J. Janes - Tapestry

‘And socialite. A parasite, Madame Barrault called her.’

‘From the Secours National?’ The National Help.

‘We’ll have to ask her.’ And hadn’t Madame Barrault sat as far as possible from Denise Rouget?

‘Stamps or some other item are then stolen at between twenty and thirty minutes past midnight and not likely by the same person or persons but that clay, Hermann. Were the sewers used to get there?’

It would have to be said. ‘From the passage de la Trinite to that of the Jouffroy isn’t far by the streets, and this must have been known to Madame Guillaumet’s assailant since he damned well knew how to find the Trinite on such a night.’

Whoever was committing these crimes, and there must be several of them, knew the city as if blindfolded. ‘But before any of these, the police academy.’

‘Which we definitely were to have been sent to?’

‘Perhaps. And after that killing, a girl who telephones to let the world know about it.’

A call that had been made from the Lido right across the street from them!

Louis took a moment to glance around at the clientele who now seemed more at ease. Setting his pipe aside, he leaned closely. ‘Are we to wonder then what this one has done to that girl?’

Cupped in his palm was the buttonhole silk of a ribbon whose red moire, a weak shade of scarlet, had definitely been crimped so as to give it a wavelike pattern as always, though now it looked like water spilling down a series of steps.

‘Three men, Hermann, at least one of whom wore hobnailed boots.’

‘Veterans?’

‘Unless we are to be led into believing it.’

‘And a dog, Louis.’

‘ Ah, oui . Lulu, age seven. Breeder: the Kennels Bouchard at Louveciennes on the edge of the Foret de Marly-le-Roi, the dog’s owner, Madame Catherine-Elizabeth de Brissac, an old and much venerated family now residing on the avenue de Valois overlooking the Parc Monceau.’

And if that wasn’t convenient, what was? The remains would have been buried probably in the late afternoon and just before the gates were closed and locked. The police academy victim had been abducted perhaps from the Lido at about 7.30 p.m., killed between 8.30 and 9.30 p.m. ‘But not enough time for any of his assailants to then steal a bicycle taxi, Louis, and ride to the passage de la Trinite.’

They were up against it. Doubtless there was another victim-the telephone caller-and as yet they had no idea of what else had happened last night. More victims, further killings. The attacks were escalating, the wives and fiancees of POWs were being targeted, mistakes made, of course, the hair taken in some cases, the handbags in all-identity papers, ration cards and tickets-and wedding or engagement rings, especially if worn.

‘Five crimes in one night, Hermann, when invariably we get one or two at most, and certainly these can’t all be connected, and yet … and yet we are …’

‘Kept busy as hell but not supposed to have been assigned to the stamps and not to Lulu either?’

Had some overzealous despatch officer been having fun with them? ‘Not one assailant but several, and though there is still some question with the Trinite attack, certainly in the academy abduction and killing, the Au Philateliste Savant robbery and the Drouant attack, information must definitely have been known beforehand.’

Especially as certain things had been left in that safe! ‘Noelle Jourdan, Louis.’

‘There, too, for how, please, did the press know she could be tempted and would be on the night shift and looking after Madame Guillaumet?’

‘And why did she consider it her duty to let those bastards photograph the woman?’

Rudi, who had been watching them, could no longer contain himself. Surprisingly agile on the balls of his little feet, he was all purpose and swift to it. A plate crowded with Salzstangen , the small salt rolls, was in one meaty hand, a tankard of beer in the other.

‘Werte Herren,’ my dear sirs, he whispered conspiratorially as he lowered himself into a chair and spread over the table, ‘our Soldatenheime , our troop hostels, are being watched, our boys tailed on their evenings out. Pigalle, eh? Those bare breasts they love to get their hands on. The Bal Tabarin with its sacrificial virgins or the Naturiste with its snake charmers. Lovesick boys, Hermann. Boys who are easy to tail since like dogs, they return to those they think are in heat.’

Gossip was like flour to Rudi.

‘The Soldatenkino, my Hermann. Those are also being watched. After each film, don’t the street girls with the sweetest voices troll the pavements even though they know it is verboten to approach any man and forbidden also for the men to pick them up and not use one of the licensed brothels that are reserved entirely for us?’

Out of Paris’s 120 legalized brothels, 40 had been taken over by the Wehrmacht but … ‘ Ach, mein Gott, Rudi. Tailed through the blackout? You’re being paranoid.’

Stung, the battering ram of a challenging fist was thrust at him only to calm itself and wag a reproving finger.

‘This is serious. There are whispers among the brass and visiting big shots that Gestapo Boemelburg is not just due his retirement but beyond it and that someone with far more muscle even than our Walter is now needed.’

He would let them digest that little mouthful, thought Rudi. He would offer each a salt roll and suggest they take two, since it was entirely due to Boemelburg that they had been allowed to continue fighting common crime and hadn’t been put up against a wall and shot.

‘The French-excuse me, Herr Oberdetektiv-are beginning to doubt us, Hermann.’

A pull at the tankard was necessary, the thick, wide lips pursed, the beer no doubt judged more than acceptable.

‘Things are changing,’ went on Rudi as he fingered a Salzstange before biting into it. ‘Some of those who openly supported the Fuhrer and his many legitimate and necessary causes, and saw those as their own, have begun to drift away. Verdammte Verrater, Kotzscheisser! ’

Damned traitors, nauseating shits. He was really worried. The Battle for Stalingrad had been the Reich’s first defeat that had been publicly announced and followed by three official days of mourning.

‘The Propaganda Staffel, Hermann. My informants there tell me that they have been ordered to constantly splash news of these blackout crimes across the papers and to emphasize during every wireless broadcast that progress is being made and a favourable solution but momentary. I’ve warned them that no pictures or interviews are to be taken here. I can’t have the restaurant being targeted. I simply will not have it!’

‘Rudi, what the hell are you trying to tell us?’

‘That no photographs are to be taken here of the two of you, but out there …’ He indicated the Champs-Elysees and streets too many. ‘Out there you are not safe from prying cameras and reporters.’

‘Us?’ blurted Hermann.

‘You, meine Lieben . You are to be watched and followed. Tracked-photographed while in action against these … these schweinigein Vergewaltiger und Morder .’

These dirty rapists and murderers but thank God Louis understood and spoke the language.

‘It’s not safe for my Helga, Hermann. You know how sweet she is on you. It’s not safe for my Yvette and Julie either, nor for those two women you cannot seem to leave for my Helga. Take care of these verruckter Sadisten . Get them by the balls and use the knife. Better still, bring them here and I will give them a fry-up they won’t forget.’

The salt rolls that couldn’t be refused were again passed. ‘If I were you,’ said Rudi, ‘I would watch in places like that one across the road where, my Hermann, you questioned only the stage doorman when you should have paid a visit during a performance. The Cercle Europeen is still being held there once a week no matter what anyone else says.’