘You’ll think of something.’
Together they entered the fort within whose cells, it having been built between 1830 and 1848 during the reign of Louis Philippe, languished resistants and others Judge Hercule Rouget had condemned to death but not this late-afternoon’s quota.
The posts were occupied, the blindfolds in place, the volley harsh-sounding on the damp air but brief.
Tall, rheumy-eyed, ramrod stiff in greatcoat and cap, an Iron Cross First Class at the throat, Von Schaumburg had but a few words for them. ‘Your witnessing this won’t look good for either of you, Kohler, but understand that is precisely why I’ve summoned you.’
Maybe 1,500 had been executed so far, maybe more in this most feared of places and buried in its surrounding woods. The Resistance would, of course, be bound to get the wrong message and think this partnership had been present at any number of executions; the Occupier, its SS and Gestapo particularly, would know this wasn’t so, but think the worst of them in any case.
Oberg wasn’t happy and neither was Boemelburg but then, neither were often happy. The Standartenfuhrer Langbehn had been recalled. Sonja Remer hadn’t been able to do what she had most wanted but wouldn’t be leaving the avenue Foch in the near future, so would always be on hand should Oberg take another notion to get rid of them.
Gabrielle was fine, or so it appeared. Safe for the moment, but there’d been no time for her and Louis to spend together.
The bodies were being freed, the blindfolds and ropes to be used again and again, the colonel’s first and then those of the one who had attacked Adrienne Guillaumet so savagely and then had hustled to the passage Jouffroy to rob the stamp shop with the other sous-chef, who now lay beside him.
‘There’s no need for either of you to sign the death notices,’ said Von Schaumburg. ‘My office, and it alone, will take care of that.’
Garnier and Quevillon had also been executed, Berlin pacified. Gradually the streets would return to relative safety. Vivienne Rouget had committed a crime of passion and would never see the inside of a cell or face the breadbasket. Hercule the Smasher was just too valuable to the Occupier, as were those of the Interaliee who had backed the Agence Vidocq. Louis and he would just have to leave it.
‘Until spring comes, Hermann,’ he muttered.
‘Walk with me to my car,’ said Von Schaumburg, ignoring the muted outburst. ‘I’ve something for you.’
Their train would leave at 2000 hours. Vittel was in the Vosges and still in the grip of winter.
‘The Kommandant went to school with me, Kohler. Give him my regards.’
Ach, another Prussian of the old school!
‘And the problem?’ hazarded Louis.
‘Something about a ringer of bells who ought to know, or have known, better. The line wasn’t clear.’
Only when they reached the Citroen did Hermann say, ‘Bellringer, Louis. It has a good ring to it.’
‘Idiot, we’re to get the hell out of Paris and you know it. Wasn’t Talbotte a member of that inner circle?’
A last look uphill was just that, the Kommandant von Gross-Paris’s car heading straight for them as they stepped aside.
‘I’ll drive, Louis. It’s better for you if I’m seen to.’
They got in, were crowded, greeted and licked as if they’d been absent for an eternity. ‘Pour l’amour de Dieu, Hermann, get that animal away from me!’
‘He’s lonely. You’ll get use to him. He’s good for the image.’
‘Ours is tarnished enough!’
Bob was persistent; Bob needed his friends. Finally Louis settled back in defeat to place a hand on Bob’s head, which had somehow found its way into his lap.
‘Do you think the backseat would be better for the two of you?’ offered Kohler. There was no answer. ‘Bellringer, Louis. It must have something to do with a monk or priest, or novice or one or the other. Bob’s going to love it. He’ll feel right at home. It’ll be good for him.’
Hermann always had to have the last word. In a way, the Occupier in him demanded it but some philosophical thing at least should be said just to put him off stride and make him think.
A sigh would be best, and then, ‘There are no endings, Hermann, only beginnings.’
Notes
* a vehicle powered by wood- or charcoal-gas
** The Internationale Kriminalpolizeiliche Kommission, the forerunner of Interpol.
*** the Security Service of the SS and Nazi Party
**** There are now well over 100,000 graves.
***** Antoine de St-Exupery’s employer in Vol de Nuit (Night Flight) 1931
****** Destroyed by fire in 1984, the dinh was from what is now South Vietnam.
******* The Toronto Globe and Mail of 4 May 2003 reported that the millionth had been served. Unfortunately Goring’s numbers weren’t listed in the article, nor were those of any other of the Occupier.
******** On 24 August 1944, at the close of the Occupation, some of these were used, causing considerable damage to the Chateau and adjacent buildings.
******** this was still possible but eventually under U.S. pressure, Argentina broke off relations with the Third Reich on 26 January 1944