J. Janes - Tapestry

‘Old.’

And enough to retire on. ‘ Bon . Whose collection was it? Come, come, the name of the owner would have been embossed in gold leaf on the album.’

‘M. Bernard Isaac Friedman.’

‘Address?’

‘Number 14 rue des Rosiers.’

Right in the heart of what had once, and for so many years, been the Jewish quartier of Paris, the Marais, where so many of the immigrants from the east had taken up residence. ‘Deported?’

‘He must have been, mustn’t he? All of those people.’

‘The Vel d’Hiv?’ The cycling arena, the grande rafle, the first huge roundup of last year.

‘Oui.’

‘And now his stamp collection suddenly turns up. It’s curious, isn’t it?’

‘Inspector, I don’t know what …’

‘I mean? Monsieur, dealing in stolen property is a serious offence.’

‘I didn’t know it was stolen!’

‘You most certainly did!’

‘To steal from those people is no harm. The more taken, the better.’

‘ Ah, bon , I didn’t hear that, monsieur. Though I must still obtain the warrant, please consider yourself under arrest. Agent Belanger shy;, would you …’

‘Inspector, the girl came to the shop a few times. Hesitant always and walking the aisles as if to examine the envelopes while studying myself and the clientele. When she had made her little decision, she then arranged to bring me the collection.’

Even though Picard had ‘never seen her before.’

‘And when was that?’

This one would have to have everything.

‘Two days ago, in the late afternoon. About five or five thirty. I remember it clearly. Angele was thirsty and I’d poured her a little of the …’

‘Yes, yes. Wednesday, the tenth.’

‘She said she was in a hurry and mustn’t be late for work or else the surveillante at the hospital would be upset, and that … that she would take what I could give her.’

A head nurse, a nursing assistant and a bargain but a crime to which they weren’t to have been sent.

In the never-neverland of the Kommandantur, where rain-soaked galoshes, mismatched carpet slippers and ankle-deep coal-black dresses waited in line, there was absolutely no sense in pissing around. ‘Kohler, Kripo, Paris-Central to see the General on urgent business.’

Rock of Bronze to his staff, but damned dangerous at all times even though well past retirement, Von Schaumburg was still suffering the aftereffects of the flu that had struck him a good ten days ago. A towel was tightly wrapped about the throat, the smell of eucalyptus oil, menthol, camphor and boiled peppermint in the air, positively no tobacco smoke. Even the window he had been bleakly staring out of was open!

Taller than himself, bigger too, across the shoulders and replete with Iron Crosses and campaign medals, he didn’t hear at first and only then, as the throat was cleared, did he hawk up a wad of phlegm. ‘Kohler, what is this you’re saying?’

It was now or never and the look in the watery, fever-ridden, pouch-bagged Nordic eyes said as much. ‘My partner, General. He’s found something that could well lead us to one of the chief perpetrators of this plague of blackout crime.’

‘Something … Must I remind you that military men such as myself never like intangibles?’

‘The red ribbon of a Legion of Honour, General. You’re the first and only one to learn of it other than myself and our coroner.’

‘And that’s the way you would like it kept?’

In spite of Boemelburg’s being the boss of all such Kripo. ‘Yes, General. The press …’

‘Those infernal bastards. I’m going to get them this time!’

Overcome by a coughing fit, he grabbed the edge of the window then pushed the damned thing wide open. ‘Air …’ he gasped. ‘My chest. Verdammt, Kohler, can’t you see what those people have done to me? Das Stinkt zum Himmel! ’

It’s an absolute scandal. Paris-Soir, Le Matin -even today’s Pariser Zeitung -were seized from the desk and torn. ‘ Mein Kirschwasser, Kohler.’ He flung an arm out to indicate a side table. ‘Gestapo Boemelburg was most kind and sent that bottle over as soon as he learned you and St-Cyr were back in the city.’

A cherry brandy from Alsace and a warning should they come here, but there was only one glass, thank God. Boemelburg would, of course, have to be dealt with later. ‘The press, General.’

The glass was drained, refilled and drained again. ‘Alsace was to your liking?’

The gossip had already reached him. ‘Not entirely, General, but a successful conclusion to a difficult investigation.’

Kohler couldn’t have put it better. For all the dissipation, skirt chasing and cavaliering, this former captain in the artillery hadn’t backed off when challenged, so good, yes, good. ‘A ribbon, you said?’

‘The killer’s, we believe, of the police academy’s victim.’

‘And the rapist who so savagely defiled the Trinite woman, Kohler? How did the one who stole that bicycle taxi know to take it and no other? Ach, don’t look so surprised. I’m not without my sources. Was that poor woman seen having a drink over there with one of my officers? Liebe Zeit , kommen Sie her . I’ll not give you the flu. I’ve been over it for days.’

Across the rain-streaked wasteland of place de l’Opera, where pedestrians scurried or darted down into the entrance to the metro and velo-taxis struggled or parked themselves in line to wait for a fare, the Cafe de la Paix, on the corner of the boulevard des Capucines, looked inviting. A favourite of the staff here and elsewhere, business hadn’t stopped booming since mid-June 1940.

‘Was that woman there, Kohler, to arrange an assignation for later last night and if so, which of my officers was she with and did the one who attacked her see her with him and then overhear her lining up one of those infernal machines?’

‘She still hasn’t said anything beyond a few first words, General. I was on my way over to the cafe to question the staff and taxi drivers but the press … St-Cyr and myself can’t have them photographing us as we work. Let me leave the identity papers with you of the two who followed me here. Let me borrow their car since I need it more than they do and my partner is busy elsewhere.’

The grey, bristled crown of that massive head was given an irritated brush with an equally irritated hand. ‘Shall I send them to Fritz Saukel’s forced-labour office? By evening they could be pouring concrete along the Atlantic Wall or digging bunkers in the Channel Islands, or would you prefer I ask Herr Oberg to consider them Suhnepersonen ?’

Expiators held as hostages until needed and then shot to atone for some act of terrorism, i.e., resistance . Wehrmacht through and through, Von Schaumburg really had little use for the SS and Gestapo. ‘Just put the two from Paris-Soir to work scrubbing the floors and toilets, General. I know those are spotless but another good scrubbing never hurt.’

And spoken like a true soldier. ‘Find the one who wore that ribbon, Kohler, and bring him to me. I want a Wehrmacht solution to this problem the French have created for us.’

All down the length of the rue des Rosiers not a cyclist could be seen hurrying through the rain, not a pedestrian, a hand-pulled cart or barrow.

It’s as if the ghetto has become a ghost town, said St-Cyr sadly to himself. Repeated roundups since that of 16-17 July of last year had virtually left the quartier seemingly abandoned. Eight hundred and eighty-eight ‘teams’ of from three to four-Parisian flics and students, yes! from the police academy - nine thousand ‘cops’ in all had hit mainly five arrondissements in the small hours of that night. Arrests had, however, gone on all over the city-12,884 had been taken to the Velodrome d’Hiver and subsequently deported, among them more than four thousand children. And now, of course, there are empty houses and apartments all over the city and country.