J. Janes - Dollmaker

‘All right, we’ll see what they have to say.’

‘Then let me tie my shoelace. I wouldn’t want to trip and have you hot shots start firing.’

‘Hermann, is that you?’ came the call of a blind man who could see well enough.

‘Yeah, it’s me. That shoelace is busted again. Ah Gott im Himmel , Louis, the lousy bastards who make them should be shot.’

Schultz felt the Beretta jammed under his chin. ‘ Don’t ,’ breathed Kohler. ‘We wouldn’t want to spoil our dinner, especially not when we’ve got the cook with us.’

The chicken soup was good, the tinned ham from Alsace superb when fried with chopped, boiled potatoes, green onions, tomatoes and a sprinkling of basil. Not turbot or sole or oysters, ah no, of course not, thought St-Cyr, but beggars could not quibble. Schultz had had the ham and the dried soup mix, both staples of U-boat fare, in a box under the seat of the lorry. There was real coffee too, not the meagre three beans of authenticity Vichy doled out on top of every bag of the ersatz stuff that, even though it was so lousy, was still labelled ‘coffee’ and still rationed to half a kilogram per month per family.

Everyone had partaken of the meal, some not tasting it at all but eating it as people did these days, never knowing if it would be their last or someone would steal it hot off the plate.

They had cleaned themselves up and wore dry clothes that had been parcelled out by the pianist. Now the lines above the kitchen stove were once more heavily draped, and his shoes dripped the last of their run-off on to the hot iron.

Hélène Charbonneau’s hands had been attended to. The child sat between her and the husband. Schultz was beside Hermann who would translate when necessary. The Préfet was at the other end of the table from the Sûreté. Out of deference, the bracelets had been removed.

Now all were waiting for the Sûreté to begin. He would light his pipe and take the time to contemplate each of them with one notable absence, that of the Captain.

The woman met his gaze steadily and did not flinch, so much so, that he could but find admiration for her and wanted to say, Be at peace. My partner and I will help you all we can.

But, of course, he could not do so. There were now two further murders to consider.

Unable yet to view the bodies of these latest victims, he could only trust to Hermann’s incomplete remembrances of them.

Contrary to what both he and Hermann had come to believe, when faced with the gravity of the situation, Yvon Charbonneau had revealed an acceptance of reality that was sobering and far from the symphony he heard and the megaliths he searched.

Kerjean did not turn away from meeting his gaze either. They were three very formidable adversaries.

Death’s-head Schultz was the fourth. Only Angélique bowed her head and moved her lips silently in a prayer for absolution.

‘Good. Now let us begin,’ he said, removing his pipe just long enough to motion at them with it. ‘The key to this whole business is that one must think as the Dollmaker did. One must have the Allied freighter or troopship right beneath the intersection of the cross hairs.’

Kerjean asked for a cigarette. Charbonneau lit it for him. Schultz, if ever such a man could do so, remained impassive.

‘Herr Kaestner,’ said Louis, ‘could not allow the crew who held him in such high regard, to find out that he had been having a love affair — excuse me, please, madame, for calling it that — with a Jewess, no matter how intelligent, kind or beautiful she was.’

‘Death’s-head couldn’t have them finding it out either,’ snorted Kohler, watching them all closely.

‘Ah, yes,’ acknowledged the Sûreté, ‘loyalty to one’s captain is to be respected and it is much to your credit, Herr Schultz, that you kept what you saw on that doll to yourself. Believe me, it is.’

Both hands were placed on the table as if to lift it out of the way. ‘If you’re trying to grease me with margarine, forget it. There is still a higher court even than Gestapo Mueller in Berlin. I also didn’t kill anyone.’

‘Please, a moment, yes? Don’t be difficult.’ Again St-Cyr looked round the table at each of them. ‘Herr Kaestner knew of the telescope, isn’t that correct, Angélique?’

The whispered yes was barely audible, her fingers studied with a concentration that begged forgiveness. She had really done it this time, she thought. Oh mon Dieu , but she had!

‘Then on the 5th of November, he knew for sure of the real reason for my visits to this house,’ sighed Préfet Kerjean sadly.

‘Money was missing,’ said the pianist with a gravity that implied complete understanding and awareness of the outcome. The dark brown eyes were much saddened by life’s little realities and looked down at the table as if puzzled but accepting of them, tragic as they were.

St-Cyr could still not help but imagine him at some concert.

‘A lot of money,’ said Hermann gruffly. ‘6,000,000 francs we still haven’t seen.’

‘And aren’t likely to,’ grunted Schultz in good enough French. They were all surprised. ‘What did you do with it, Préfet?’

‘Paulette …’ began the child, her voice so faint it broke.

‘Paulette knew who had “borrowed” the money,’ went on Schultz. ‘She wasn’t about to say and she died to keep her silent, didn’t she, Préfet? Vati wouldn’t have killed her. We didn’t, so that only leaves you. And don’t tell us the pianist rode that beat-up old bicycle of his all the way to Quiberon. You drowned her, you smug bastard. You killed her and her mother.’

Men like Schultz were always liars. ‘She was violated repeatedly. Did I do that also?’ asked Kerjean.

Tough … Nom de Dieu , he could be a brawler when needed, thought St-Cyr.

‘I’m not so sure she was violated,’ hazarded Kohler apologetically. ‘Hey, I didn’t take a look where I should have. I just assumed she’d been.’

‘The child,’ hissed Madame Charbonneau. ‘Her ears, messieurs!’

‘One of the sardiniers did not return,’ whispered Angelique, and never mind her hearing things she shouldn’t but knew all about. ‘Money changed hands. A lot of money.’

‘Angélique … Chérie , you must not speak. Herr Schultz is … is not one of us,’ pleaded the woman desperately.

The cook grinned and let his eyes dance over her. ‘In that you are correct, madame. Vati didn’t know what you were but now he does.’

‘And that,’ sighed St-Cyr, ‘is exactly what I meant when I said we must think as the Dollmaker would. He learned of the missing money and the absent sardmier — every one of U-297’s crew heard of it when they returned to base on the 5th of November. He knew of your repeated visits, Préfet, of your interest in using the telescope. He decided to wait. He would not be too concerned about the missing money until he had gathered all the information needed and had the target clearly in focus.’

‘And was within 500 metres of it,’ breathed Kohler. ‘Just what he would have done had Angélique not taken that doll into the shop, we’ll never know.’

‘The Star of David,’ said Préfet Kerjean sadly.

‘The yellow star,’ replied Schultz with a grin as he again sought out the woman, though she found within herself the will to look steadily at him.

St-Cyr flicked a glance at Hermann. Hermann never let him down. Always he was ready — seemingly relaxed, the Walther P38 in its shoulder holster once again, the Beretta he had pocketed in Provence on another case, resting untended on the table before him as if forgotten.

‘Préfet,’ said the Sûreté suddenly, ‘you searched for Monsieur Charbonneau and many times brought him home.’