J. Janes - Salamander

‘Good. Then please tell us, madame, when Claudine came to your door, having lost one of her shoes, did she come in tears? Was she distraught?’

‘She’s dead, Inspector. It cannot matter,’ came a woman’s voice in German.

‘Ah, Frau Weidling, I am glad you are here at last. Leiter Weidling, Obersturmfuhrer … we are all now gathered before a city in darkness and fear,’ said Louis in German. ‘Was she distraught, Madame Rachline?’ he asked in French, only to translate so as to bring it home to the others.

The time had come, and she had known all along that it would. ‘Yes. Claudine was in very bad shape, Inspector. She had been scared out of her wits but more than this, was terrified she’d be killed.’

Rumble, rumble … bump, bump … bump ! Rumble … rumble …

‘She was certain Frau Weidling had been involved in the fire, Inspector, and that the woman would … would see to it that she …’

‘Ange-Marie, be careful what you say.’

‘Henri, why should I, with two police officers beside me?’

Klaus Barbie would be translating for the Weidlings. Charlebois waited. Perhaps he held his breath in impatience, perhaps he was figuring out what to do.

Louis told Madame Rachline to continue. Klaus Barbie said in French, ‘Yes, please do. I’ve a prior engagement I must attend.’

Another visit to the favourite brothel, eh? snorted Kohler, hugging the deeper darkness of the Basilica.

‘Yes, please continue,’ said Frau Weidling in brittle German. ‘Am I a suspect, Inspector? Johann, ask him if I am.’

‘You most definitely are, Frau Weidling, as I believe you are only too aware. You were at those other fires in 1938. In each, it would not surprise me if you-’

‘Ah no, of course,’ said Madame Rachline. ‘Why could I not have seen it before? Another cinema, a crowded lecture hall …’

Was she being clever, wondered Kohler, or honestly blaming herself?

Again the bobsleighs took to the ice. Again there was the rapidly dwindling rumble of their runners, the bump, bump, bump as they went down over steps, then the awful gaps in sound, the sudden pauses as the sleighs took wing …

‘Herr Obersturmfuhrer, this is preposterous. I must insist that we return to the hotel. My wife is very tired and I must go back to the theatre if I am to search it thoroughly,’ said Weidling.

‘Your wife,’ said Louis. ‘Herr Weidling, tell us how the two of you met.’

‘That’s none of your business nor does it concern us here.’

‘Is it that you wish me to tell them?’ demanded Louis. ‘Come, come, Leiter Weidling. She was a prime suspect in the Lubeck fire. From there, you followed her to Heidelberg-is that not right?-and then to Koln. She was in those cities as were Martine Charlebois and her lover.’

‘Her fiance …’ said Madame Rachline. ‘And … and Claudine, Inspector. Claudine asked for some time and I gave it to her. A little holiday, she said, a few addresses we all knew about, oh bien sur. Martine was in the Reich on a student exchange. Claudine said that Henri wanted her to … to check up on his little sister, that Martine had … had found herself a lover.’

‘Louis …? Louis, one of them has left the terrace.’

‘ Hermann! Why did you not stop him ?’

He’d been there and then he’d not been there, but was he still close and was he really the Salamander?

Rumble, rumble, rumble … bump, bump, bump … ‘Johann … Johann, do not leave me now! Please, my liebling , I beg it of you.’

St-Cyr grabbed the prefet and told him to make certain Frau Weidling was not let out of sight. Then he shouted to Hermann and began to run, to slip and slide and almost end up on his ear! Ah merde , the ice! ‘ Hermann , where are you?’

‘ Over here, Louis. Here! ’

A small incline, nothing much-the grand slide perhaps. Silhouettes standing around, objecting. Hermann shouting, ‘Gestapo. This sleigh has been requisitioned!’ Teenagers … teenagers … Ah no.

‘Get on, Louis. That’s an order.’

‘But … but …’

‘The girl, idiot! The sister. She must be hiding at the shop!’

Rumble, rumble … Rumble, rumble …

‘ Push , Louis! Heave ! Ah Gott im Himmel , idiot. Give it a run and leap on or stay behind!’

They bolted down the hill. They took the bends, shot out over something. Hit the ground only to lift again. Ah mon Dieu , mon Dieu …

Hurtling through space, the sleigh crashed on to a street, crossed over, bashed sideways into a wall … the hands … the hands … ‘Hermann!’

‘ Hang on , Louis! ’

Bump, bump, bump-rumble, rumble, rumble … Ah no, the montee des Chazeaux …

Streaking past a foot patrol, they turned onto the rue de la Bombarde, shot past the Palais de justice and downstream along the quais, across the pont Bonaparte and across place Bellecour.

Coasting to a stop, they ended up in front of the shop of Henri Masson, Fine Antiques.

‘Are you still there, Louis?’ asked the captain doubtfully.

‘Yes, I am still alive. Me, I am continually being surprised by your talents. Please enter the shop, find the girl and arrest her before the brother arrives.’

‘I take it we don’t need the magistrate’s order?’

‘No. Not if you are from the Gestapo.’

‘Then wait here and stop him when he comes along.’

‘Of course. It will be my pleasure.’

Verdammt , but that had been one hell of a run! Walking nimbly up to the door, Kohler fired two shots into the lock and yanked on the wires to silence the alarm. Then he vanished inside, leaving his partner and friend to gradually still the shaking that was in him.

St-Cyr considered things. The sleigh had best be moved, the street allowed to return to itself.

When, after twenty minutes perhaps, he had heard nothing, he crossed the road and hesitantly entered the shop, saying silently, Hermann … Hermann, what has happened?

The girl was on her knees. Bathed in the glow from a single candle stub set on the floor in front of her, she trembled as she waited for them to apprehend her. And the trembling was such that the nubby end of the needle-pointed dagger at her breast quivered in the light, throwing little flashes of ruby.

Kohler sucked in a breath. Ah merde , what was he to do? All around her were the trappings of the shop-fine antiques, exquisite gold and glass, marble and oils. The pickings of a scavenger who fed on the deaths of others. The bones of the centuries.

They were on the second floor of the shop, behind so many things-tucked away in a far corner beside a case of weapons. And all about them, the warm air stirred as the draught from the open door below let in the frost.

‘ Don’t come any closer! ’ she shrilled at last. There wasn’t a hint of hesitation about the dagger now. ‘ Have you taken my brother ?’

When no answer came, she shrieked the question at him and he saw then that the pale cheeks were stained by tears.

‘Look, I … We … My partner and I won’t harm you, Mademoiselle Charlebois. I swear it.’

She didn’t listen. With one hand, she ripped the white cotton blouse open-tore at it until brassiere and flesh were exposed and he could see that blood was trickling.

Again the hilt was firmly clasped with both hands. ‘Okay, okay. You win, eh? Here, let me put my pistol on the floor where you can see it.’

A warning sounded in him but the detective paid no attention to it, and in any case, no matter what she said, he would not understand, would not care because everyone would blame her. ‘I didn’t want to do it. You have forced me to, monsieur! You have raped my mind until I had to do it to save him.’