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Quivering, Kohler backed away. The Captain cried out shrilly, ‘That's enough! One more move and she dies.'

From out of the fog he snorted, ‘She's nothing to me, you sap. She's just another cunt to ram it into. Haven't you realized that yet?'

Warm blood trickled down her throat to run between her breasts and she felt this through the waves of panic. The killer had twisted her hair, had twisted it and twisted it until she had had to arch her back and draw up her knees. Now this … this … A cunt!

The knife moved against her throat, the voice was shrill! ‘We have to talk, Herr Kohler. I did not kill the Audit girl. Brandl assigned me to the Schraum business. Lafont and Bonny found out about the House of the Silver-Haired and forced me to cooperate. An exchange of information. They were to get everything, all the loot.'

There was no answer, no sound from Kohler. The woman shrieked, ‘Gestapo pig, you Nazi bastard! Ah my hair … Hermann, my hair!'

‘I DIDN'T KILL HER, KOHLER! SHE WAS DEAD WHEN WE GOT TO THERE!'

Kohler steeled himself to give the Captain time. ‘Who threw the coins?' he asked calmly from somewhere in the fog.

‘Lafont! In a rage – he always gets into them. The coins had been sent back to the avenue Foch by special courier from Stralsund. Oberg and Knochen got after him and told him to bring the girl in for questioning.' The Captain dragged in a breath.

‘But she was dead when you got there, ‘ said Kohler from off to the left.

Offenheimer savagely yanked the woman's head back. ‘Someone got to her first, I swear it!'

‘Who?'

‘We … we
don't
know. Lafont blamed Paul Carbone, the Corsican from the rue de Villejust.'

Kohler's voice now came from the right perhaps. ‘Who left that coin on the girl's forehead? Hey, I don't believe you. I think you killed her and then you raped her dead body. Was it fun, eh? Still warm.'

The hair was tightened. The woman stiffened in panic. ‘I DIDN'T!' shrieked Offenheimer. ‘I SWEAR I DIDN'T! Nicole … Nicole de Rainvelle, she … she dipped the coin in the girl's blood and … and placed it on the forehead.'

‘Why?' The bastard was crying.

‘Because … because Pierre Bonny told her to do it, damn you! They
knew
by then that Oberg and Knochen had insisted you and St-Cyr be given the case. Bonny wanted to leave your partner a warning. Lafont is insanely jealous of Paul Carbone and would not listen to reason. I … I kept trying to tell him I didn't think Carbone was involved, that it … it must be some other Corsican.'

‘And how did word first get out about the coins?'

The Captain sucked in a ragged breath, the woman gave a stifled gasp as pain leapt through her. ‘The girl must have shown one of them in the flea markets. People go there to –'

‘Ja, Ja, I know. To flog their valuables on the quiet. You turds all have informants in the fleas. It's one of the ways you nail the big ones, eh?'

Where was Kohler now? ‘We … we think that at first the price wasn't good enough, that the Audit girl really believed the coins to be of great value.'

Oona gave a piercing cry! He must ignore it! ‘When would this have been?'

Offenheimer lowered the knife to a breast. ‘Last summer. Early in June. She … she then showed three of the coins and … and that's when Schraum first got acquainted. They must have argued, for the girl got angry with Schraum and was afraid he'd arrest her but …'

‘But the good Corporal let her go on the condition she agreed to meet him again.'

‘Yes … yes. He must have examined her papers. He … he must have been satisfied.'

Oona gave a sigh – one too deep, too deep! Kohler moved swiftly away. The bastard had to have a knife, otherwise he'd have taken a shot at him by now. ‘Did the Audit girl show Schraum her false papers?' he sang out.

‘False papers …?'

‘She had an alias,
dummkopf
!'

‘I … I don't know if she used it. I … I think she must have. About a month or so later he made contact with her again and this time she must have told him there was a very large collection and that her friend wished to part with all of it, preferably to one buyer.'

Kohler waited. Of fenheimer continued. ‘Early in September he met with the girl again in the flea markets of Saint-Ouen and this time she agreed to part with one of the coins as a sample. No money changed hands. The coin, we think, was to be returned if the price could not be arranged.'

Kohler cut the belt from Oona Van der Lynn's ankles and this time she didn't flinch, a bad sign – was it bad? Ah no …

Offenheimer stiffened. Kohler … Kohler …

Again the Gestapo's voice came from a distance. ‘How many coins were there supposed to have been in the collection?'

‘Four hundred and eighty-seven. Enough to fill one of those Empire coin cabinets – we know this from the uncle in Stralsund. Schraum … Schraum must have told him of the cabinet.'

‘The coin went to Stralsund, to the uncle, eh?' asked Kohler from off to the left again. ‘News of a fabulous collection that had never been reported to the authorities.'

‘That … that is correct. The uncle wired back that the coin was genuine and in excellent condition. Schraum was to enter carefully into negotiations.' The woman gave a sigh and then a gasp.

Again Kohler steeled himself to her. ‘Did the uncle send the coin back as agreed or did greed get the better of him?'

Dealing with Kohler was like dealing with
death! ‘
The … the coin went to Reichsmarschall Goering.' Where was Kohler now?.

‘Then what happened?'

‘They … they met, they negotiated. Again and again the girl said her friend wanted to be careful about things, that it wasn't easy to get him to commit to a price but that he would be willing to part with a further sample.'

‘The thirty coins?'

Offenheimer yanked the woman closer. ‘Yes … yes, the thirty coins. By then we had all independently begun looking into Antoine Audit. We knew he had declared some of his valuables – a few paintings, some antiques. Most of his wealth was in his factories and in property. Bonny … Bonny thought Audit had hidden a great deal and wanted to search the caves in Périgord. Brandl felt there was much to be gained, but then the coins came back and Victor Morande was killed. We closed in on the girl only to find she'd been silenced, then … then Schraum himself was killed and …'

‘And Antoine Audit?' asked Kohler from very near.

‘AUDIT HAS POWERFUL FRIENDS!' shrilled Offenheimer. ‘Laval, the Premier; Lindermann a cousin of Martin Bormann, Herr Kohler.
Bormann
! Von Lindermann is the naval attaché in Bordeaux. Périgord is … is in his department.'

The Abwehr then, but another branch of it. The visitor and his girlfriend who had left the pâté et cetera at the Villa Audit. ‘Anyone else?' he asked suddenly.

Offenheimer pushed the woman's head forward. He'd shove her aside as Kohler came at them. ‘Hogenburg, a nephew of the Minister of Armaments. They are all friends of Audit, Herr Kohler. They all think very highly of him and that is why the avenue Foch turned the matter over to the rue Lauriston.'

So much for ‘delicate' matters. Antoine Audit must damned well know of it too.

Kohler teased the knife from the Captain's hand. ‘Two last items, my fine. First, are Lafont and Bonny still holding Giselle le Roy?'

Oona Van der Lynn began to sob with relief; Offenheimer hardly breathed. ‘Yes … yes, they still have her. She … she was too badly beaten to release.'

‘Did the kid refuse to co-operate?'

The pistol was pressed harder. ‘Yes, she … she wouldn't spy on you.'

‘I'm not worth it. Now, did you smash this “Hilda” or not?'

Granny's boy broke down completely. Kohler yanked Oona to her feet and wrapped his coat about her. She couldn't find her voice, went all to pieces.

‘Yes … yes, I killed my sister, damn you!' shouted the Captain. ‘She
deserved
to die!'

The urge to be his executioner was there, a foolish thought. ‘Then live with it. Go and smash another statue.'

‘YOU'LL PAY FOR THIS, KOHLER! THEY'LL NEVER LET YOU AND ST-CYR LIVE, NOT AFTER WHAT YOU DID IN VOUVRAY!'

‘Oona … Oona, hey
listen.
I'm sorry. I didn't mean it to go that far. Honestly I didn't. Look, I'm going to take care of you. I really mean it.'

She could not walk, she could not talk. Kohler swept her up into his arms and carried her back to the car.

The Club Mirage was on the rue Delambre in Montparnasse. At 2.47 a.m. behind locked doors, the place was jumping. Kohler breathed in the syrup of tobacco smoke, beer, wine, sweat and brandy, and grinned with relief.

Louis was tossing dice up at the zinc. From the balcony there was an excellent view. Eight hundred of the Wehrmacht's finest laughed, jeered, whistled and clapped or beckoned as they swilled their collective booze and eighteen naked girls and mothers who should have known better stomped, kicked and jiggled their way through the number and the band let them have it!

Oona still shuddered at the memory of what had just happened to her. Hermann Kohler's coat was rough and far too big. Cringing in her nakedness under it, she looked down to see watermarks where her bare feet had trod.

‘Relax, eh? Hey, try to forget it, Oona. Louis' girlfriend will have a little something for you to wear.'

‘None of them have,' she said blankly.

Kohler chucked her under the chin and gave her a grin. ‘She's not one of those. Just give me a moment, eh? I've got to scan the horizon.'

Louis swept up the dice and raised a fist. Once, twice – three times he shook them. There was that little flick of the wrist and crash! the bones hit the zinc to scatter and run. Then the process began again. He was completely oblivious to the racket and to the clamouring herd that tried to reach the watering-hole while thrusting out their fistfuls of bills.

Blind to the eighteen beauties. Crash again. Now the sweep, now the first – always the right one … a taunt, a threat, a toss.

Kohler dragged his eyes along the line of threat and when he found the table, he picked out Henri Lafont, Pierre Bonny and Nicole de Rainvelle.

Giselle was with them. She'd been badly beaten – had had a ‘fall' as the madams say in the trade. Bruises marred the fresh young cheeks, yellowing up into half-closed eyes. Her nose had been broken, her lips were swollen.

‘Herr Kohler, what is it? What's wrong?' Oona yanked at his jacket sleeve, only to hear him swear.

‘Look, I'm sorry. I've just seen someone.'

The girl clutched a grey fox-fur coat under her chin just as she was clutching Herr Kohler's coat. The racket came to an end and the place erupted in a deafening roar as the dancers romped away and the house lights were dimmed.

Then she saw, as all of them were breathlessly seeing, a mirage walk on to the stage in a shimmering sky-blue sheath that was covered with tiny pearls. Tall, willowy, a gorgeous figure, a blonde with shoulder-length hair and what appeared at this distance to be absolutely stunning blue eyes.

There were diamonds on her fingers and wrists. Diamonds at her throat.

‘My dear, dear friends, a little song for you.' The voice had warmth, depth, resonance and power. Not a man in the place stirred and even Hermann Kohler finally had to tear his gaze away from the little one in the fur coat, and Oona saw the tears running down his sagging cheeks.

A lion in its winter; a man in torment with himself.

She slid an arm through his but he had no time for her, only hatred for himself.

Crash! The dice hit the zinc in irritation. Crash again.

‘This is a song of lost love, my friends. Of a home that is far away, and of things we all wish and hope for. It is of a girl who has lost her lover and yearns for him with all her tender years. Letters do no good – isn't that so?'

Eight hundred men, many of them sailors on leave, some from the submarines of the North Atlantic, held their collective breath. Gone were the floozies, the big-breasted laughing girls who had sweated and kicked their legs so high. In their places, this one's voice lifted. It struck to the heart, the soul. It was bell-like, crystal clear, sweet, so sweet and earthy too.

It sang in French, it sang in German and once, just for a few brief seconds, a little Russian slipped in and Hermann Kohler knew the woman had done this especially for his friend.

Kohler wet his throat and tried to think. The song went on, lifting everyone. Not a man's glass was touched, not an eye wavered. Bonny sulked, Henri Lafont beamed, Nicole de Rainvelle sipped champagne while Giselle lowered her swollen eyes.

One sailor wept openly. Another held him by the shoulders. Shell-shock? Lost comrades? Battle fatigue?

A boy in the olive-grey of the army stood out as if the
chanteuse
was singing only for him and he'd never been in love before that moment and would die for it.

‘Come on. Let's find Louis. He and I have to talk.'

‘Is that her?'

‘Yes, that's her. She gets ten per cent of the gate and she packs them in like this every night of the week.'

‘I meant the other one. The little one.'

They went downstairs quickly, too quickly, but the crowd was jammed and no one would let them through until the song had come to its close on a high, sad note. Hermann dragged her by the hand. He hit the first of the men as they cheered and applauded. He was shouting now. ‘Gestapo! Gestapo! Get the fuck out of my way!'

They reached the bar and he swung her in front of him. ‘Louis, what the Christ is up?'

St-Cyr tossed his head to indicate the table. The Corsicans – the Rivard brothers who owned the place – were keeping their distance.

‘A scratch!' leapt the Frog. ‘A
cat
in the dark, Hermann. A
Corsican
cat!' He threw the dice at Remi Rivard, the one with the face of a mountain, the one with the dark eyes that were so swift.