J. Janes - Tapestry

‘Okay, okay,’ breathed Hermann, apparently jotting it all down. ‘Louis and me, we’ll have to check it out. Now give us what you can on …’

Deliberately he thumbed through his notebook, going well back into other investigations before thumbing forward just to let them know the partnership didn’t fool around. ‘Give us what you can on a Father Marescot.’

Had the bell of that church just sounded? wondered St-Cyr, for each of them had glanced at the others.

‘The priest of the Eglise de Notre-Dame de Lorette, Colonel,’ offered Garnier, having somehow silenced his subordinate. ‘The good father couldn’t tell me what the Barrault subject had revealed in the confessional she repeatedly subjects herself to out of guilt, but he did go so far as to say she had damned herself before God, as had all of the others who attend those special Masses of his and that … yes, yes, he had personally written to the Scapini Commission some time ago demanding that they inform the husband.’

‘A prisoner of war,’ said Delaroche with a sigh, sadly shaking his head. ‘Far too many of their wives are simply taking advantage of their absences. Is it any wonder there has been both outcry and retaliation, especially since our boys can’t defend their property or even have the use of it?’

‘They’re all making sluts of themselves,’ said Quevillon. ‘ Chatte is so common these days, one can get it for a half a cigarette the hour and more if one insists.’

The salaud ! ‘But had anyone else gone to that priest with a similar inquiry?’ asked Louis, patently ignoring the use of ‘property’ and all the rest.

‘I had no need to ask,’ went on Garnier. ‘Father Marescot offered the information as was his duty as a concerned citizen. Tell them, Hubert.’

‘With pleasure. We weren’t alone, Inspectors. “A woman comes,” he said. “She is older than that one by a good twenty years and doesn’t have to drag around an eight-year-old daughter.” ’

‘Madame Morel?’ asked the termite, as startled by the news as was his partner.

‘Gaston is known for his affairs,’ said Delaroche amicably. ‘Before this Defeat of ours he employed the Barrault subject’s husband as a lorry driver, clearly putting the woman in debt to him. What better a conquest than the stepsister of one’s wife, especially when poverty and loneliness cause such women to do things they might not otherwise agree to.’

Like getting down on their knees for hire, was that it, eh? wondered Kohler. Surete that he was, Louis glanced at that wristwatch of his whose crystal had been cracked in that other war but would never be replaced, for it was at once a shining example of French frugality and constant reminder of what he had survived when so many others hadn’t.

‘ Ah, bon , Colonel, for now the wrap-up, I think. Attacks are being committed all over the city. The wives and fiancees of prisoners of war, though not the only victims, are being singled out, wedding rings demanded, handbags stolen, et cetera, et cetera. Gestapo Boemelburg, at our briefing this afternoon, told us that he feels certain there is a gang at work, that the attacks are being planned and carried out with military precision backed by exceptional sources of information and that the violence is being deliberately escalated because the defeat at Stalingrad has made such criminals bolder, but with the result that Berlin has been constantly on the line demanding an immediate end to the crimes and a return to safety on the streets.’

Ach du lieber Gott, how had Louis got it all out in one breath? wondered Kohler. A cigar had best be taken, one for him too, the colonel’s cigar cutter borrowed indefinitely.

These two, thought Delaroche, each was so very different yet they were the same. ‘And that is why the Hoherer SS Oberg has engaged the Agence Vidocq in the matter, mes amis , and wishes you to join us when we meet with him at 1000 hours Monday, the avenue Foch.’

‘Head Office, Louis,’ breathed Hermann. ‘I told you but you never listen, do you? That’s why I went there right away.’

‘But what did you find and when did you visit Herr Oberg’s office? Come, come, Inspector,’ demanded Delaroche. ‘Is it not time you let us in on what must have happened to Elene Artur? If we are to work together, and I am certain that is what the Standartenfuhrer Langbehn will insist on, then it is best we know everything.’

‘The Standartenfuhrer?’ blurted Louis.

St-Cyr had just been kicked in les joyeuses but surprise had best be registered. ‘ Ah, mon Dieu , is it that you have already met?’

‘Briefly. Colonel, who, exactly, is to be at that meeting?’

Such caution was admirable, but why had Jeannot not returned? Had the Dunand girl given trouble? ‘Myself, my partner, Jeannot Raymond, Flavien, of course, and Hubert, yourselves also and I believe a translator, a Blitzmadel, Sonja Remer, who was, apparently, a victim also of this tidal wave of street violence and crime.’

Oh-oh, here it comes, thought Kohler, sighing inwardly.

‘Herr Oberg is determined to punish the boys who stole the girl’s handbag,’ went on Delaroche. ‘Flavien, were either of you able to pin down their identities? I know the bag has been returned by a devious route but it was, I believe, still missing some items.’

The termites had just choked in the darkness of their little tunnel, the one behind on the shit of the one in front. ‘There’s a photo of them in your out-tray, Hubert,’ said Garnier.

‘Get it,’ said Delaroche, ‘and while you’re at it, if Jeannot is in his office, please ask him to join us.’

The building was silent. The lift had made no sound even after M. Jeannot Raymond had left her, but that had been some time ago, Suzette knew, and talking to Teddy simply wasn’t going to help. Indeed, if others knew she did such a thing, they’d think her crazy and she should stop, would have to now anyways, but she wasn’t alone in this. She couldn’t be. Didn’t the Occupation encourage people to retreat into illusion and cultivate their fantasies and daydreams? Wasn’t that just about the only way to counter the terrible loneliness and uncertainty?

‘Look, I’m sorry I didn’t make us a sauce for the noodles. I was still uncertain, still agitated.’

There, she had confessed that much. He paid not the slightest attention, must really be upset with her.

‘The red-lacquered Chinese gate, Teddy. You can’t miss it if you’re in that far corner of the Bois de Vincennes. The gate is at the entrance to the tropical garden and the Institut National d’Agronomie Coloniale and can be seen from a distance, but it … it’s close to something else.’

Even such a hint failed to move him. ‘Very well,’ she said spitefully. ‘I’m going to meet Monsieur Raymond there tomorrow morning at nine.’

Picked at, the noodles were cold and soggy, the slices of carrot like wood. ‘The gate is near the Annamite Temple that is a memorial to the Indochinois who died for France in that other war. The mother of that girl who was murdered downstairs goes there to pray and to introduce her grandson to his ancestors. Monsieur Raymond said that Concierge Louveau told him the dead girl always went there to visit with her mother and little boy early on Sundays just as I go to Charenton on the last Sunday of every month.’

Still there was nothing but an ever-deepening frown from Teddy. ‘Jeannot feels that someone should tell the mother what has happened, that she will have to claim the body from the city’s morgue and that … that funeral arrangements will have to be made. Oh for sure, the daughter was prostituting herself and was the wife of a prisoner of war, but to kill her for betraying her husband was not right, he said. “What is needed is compassion.” There’s a restaurant nearby, on the Ile de la Porte Jaune in Lac des Minimes. He has said he will take me to lunch there afterwards.’