J. Janes - Carousel

St-Cyr continued. ‘Early in September, the girl agrees to part with this one coin and it travels down the pipeline to Stralsund and the uncle of Corporal Schraum.

‘Who judges it in excellent condition and forwards it on to the Reichsmarschall Goering, Louis.’

‘Goering then orders the uncle to tell Schraum to proceed carefully.’

‘Four hundred and eighty-seven coins!’ shrilled Henri Lafont. ‘Where are they?’

Louis was quick with a silencing hand. ‘They meet again, but now Schraum and Victor Morande and Rolande Minou know exactly who she is, where she lives and who she meets in that room. The successful industrialist, eh, Monsieur Antoine? Your wealth and the tantalizing possibilities of hidden valuables.’

‘And so do the rue Lauriston and the Bureau Otto,’ breathed Kohler. A few more steps, just a few … ‘And a fledgling cell of Resistance hotheads.’

St-Cyr gave his pipe a sudden lift. ‘So, the fix is in. The thirty coins are produced – a representative sample that the girl and her co-conspirators know to be false. The sum of 31,250 old francs changes hands, but retribution will be swift once the truth is out. Antoine Audit will be blamed as the perpetrator of the fraud.’

‘Revenge?’ snorted Pierre Bonny.

‘But of course. Please do not forget that on the Defeat of France the coins had been reported stolen. They had been hidden in the cellars of the Villa Audit by your brother, is that not right, Monsieur Charles? But you stole them back and took them away in two suitcases.’

‘Two suitcases? What is this?’ demanded Henri Lafont.

‘In a moment, please. Antoine Audit, realizing what was planned, confronted the girl on that Tuesday afternoon at four o’clock. You demanded the return of the coins, eh, Monsieur Antoine? In great distress, Christabelle agreed to meet you on Thursday evening at the regular time.’

‘But by then Victor Morande had been murdered,’ said Hermann. ‘The girl was then strangled on that Thursday evening and raped, and Corporal Schraum shot to death in the street but a short time later.’

‘The coins, I want the coins,’ said Henri Lafont.

‘Then I will take the emeralds,’ said Otto Brandl.

It was the chanteuse who anxiously said, ‘Jean-Louis, please tell them where they are.’

Again St-Cyr was forced to look into her eyes and then into those of Hermann’s little pigeon.

‘The hostages, Jean-Louis. Remember?’ beseeched the chanteuse. ‘For France, mon amour. For France.’

Ah Mon Dieu, she was so very tragic in beauty.

‘Two suitcases, Louis,’ prompted Hermann.

‘Yes, yes, my old one. Heavy because in addition to the gold coins they contained the iron dies Michele-Louise Prevost had made some time prior to the year 1905. Also the copies she had cast of some of the original coins. Is that not correct, Monsieur Charles?’

It was.

St-Cyr held up a hand to silence the gangsters. ‘It is uncertain in my mind, Monsieur Charles, if at this time you had fully worked out what you intended to do to your brother. I rather doubt this, but the germ of the idea must have taken root.’

‘Two suitcases, two and a half years ago? Who gives a damn?’ snarled Lafont.

‘I DO! As does my partner.’

‘There was another killing, Louis. That of Mila Zavitz.’

‘Yes, yes, Hermann. The Wehrmacht were to be blamed for that, but …’ he paused, ‘it was not done by them, was it Monsieur Charles?’

Everyone looked at the ex-convict whose wrists were still handcuffed to those of his friend and to the brass upright upon which an ostrich rode.

‘I know nothing of that killing. Nothing ! Ask Father Eugene.’

‘The old priest.’ St-Cyr glanced at his watch. Hermann had moved again and was now much, much closer to the entrance.

‘Father, it is good of you to have come so promptly.’

Pierre Bonny jerked his head round. Lafont swung the Schmeisser as Hermann leapt to snatch the Lebel from the Captain Dupuis of the one leg and the crutches.

‘DROP IT!’ screamed Lafont.

Ah merde!

The gun skidded into the mud. The razor was held against Gabrielle’s cheek. No one dared to move.

‘My son, what is this?’ asked Father Eugene looking quickly round while still holding the Luger that had killed Corporal Schraum.

‘The suitcases, Father. They contained a fabulous collection of Roman gold coins, a bag or two of forged ones, and some iron dies.’

Suddenly lost to them all, Father Eugene studied the gun in his hand, then looked up and across to the carousel.

‘Father, gold is gold, and lies are lies,’ said St-Cyr. ‘On the evening of the Defeat you saw Monsieur Charles leave the suitcases in the courtyard beside the draper’s shop on the Pas-Leon. You did not say where he was headed or why he had left them there.’

‘Suitcases … suitcases,’ seethed Henri Lafont.

‘ Silence , you punk! Please do not interrupt two officers of the law in their duty.’

The old priest was shaken, but not so much by the outburst. ‘Charles went into the church. When … when I caught up with him, he asked me to hide the suitcases temporarily for him.’

‘Which you did?’ asked St-Cyr.

‘He was a man much wronged by life and I could not turn my back on him.’

‘That is fair enough, Father, but was there not the exchange of a little something to tide you and the church over difficult times?’

‘A parish priest’s life is not easy, Inspector. Many burdens must be carried.’

‘Yes … yes, but the murder of that other girl, Father? Mila Zavitz,’ urged Louis.

It was as if there were only the two of them and that God of Louis’ had suspended the animals of the carousel in final judgement.

‘Mademoiselle Jeanne had passed Captain Dupuis in the street, Father. She had noticed there was blood on his shirt,’ prompted St-Cyr.

‘Yes … yes. She had been to confession and had started for home only to return to tell me of the murder. By then Monsieur Charles was waiting for me in the sacristy with the suitcases.’

‘No, Father. The suitcases were still in that courtyard but had been broken open. You had seen at a glance what had happened: the girl Mila Zavitz had come upon a thief and had been killed. You lived in fear of discovery, isn’t that so? Monsieur Charles was a man so changed by life he could kill to protect what was rightfully his. He had a friend, a gangster, Rejean Tourmel.’

St-Cyr stabbed the air with his pipestem. ‘You saw what those suitcases contained, Father, and you panicked, but …’ he paused. ‘But Charles Audit could not have killed Mila Zavitz because, Father, you had followed him into the church.’

‘He … he could have left the sacristy unobserved.’

‘No, Father, because if he had killed her, Charles Audit would not have left the suitcases behind, nor would he have stuck around a moment longer.’

‘The girl had been strangled. Roland – ’

A keening wail startled everyone. ‘My son … Ah no, Father. Not my Roland!’ cried Madame Minou.

‘Hermann, get Madame Van der Lynn to calm that woman! Roland , Father? He was hiding in that draper’s shop and you knew this, but did not think he had realized you’d seen him.’

Ah damn the Suretee! ‘Yes … yes, that is correct and here are my thirty pieces of silver.’

Thirty of the gold coins – real ones taken from the suitcases by the priest. Otto Brandl took a step forward. St-Cyr looked up from them and into the old priest’s eyes, ignoring the Nazi. ‘No, Father, that is not enough. The girl was Jewish, so she would not have come to you for help, not to an anti-Semite. The girl had been raped.’