Carnival (35 page)

‘Fräulein, sit, please. It's best that way.'

‘And if I refuse?'

‘Suit yourself.'

Already the shadows were spreading. Already one-half of the quarry had acquired the bluish tinge snow gradually gets as daylight recedes.

‘Schutzhaftlagerführer Kramer at your service,
mein Herren
. Apologies for not having welcomed you at the gate. Always these days there are things that must be done, always orders from Berlin. Those five are to go up the chimney this evening.' Kramer indicated the condemned. ‘Untersturmführer Schrijen,' he called out sharply, for that one had moved away from them.

‘
Jawohl,
Schutzhaftlagerführer?' came the immediate response amid the clash of heels.

‘Take the Oberdetektiv St-Cyr along on your final review. Be so good as to accompany him,
mein Herr
. Make sure each man accurately gives you his full name and former place of residence. The Untersturmführer, who does not speak their language, will then check these off against the clipboard's list.'

‘And the dogs?' asked Louis.

‘Those will accompany the Untersturmführer as always,' said Kramer. ‘It's best that way. Perhaps you will soon see why.'

This former guard at Dachau, Buchenwald or Sachenhausen, thought St-Cyr, this ‘family man' in shiny black jackboots, grey whipcord breeches and a black, three-quarter-length leather coat, would have been an all but nondescript, quite ordinary-looking individual had he been dressed differently. Blocky in the face, below the peaked, black military cap with its white death's-head, the brow was wide, the dark reddish-brown eyebrows hooded, the look in the greenish-brown eyes at once belligerent and cold.

He was not tall, but of medium height and with the build and stance of a barrel-maker or stonemason, the nose prominent, a vertical crease directly above it giving a perpetual frown. But what would Hermann say to him in the absence of his partner? Would Hermann turn his back on all that had happened to them since their first meeting in Paris on that Thursday, 13 September 1940? Would he weaken?

Feeling the end was close, would Louis be defiant? wondered Kohler as Kramer, cupping his hands about the lighted match, lit a cigarette for him. ‘
Danke
,' he managed. A last smoke, was that it? The firing squad of ten hadn't moved a muscle, and there was Louis striding toward the condemned. There would be two shots into each of those boys up there and no white cardboard patches to mark where they'd best go, just stern faces on the squad. Like steel-helmeted robots and yes, the memories of that other war were coming quickly, especially those of that other firing squad and Colonel Bloody Damn Otto Rasche with one Werner Lutze at his side.

‘Well, Kohler, we could use a man like yourself,' said Kramer­. ‘One thoroughly familiar with explosives, though we don't use anything but black powder and only to bump up the key stone in each quarry's floor. A former officer of a trip-to-heaven detail­, former artillery officer …'

‘Let's cut the
Quatsch
, Schutzhaftlagerführer. It's too damned cold for one thing.'

‘And for another?'

‘That boy has a lot of answering to do.'

‘But answers need not be given?'

‘Not unless they're necessary.'

‘
Gut
.'

Louis had paused to confront Alain Schrijen. Neither of the dogs was on a lead; both watched that Sûreté with consummate interest; both waited for the single command they felt certain was to come.

I love dogs, said Kohler silently and then, ‘Those are beautiful animals, aren't they?'

Kramer drew on his cigarette, the black kid gloves almost brand-new. ‘Let's hope that partner of yours doesn't ask too many questions. Always after a detail like this, we give the boys a stiff drink. You'll join us, of course.'

He wasn't going to let them leave the quarry. It was really that simple. An order was an order, and there was Louis going on and on as if they had all day.

‘You killed that girl, didn't you?' said St-Cyr when Alain Schrijen and he had reached the lowermost ledge of granite. ‘You were not here on January thirtieth and thirty-first, as that father of yours has claimed, but had taken the noon train to Kolmar on the Saturday for just that purpose and would have arrived at perhaps 2.00 or 2.30 that afternoon.'

‘I was here. The day log is proof enough.'

‘Your sister drove to the station to leave you your car. You then drove to the
Karneval
, parking up by the ruins of the House of Mirrors. Renée Ekkehard saw you get out and, putting on her skis, headed into the Kastenwald, causing you to shout and run after her.'

‘What if I did?'

‘She was afraid of you,
mein Lieber
. Why, please, was she afraid? A girl whom you were to have married?'

Four years younger than his sister—twenty-eight at most—Alain Schrijen was not as tall or fair or lightly boned, nor was he anything at all like Hermann had said of the father, but something in between. ‘Why did you treat that girl so abominably?'

This
Schweinebulle
from Paris would soon learn the truth, not that it would much matter. ‘Renée didn't understand. Girls who are virgins sometimes don't.'

‘
Salaud
, don't piss me off! And don't try to deny that you understand our language. You and Sophie grew up under French jurisdiction.'

‘I didn't kill Renée. I broke her in and that is all. She enjoyed it.'

Ah,
mon Dieu
, what was Hermann doing? Saying to that other one that they wouldn't interfere? ‘You will accompany us to Colmar, there to answer truthfully all questions that are put to you.'

‘And if I don't?'

‘You will be handcuffed and forcibly taken.'

‘Arrested?'

The smirk was there and one had best say, ‘
Sans aucun doute
.'

Without a doubt.

‘Then why not wait and see, Inspector?'

‘It's Chief Inspector.'

‘Wait, then. Duty calls and even you, a former frontline soldier for the French must at least recognize that in a time of war, duty takes precedence.'

Louis went up the ledges ahead of the Untersturmführer who let him hurry on. Soon he came to the first man and for a moment, they looked at each other, but did Louis say, Listen,
mon ami
, I'm not one of them? Did he say,
Vive la France libre
?

Kramer watched the proceedings while budgeting his cigarette. Spat at by the first of the condemned, Louis stood his ground, not even wiping his face. One by one, the Untersturmführer and the dogs following, they went along the line and at each man, spittle erupted to hit that Sûreté but still he wouldn't pause to remove it.

Only as the last of the condemned was passed by did St-Cyr take his place, noted Kramer. Dumbfounded, sickened, Herr Kohler was at a loss for words and aghast. This disgrace to the Service, this ‘conscientious doubter' who had caused so much trouble in Paris and elsewhere in France by pointing the finger of truth with that French partner of his, started forward only to hesitate, to look over his shoulder in panic.

Kramer flung his cigarette away.

Ah,
Jésus, merde alors
, Louis, what the hell am I to do? silently demanded Kohler. Cry out to you, Get away from there; stand well to the side? Let's claim both deaths were suicides. Let's be realistic?

There was only one way to settle this and Kramer had known it all along. Louis would hate him. Everything that had ever been between them would be destroyed and yet they would never be allowed to leave unless it was done. Berlin must have ordered it.

Shoot the five or else. Snatch away the nearest rifle and be that firing squad.

The dogs were going back and forth in front of the line, now to nip at a tattered shoe or rag-covered ankle, now to bite a Sûreté's ‘new' overboots.

Suddenly one of the prisoners panicked. Turning, the man tried to climb the ledges to get away, to cry out God knows what, for the dogs were instantly upon him. Dragged down, torn at the crotch, the throat, he threw himself about, blood everywhere in the snow, his shrieks echoing until wave after wave of shots finally broke over Kohler, one of the dogs leaping up as it was hit and then madly thrashing its legs until still, the other simply flipping over to lie half on a ledge and half over its edge.

Shaking, he thrust the rifle back at its owner. Curtly Kramer gave the detail a nod and the crash of rifle-fire began again to rebound from the walls of the quarry until stilled as three ravens, black against the fading light, flew up and away.

Only Louis stood out on that ledge, but why hadn't those birds flown away earlier? Why had they to wait until now?

Seen through the windscreen's ever-moving wiper blades, the snowflakes were like an endless cloud of tiny parachutes caught in the searchlight's feeble beam from the headlamps, felt Victoria. Alain Schrijen had not come with them but was to follow.

Still to the west of Molsheim, and deep in the Bruche Valley, St-Cyr, who had constantly glanced into the rearview, became increasingly apprehensive. Though speed was necessary, and they desperately had to put distance behind them, he anticipated difficulties ahead, but now he suddenly speeded up, now he began to take chances. He could not know that there were ampoules of Evipan in her trouser pocket, could not know that she would break them when necessary and that there really were things she must never reveal to anyone.

Herr Kohler still stared emptily out his side windscreen, and one sensed absolutely that whatever had happened to them at the quarry, it had had a profound effect. Both, beyond a few terse words of commiseration to herself, had remained withdrawn, each waiting for the other to say something. Kohler, she knew from what had happened at Claudette's, must be feeling that death really did follow him everywhere and that, in spite of what he stood for, he must share the blame and that nothing he could do or say would ever renew the friendship he had once had with his partner. St-Cyr, one sensed, was well aware of this, the revulsion, the horror of what they'd seen, and perhaps it was that he felt Herr Kohler needed to sort things out for himself, perhaps it was that he was simply too angry and appalled to reach out to his friend.

Both had been shocked by her appearance as she had run from the hospital, no coat, no hat, no handbag, just a terrified, badly beaten woman. They had been solicitous, had wanted to take the Obersturmführer to task, only to realize that they had best leave while they could.

And now? asked Victoria. Now she sat between them, neither knowing when the SS would overtake them, each wanting to reach out to the other, herself the gulf, the quarry between.

Perhaps some sixth sense alerted St-Cyr, perhaps he had seen the glint of unshielded headlamps well behind them. Snowbanks crowded closely. There were no lanes that she could see, no side roads onto which they might turn. Again and again St-Cyr glanced into the rearview. ‘Two lorries, Hermann.'

They didn't have a chance. ‘Kramer must have gotten through to Berlin and they've now told him what to do,' said Kohler. ‘Pull over. Switch off and douse the headlamps.'

The lorries didn't stop. They roared past in clouds of billowing snow. ‘They're going for those boys in
Straf
, Louis. There's nothing we can do but follow and they know it.'

‘That doctor, mademoiselle,' said St-Cyr, darkness now enveloping them.

‘The Professor Haagan. The Obersturmführer Meyer wanted him to include me in his experiments, but Haagan had to have his little piece of paper. Fortunately I overheard them and was firm enough to tell him that if he so much as touched me, word of it would get back to Berlin. Had I not done, I would, I think, no longer be alive but immersed in formalin.'

Neither of them said a thing. They just looked at each other for what seemed the longest time. ‘Phenol,' Victoria heard herself saying at last. ‘Twenty cc's. That is how much he uses in one of his “experiments.”'

‘Not Evipan?' asked St-Cyr, sickened by what she had just said.

Involuntarily she shivered, Herr Kohler managing to drag off his greatcoat and wrap it about her. Again St-Cyr asked, and she knew that this much she had best tell them. ‘The phenol is given intravenously in the guise of a tetanus or typhoid-fever shot. Perhaps it is that Berlin wants the professors to find a quick and easy way of killing that does not entail anything so overt as hanging, decapitating with an axe or shooting. Perhaps it is that …'

‘Phenol's strongly caustic, Louis. The pain would be—'

‘Excruciating,
mon vieux
. Unconsciousness and death would certainly follow.'

‘Agony, Louis,' muttered Herr Kohler emptily.

‘Inspectors, Alain told Renée of the torture in the faces of four girls who had been selected and sent to the camp. All of them were
N und N
s. He spoke of how, as they fell unconscious, their expressions softened. He thought it curious. Among his duties, he has to watch and record everything that happens so that the professors and their students will then have an independent observer's comments.'

Tonelessly she told them of the other experiments and the autopsies that were being done both at the quarry camp and at the University of Strassburg.

‘Rasche would have had to visit that camp often enough, Louis, and must have known.'

‘And yet, Hermann, he made no mention of it beyond saying that they were doing autopsies all the time.'

‘He knew Renée Ekkehard would be at the carnival,' said Herr Kohler.

‘He sent Werner Lutze there in the
Polizeikommandantur
's
Grüne Minna
, Hermann.'

‘Knowing damned well she would see it and panic, Louis. He knew Alain Schrijen would be there and that the boy would chase after her.'