J. Janes - Tapestry

The city’s mouth-radio, its radio-trottoir . The girl’s left knee was firmly pressed on that sheaf, her skirt rucked up, she grasping the braided tie as if a hawser.

A regular little Nazi. Slim-waisted, tight-breasted, firm and shapely from all that exercise and something for the boys along the eastern front to hunger for. A classic and exceedingly capable Fraulein, but why did that God of Louis’s have to do this to them?

‘And when the blackout assaults began to heat up in December?’ asked the Surete.

There was no avoiding it, Kohler knew. ‘He realized he had to do something. That’s why the target shooting, that’s why the gun, isn’t it, Rudi? He assigned her to also work on this little Mausefalle of his.’

‘Eat a little, please. You’re going to need your strength. The Hoherer SS wishes a truly SS settlement to this problem the French have created for us. The Fraulein Remer is an excellent shot-oh please don’t get the wrong idea about this girl. It has definitely been understood and accepted by all that her body is hers alone, even in the service of the Fuhrer und Vaterland . The mother was French from the Lorraine and a devout Catholic. Having sinned once, the girl has accepted that she must do penance and remain true to that one love, if for no other reason than to set an example to the French and to other Blitzmadchen . The father, a POW you understand, in that other war like yourself, Hermann, thought the language might be useful to her, as did yourself, isn’t that correct, since we had lost that war but won’t lose this one, will we?’

‘Rudi, what is it you want?’

‘Of you? Well, there is a long list, but your undying loyalty to the Fuhrer and Party must come first. The blood oath, I think, and then … why then you could start paying sufficient attention to Helga. Dinner twice a week when you’re in Paris-slow things down a little but not the current investigation, of course. With others it’s not necessary that you solve every crime in a matter of minutes. Try to leave a few. And no more of these other women of yours, Hermann. It doesn’t look good. A film-she loves them. Dancing …’

‘It’s illegal both here and in the Reich, but ja, ja, get on with it.’

‘Be patient. You’ll cooperate in all matters, especially by taking the Fraulein Remer and myself fully into your confidence. Knowledge is power, Chez Rudi’s by far the best source of all gossip, but to maintain such an enviable reputation-and I do have one-that gossip must be founded on the cement of absolute truth.’

Gaston Morel was that cement, of course, and Rudi must know of him but was fishing for something else: the judge. ‘And if Louis and I agree?’

‘Then I can help you with this handbag and its owner. Helga will simply tell the Sicherheitsdienst*** that it was thrown on to the doorstep by the driver of one of those bicycle taxis. The Red Cockade or Rooster’s Tail, isn’t that korrekt , Helga?’

‘It happened so quickly, Rudi.’

‘But between four thirty and five in the afternoon. Not earlier and not later.’

‘Yes, Rudi.’

‘The licence had an RP, of course, but you can’t possibly be certain if it was followed by a fifteen or a ninety-eight.’

And definitely Luc Desrocher’s The Red Comb of the Magnificent Cock, owned and operated by Herve’s dear papa but leased last night to Albert Vasseur whose Take Me was still in police custody.

‘The boys who stole this handbag, and their families, could then rest more easily,’ went on Rudi. ‘Otherwise I can tell you duty calls, and that should word of what I know get out, I have it on good authority the Hoherer SS will not turn the other cheek. He will seize the opportunity to make an example of them, one the French will not forget.’

‘Mont-Valerien,’ blurted Louis, aghast at what had been revealed.

‘Or the rue Laurence Savart, outside of number 3,’ said Rudi, watching them closely.

The execution ground of the fort in the industrial suburb of Suresnes and just across the river, to the west of them. It was that or outside Louis’s house, in his beloved Belleville.

‘Now eat,’ said Rudi, getting up to leave them to think about it. ‘Enjoy-don’t waste a morsel. Helga, a glass or two of that stuff we used for the marinade. We’re about to accomplish the impossible. We’re going to make a good Nazi out of this Landsmann of ours. That, too, is something the Hoherer SS demands, and that, my friends, is not gossip.’

* * *

The restaurant had grown quiet. Rudi did bang pots in the kitchen and hum the Horst Wessel Lied , the marching song of the Nazi Party, but Helga had gone off to dream the dream of dreams.

‘God always extracts a price, Hermann, and then squeezes a little more.’

‘I’m going to have to tell Rudi something.’

‘But only a little. You can’t be perceived by Oberg as wanting to protect the boys and their families, nor can you go to that one without first reporting to Boemelburg. The chain of command, n’est-ce pas ? Offend the one and you offend the other. Besides, Walter can perhaps find a way to cushion the theft of that Ford, especially as Himmler is demanding his recall should the perpetrators of these blackout attacks fail to be immediately apprehended.’

‘You’ve been busy, but I’m not going to let them use Giselle. I can’t. Not anymore. You’ve seen her, haven’t you? She’s okay, isn’t she? She’s with Oona and the kids …’

‘Hermann, listen to me. I did what I could but obviously needed more time. There are still places where she …’

‘Could have holed up? Madame Chabot’s?’

‘Not there. Not at the flat either. Look, I’m sorry. I was going to tell you.’

‘You were going to break it to me when convenient, eh, like Rouget?’

‘Sit down. Please! Giselle is probably fine.’

‘Safe is the word you want, mein Lieber . Safe!’

Even Rudi had stopped humming, but Hermann mustn’t be told of the rape and killing in the passage de l’Hirondelle and all the rest of what this partner of his had yet to impart. He must be shielded from it, had had enough for one evening, had already forced himself to do the impossible. ‘Oona may have heard from her. Giselle might simply have been delayed by a film. You know how she is. I didn’t stay. I only checked in briefly.’

‘And then tried to find Giselle. What’s happened to her, Louis?’

‘I don’t know but wish I did.’

Louis wasn’t telling him everything.

‘We’ll leave the Ford out in front of the Propaganda-Abteilung, Hermann, but will have to siphon off what’s left of their petrol.’

‘And take the food. I’m not leaving that. We’ll drop the keys in their tank so that no one will try to steal the car unless they smash a side windscreen first.’

The sound of a carrot being crunched was followed by that of another. St-Cyr opened his eyes but otherwise told himself not to move.

More of each carrot was taken. They were standing in their pyjamas, woollen socks and pullovers, staring curiously down at him: Adrienne Guillaumet’s Louisette to his right; Henri to the left. The curtain of the puppet theatre had been opened.

‘Did you put the coffee on?’ he asked.

‘The acorn water. I told you so, Henri,’ whispered his sister, cupping the carrot to hide it.

‘We had to move you in here with me,’ went on St-Cyr. ‘Hermann …’

‘Needed to be with Oona,’ said Henri severely.

‘We heard him, Monsieur l’Inspecteur Principal . He was very distressed.’

‘Giselle,’ said the brother.

‘Is she dead?’ asked the sister.

‘Don’t say that. Never say it until certain. We’ll find her. Don’t worry. Ah! help me up. These cushions, this rug, that left shoulder of mine, the left thigh … Old bullet wounds, you understand. I slept, can you believe it?’