“We should take a change of clothes with us. Some for the children, don’t you think?”
“Coffee first,” he said.
She sat in silence, taking in the room she thought had been forgotten. A few hours here and she could make a delightful meal for the family, maybe one of Leverette’s favorites◦– a cheese soufflé. The rations provided enough for a small dish. How she longed for a delicious home cooked meal. After weeks of eating Hiram’s packs of food, she thought she might kill for a decent dish.
Garon ran coffee beans through the grinder, the familiar crunch announcing the rich scent to follow. She missed real coffee.
“Where did you get coffee? I don’t remember it being on the ration card.”
“I—” a sound outside interrupted Garon’s words. He set down the sack towel. “Stay here. I’ll see what is going on.”
“I saw a light on in the neighbor’s house. Maybe something happened to them.”
“Perhaps.” The light of a torch passed by the front window. Garon slipped out the door, closing it behind him.
Rosette waited as instructed, the kettle on the stove beginning to moan as the water came to a boil. When the front door opened, it was not Garon who stepped inside. A policeman entered the house. Her heart sunk. She had made it so close to escaping.
“No, I’m not even Jewish,” Rosette said. Her voice riddled with desperation. She backed away from the man. “They are going to kill all of us. I can’t go back there. I know what you are doing to those people. I’m part of it because my great-great-grandmother fell in love with a man who was born Jewish. I’m Catholic!”
“Rosette, I am Emile Locard. We need to get you out of here,” the policeman said.
“It doesn’t matter who you are. I’m not going back to one of those camps. You’ll have to shoot me. Please. One shot,” Rosette said.
“I do not want to hurt you,” he said. “I think we need to talk.”
She searched for a way out of the kitchen. If she could slide past the policeman, she could run outside. Garon would be waiting to get them out together, just like he planned.
The policeman stepped farther into the kitchen. “Come with me,” he said. “I can keep you safe.”
“You are one of them,” Rosette said. “How can I trust you?”
“You think you can trust your husband?” Locard said.
“Of course. I needed to go away for the children. We both thought it would be better for them.”
“And where are your children now?”
“With family. Garon can’t hold his job with the responsibility of the children. He is an important man you know.”
Locard’s voice grew harder. “He turned your children in too, Madame.”
“No. Can’t be. He loves them.”
“He loves himself more. I read the report. He turned your kids over to the police. Said they might turn on him. He is protecting himself.”
“He wouldn’t do it,” Rosette said, her voice soft, disbelieving.
“Who do you think called the police?” Locard paused, waited for her response, but she said nothing. “Come with me, quietly. I know of a place where you will be safe.”
“The children◦– can you help me find them?” Rosette said.
“I don’t know where the children have been taken,” Locard said.
“Please,” she begged. “Sophie is so little. She’ll never survive. Please.”
“I can try. Will you come with me?”
Rosette looked at Locard, then back to the door. “Promise you’ll help me find them.”
“I’ll help.” He looked back to the door, as if waiting for Garon to come back in as well. “Now, come with me. We don’t have much time to get you out of here. If I am gone too long my superior will suspect.”
Rosette walked toward the man. He grabbed her arm and squeezed. “Walk with me, and don’t say anything.”
She nodded and followed his instructions.
As they approached the policeman’s car, Garon approached her. He walked with purpose, as if he intended to take down the policeman. At that moment, she knew they were getting out of this place, out of France. Rosette played out her part in her head. She would grab Locard’s pistol as she tried to set him off balance. Then she could get him to the ground.
Garon closed in on her position. Rosette turned as if she wanted to say goodbye to her husband, setting her in the perfect position to take down the policeman.
But the man she had been married to for eight years wanted to clear his own name with the policeman named Locard. “I wasn’t hiding her,” he said. “She just showed up. I called you as soon as she walked in the door.” Rosette’s world fell apart.
“You took the appropriate action. We’ll make sure her actions are punished,” the officer said as he opened the door for Rosette. She climbed in, her action’s mechanical, tears streaming down her face. He closed her door and climbed in himself.
As the car’s engine started, Garon yelled “filthy Jew” at the car and spit on ground.
22
0715 hours, Wednesday, August 5, 1942, Perpignan, Pyrénées-Orientales Department, Vichy France
Captain Louis Petain arrived at the office early. His assistant had reported a call about a Jewish woman breaking into a home in Brugheas. All of the Jewish people in the town had been rounded up back in June. He heard of no exceptions in the area. With a small army of his men living and patrolling in the town, Petain doubted they missed a single woman. The French families in the area knew better than to hide the Jews in their homes or on their property. He had seized more property in the last three months than the office had in the previous ten years for such intolerable behavior. Perhaps one of his men had become soft.
He had decided to send an officer out to the site anyway.
The call had come in before dawn. Petain recalled few details. Perhaps he had not paid enough attention. He had been so distracted by the mess caused by this mysterious Jew-loving soldier that his interest in the mundane day-to-day operations of running this office dwindled. Of course, he remained skeptical of his direct reports ensuring things ran well without him.
“Bonjour Capitaine Petain,” his assistant Rubi said as he approached her desk. Her energy escalated his unpleasant mood. She worked harder than the assistants he hired in the past and she made one hell of an espresso. Both warranted keeping her around. Her willingness to share information◦– gossip as she called it◦– deemed her an ally. “Espresso this morning, sir?”
“Yes,” he said and then headed to his office, almost forgetting the break-in. “Was the suspect in this morning’s break-in apprehended?”
“Thibult was going to go, but then the assignment was taken over by Monsieur Locard. I have no confirmation on the outcome, sir.”
“Locard? Why would Locard be making house calls?”
The assistant looked at him for a moment, unsure how to address his question. “I—”
Just then Petain saw Thibult step into the office area.
“Perhaps Officer Thibult will be able to provide an explanation as to why a criminalist’s time was spent apprehending a break-in suspect.” Petain spoke loud enough for Thibult to hear him. Two other officers in the office looked from Petain to Thibult.
Thibult quickened his pace to join Petain. “Sir, Locard believed the call was related to another case he was working on. He had asked to be informed if any calls to the police were made concerning that location. Said you would prefer that he address the situation.”
“And you allowed Emile Locard to address the situation alone?”
“It was one girl, sir. He said he could handle it.”
“And where is Locard now?”