J. Janes - Tapestry

Proof positive of marital infidelity, eh?

Subject walks to the Deutsche Institut on the rue Talleyrand, entering it at 1430 hours.

And not far from the flat.

Subject pleads for an advance on part-time wages. Said advance denied. In distress, subject hurries from the building and makes her way on foot to bathhouse on the rue Las Cases but decides at last moment to go into the Eglise de Sainte-Clotilde.

Behind which the bathhouse, serving the bourgeoisie of the quartier des Invalides, was located, but why the need to pray, why the douche chaude ?

Subject is forced to wait for shower bath and doesn’t leave until 1610 hours.

And always the delays in such establishments. Though her flat, unlike so many, had had a bathtub, there’d been no provision for hot water since the Defeat. She had obviously wanted to be as presentable as possible, even though it must have cost her a good fifty francs she didn’t have. Five it would have cost before this lousy war. Five and no more!

Subject takes metro to place de l’Opera and enters Cafe de la Paix at 1655 hours where she meets and conspires -Why not confers?- with subject Marie-Leon Barrault and that one’s daughter Annette. On recommendation of the Barrault subject, Madame Guillaumet hires velo-taxi Prenez-moi. Je suis a vous, which is to pick her up outside the Ecole Centrale after classes at 2115 hours and drive her to the Hotel Ritz, there to wait until again needed. Wait estimated at from two to four hours. ‘As long as is necessary,’ subject stated to driver.

A half-hour to three-quarters becomes such a different length of time?

Subject then leaves Cafe de la Paix at 1756 hours, catching the metro to the Ecole Centrale where she arrives at 1827 hours in time for her classes to begin.

There was nothing else. It was as if the rape, the vicious assault on her person, the savage beating had never happened.

The signature was firm but hasty. Salauds , that is what this gang were. Shark to the woman’s in-laws, shark to the husband and the Scapini, shark to Madame Henriette Morel, too, and the ‘subject’ no matter what but he was racing now. Marie-Leon’s ‘dossier’ was thicker and there were photos. One of Gaston Morel and the ‘subject’ at a table in the Cafe de la Paix, his expression one of deep concern or, as implied, one of, Don’t worry, cherie . Go on up to the room. No one will ever know we’ve been together.

Another of the photos revealed her waiting for the lift at the Hotel Grand.

There was a shot of the manager of the Cinema Imperial who grinned, leered and sucked on a damp fag end: ‘Of course I took what she offered. When it is presented in such a package, one cannot be impolite. Pay … ? What is this you’re saying? She came to me often.’

How much had Garnier bribed him? Five hundred?

A copy of Father Marescot’s damning letter to the Scapini Commission was enclosed, even a photo of the priest, and one of the ‘subject’ entering the confessional at the Eglise de Notre-Dame de Lorette, and another of those who were waiting to do exactly the same thing, including Annette Barrault, who looked to be all but in tears.

Still it wasn’t enough to link the agence to any of the attacks and if he heard about the break-in here, as he well might, Boemelburg would hit the roof, as would Oberg. Where was what was needed? Something … there had to be something more than these.

‘Forged tobacco cards?’ blurted St-Cyr, having opened the desk’s central drawer, that catchall of things detective and otherwise. ‘Fifty of them at least. Evidence … I’d best take a few.

‘A tube of Veronal … ?’ Now why would Garnier have such a thing? Old wounds? A girl, a woman he used regularly? So many filles de joie would use drugs of one kind or another if they could get them to dampen the discomfort of too much sex, but …

‘Noelle Jourdan,’ the whisper came. ‘Sergeant Jourdan of the Fifty-Sixth Chasseurs a pied, and from one old soldier to another.’

To compound their troubles, beneath the desk’s green blotting pad there was a list, in pencil, of names with lines through some to indicate that they had already been executed at the Fort du Mont-Valerien or sent east to camps. Beside these, and still others, though, there were also ticks. M. Flavien Garnier had been busy nailing resistants at one hundred thousand francs apiece, the going rate as advertised by the Occupier, but was there still more?

Ignoring the lights, the girls and the action, Bob laid his chin on the table’s edge, his mournful gaze on this Kripo as the wedding ring spun itself to silence. ‘ “ Louis-Maurice Artur, Colonel and Elene Nadine Lemaire .” ’ Two hearts cut in gold to overlap till death do us part. ‘ “ Paris, 27 September 1939 .” ’

Kohler had found her. There was even the mist of sentiment in his eyes, or was that merely the effects of too much Benzedrine? wondered Delaroche. Too little sleep in any case, or simply those beers from home and a clap-sized dose of nostalgia.

‘She would have been sixteen,’ Kohler went on as if lost to it. ‘Probably didn’t know her mind or heart-a shop girl most likely, and feeling damned desperate, wouldn’t you say; the boy eighteen, who knows? Off to war in a hurry anyway and maybe glad to be avoiding the financial responsibilities of a pregnant wife, but as one old soldier to another, Colonel, it wouldn’t have been the first time for that to have happened, would it? Must have lied about his age, though, since twenty-one was usual for France then and now two metres down or in one of the POW camps. Which is it?’

The mist was gone. There was nothing but an emptiness in that gaze, but why hadn’t St-Cyr shown up? Why hadn’t Jeannot or one of the others sent someone to the table to warn him? Were they all after St-Cyr? ‘I know nothing of this, Kohler.’

‘Then how is it you knew of the ring?’

‘I didn’t. Not really. I only assumed.’

‘A connection with the other killings and rapes? The beatings and handbag snatches-the mugging of men like Gaston Morel?’

‘Now look here …’

‘No, you look. You’re a regular at the Lido. You’ve seen that girl with Judge Rouget plenty of times, have sat at his table, had him to this one. A beauty, wasn’t she? Tres charmante and with all that it takes, eh? Places like this don’t hire girls unless they have it.’

But were Kohler and St-Cyr looking for veterans of that other war?

‘A pillar of the establishment runs around with a racially tainted chorus girl, Colonel, when everyone these days had better be more careful, but mein Gott , you don’t even notice? The lonely wife of a POW-wasn’t that what she was?-and there’s Judge Rouget going on and on about how Vichy has toughened the adultery laws and that such women … Ach, let me find it for you.’

The Gestapo’s little black notebook was hauled out, its pages thumbed.

‘Ah, here we are. That those errant POW wives “need a damned good lesson in morals and should have their heads shorn and their breasts bared in public.” ’

Hercule … how could he have said such a thing in front of Kohler?

‘And this from a man who has definitely been breaking those laws.’ Kohler found another page. ‘ “Time and again it’s the POW wives who are conducting themselves in such a shameful and disgustingly unclean manner.” ’

Vivienne had said that. Kohler had been to the house. Merde, why had Hercule not stopped him? ‘Kohler, where did you find …’

‘The judge. Let’s stick to him for a moment, eh? A fellow member of the Cercle Europeen that meets here at least once a week over dinner …’