Citadel (20 page)

Laval laughed. ‘Pelletier’s name has been all over the wireless. There can’t be a man, woman or child in Carcassonne who’s not heard of him.’

‘If you recall, we are no longer permitted to own a wireless,’ said Blum, struggling to catch his breath.

Laval picked up Blum’s glasses and twisted them between his thumb and forefinger.

‘This morning, you attended the demonstration with your sister and your, what shall we call her,
salope
.’

Finally, a spark of anger. ‘Don’t talk about her like that.’

Laval hit him again, harder this time, splitting the skin beneath his eye. Blum swallowed a gasp, but said nothing as the blood trickled down his cheek.

‘An illegal demonstration,’ Laval continued. ‘Pelletier was there.’

‘I told you, I don’t know anyone called Pelletier.’

Laval saw Blum brace himself for the blow, which didn’t come.

‘Where’s Pelletier now?’

‘I don’t know anyone called Pelletier.’

‘Who was the girl at the river?’

Laval saw the confusion at the abrupt change of subject and then, for the first time, the flicker of evasion.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Yes you do, Blum. Think. We know you were there – we traced the number plate – you and your tart. Did you give the girl a lift somewhere?’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘How does she know Pelletier?’

Laval could see Blum was struggling, trying to put the different questions together. Trying not to get caught out.

‘I don’t know Pelletier,’ he repeated for the third time.

This time, Laval went for his stomach, landing the punch just beneath the diaphragm. Blum grunted, but still managed to raise his head and stare at him.

‘You’re lying, Blum. Why was Pelletier at the river yesterday?’

The reaction was so quick, Laval almost missed it, but it was there. Confirmation that he genuinely didn’t know Pelletier. Or at least he didn’t know that he had been at the river. He moved on with another question before Blum had time to think.

‘This girl, is she a friend of “Mademoiselle” Ménard?’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Max said, strain cracking his voice.

‘Do you want me to ask Mademoiselle Ménard myself, Blum?’

‘Leave her alone,’ he said. ‘She doesn’t know anything. There’s nothing to know!’

Blum flinched, clearly bracing himself for another blow, and relaxed a little when it didn’t come. Laval stared at him – he was stronger than he’d expected – then leant forward and put the warped glasses back on his bruised face.

‘She’s got to know more than you, Blum. Maybe she’ll be able to tell us the girl’s name. Or that little sister of yours. Pretty girl, for a Jewess.’

Blum sprang out of the chair, even though his hands were still cuffed behind his back.

‘Don’t you go near her, either of them,’ he warned. ‘Or else I swear I’ll . . .’

‘You’ll do what?’ Laval laughed. ‘You’re here, Blum, she’s out there. You can’t protect her. Your sister, your whore, you’re no use to either of them.’

Finally he saw fear in the other man’s eyes. ‘You can’t hold me,’ Blum said. ‘I’ve done nothing wrong.’

‘You’re a Jew, Blum,’ Laval said.

‘I’m French.’

‘Not in my eyes.’

‘A Parisian.’

‘Yet here in Carcassonne. Attending an illegal demonstration.’

‘There were thousands there. You can’t arrest everybody.’

Laval stood up and threw open the door. The guard, who had clearly been trying to listen in, sprang back.

‘Process him. Put him on the deportation list with the others.’

‘You can’t do this,’ Blum shouted. ‘You’ve got no right!’

Laval walked out into the corridor. ‘I can do anything I like, Blum. Send you anywhere I like. No one even knows you’re here.’

He turned. ‘And you,’ he hissed to the guard, ‘if you breathe a word of this to anyone, you’ll be on that train tomorrow too.’

Chapter 36

‘
M
arianne,’ Sandrine said, leading Raoul into the salon. ‘There’s someone I want you to meet.’

An attractive woman sitting on a sofa looked up, a book in her lap. Raoul recognised her from boulevard Barbès. In an armchair to her left, a tall woman with cropped hair and slacks. A pretty bottle blonde was adjusting the dials on the wireless. All three immediately stopped what they were doing and looked at him with a mixture of suspicion and interest.

‘Mesdames,’ he said, wishing his throat wasn’t so dry.

‘Marianne,’ Sandrine said, her voice too sharp, too fast, too high. ‘This is Raoul. He’s stuck, needs somewhere to stay. I said you wouldn’t mind.’

‘Darling, I’m not sure that’s a . . .’

Sandrine carried on talking over her. ‘It was Raoul who fished me out of the river yesterday,’ she said. ‘Without him, who knows how long I might have been lying there.’ She put her hand on his arm and he felt how nervous she was. ‘Raoul, my sister Marianne and our friends Lucie Ménard and Suzanne Peyre. Everyone, Raoul Pelletier.’

After a moment’s hesitation, Suzanne stood up and offered her hand. ‘How do you do.’

‘Did you say Pelletier?’ said Lucie.

Sandrine nodded. ‘Yes, why?’

Lucie leant forward and turned up the volume on the wireless. The crackling voice of the presenter grew louder.

‘Police in Carcassonne therefore request anyone who has any information pertaining to the whereabouts of the suspected bomber to contact them immediately. Following the discovery of a number of items in the apartment where the suspect resided . . .’

Raoul felt a trickle of dread. He knew they’d be after him, but to be set up for the whole thing? He couldn’t work it out.

‘. . . and the police advise that Pelletier may be dangerous. He should not be approached. The telephone number will be repeated at the end of this bulletin. We repeat, he may be dangerous and should not be approached. In other local news, the celebrations for the Fête de Saint-Nazaire will still go ahead in Carcassonne, despite the damage caused by this afternoon’s outrage in the Bastide. Organisers say . . .’

Lucie flicked the dial off. ‘They’ve been running bulletins every half-hour,’ she said.

‘You can’t believe anything the wireless puts out,’ Sandrine said, squeezing his arm. ‘You’re always saying as much, Marianne.’

His situation was even worse than he’d imagined but, despite that, despite everything, Raoul’s spirits lifted a little at how Sandrine sprang unconditionally to his defence. Something inside him shifted.

He looked around the room, trying to work out what to say. How even to begin. He felt Marianne’s eyes on him.

‘Monsieur Pelletier?’

Raoul met her gaze. ‘I wasn’t responsible for the bomb.’

‘Were you there?’

‘Yes, and . . .’ He hesitated. ‘And I know who set it off, I saw him, though there’s nothing I can do about it. No one will believe me.’

‘Someone died,’ Marianne said.

‘A boy?’ Raoul said, remembering the child’s white face.

‘Yes.’

‘Marianne,’ Sandrine said, sounding upset as well as embarrassed. ‘Raoul told me he was in trouble. I invited him. He doesn’t have to answer to us.’

‘Your sister has a right to know what happened,’ he said. ‘I’d expect the same in her position.’

‘No,’ Sandrine said firmly, ‘she doesn’t. You told me you didn’t do anything and—’

‘Darling, let him speak for himself.’

Sandrine threw her hands in the air. ‘How can he possibly do that when you’re sitting in judgement?’

Marianne patted the sofa cushion. ‘Come and sit by me.’

Sandrine hesitated, then went to the sofa and sat down. Suzanne plonked herself back in the armchair. Lucie perched on the arm, swinging a shapely leg to and fro.

Raoul looked at Sandrine – her fierce eyes, the two spots of colour on her cheeks, her black curls framing her face – and the sight of her gave him courage. He knew without a shadow of a doubt that if there was ever to be something between them, he had to break the habit of deception he’d been forced to adopt and tell the truth. Trust Sandrine and her sister, their friends. Tell them what had happened, leave nothing out.

‘May I sit down?’ he asked.

‘Of course,’ Marianne replied.

Raoul pulled a wooden chair from next to the sideboard and put it in the middle of the room.

‘The man who detonated the bomb is called Sylvère Laval,’ he said. ‘I know because he was a member of a group I was also in. I realised today – too late to do anything about it – he’d been working undercover with the police.’

‘What kind of group?’

He was aware of Sandrine’s dark eyes on him, but he continued to focus his attention on Marianne. He took a deep breath.

‘A Resistance group.’

‘And you, Monsieur Pelletier?’

He held her gaze. ‘You’re asking if I am a partisan?’

‘I am.’

Raoul hesitated, then gave a sharp nod. ‘Yes.’ He almost expected an alarm to go off at the admission, or for the police to storm the house. ‘I am a partisan. Of course.’

Marianne glanced at Suzanne. Raoul felt he could almost see the questions, the calculations flying unspoken through the air. He felt the force of Sandrine’s steady gaze on him. Quickly he turned his head and risked a smile, was rewarded by the encouragement in her eyes.

‘But the situation’s complicated,’ he said.

‘Go on,’ said Marianne.

‘The march itself was genuine enough, but it seems many of the Resistance groups in the Aude had been infiltrated by Vichyists, by Deuxième Bureau, or . . .’ He paused again. ‘Or, like mine, set up by collaborators in the first place.’

‘To trap
résistantes
,’ Suzanne said, then quickly corrected herself. ‘
Résistants
.’

‘Let Monsieur Pelletier continue,’ Marianne jumped in. ‘Who was in this group?’

Giving names went against everything he’d been taught. But again, Raoul knew he had no choice if he wanted to persuade her – them – to trust him.

‘Two brothers, Gaston and Robert Bonnet; Antoine Déjean; and a former comrade of my brother from the International Brigade, César Sanchez.’

Raoul saw a glance pass between Suzanne and Marianne.

‘What about your brother?’

‘Bruno was murdered by the Nationalists in Spain in December 1938.’

Marianne paused. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Thank you. The other members were Laval and the leader of the group, a man called Leo Coursan.’

Marianne looked at Suzanne again. ‘Coursan, I know that name.’

Raoul glanced at each of the women in turn. Sandrine looked simply interested, curious. The blonde too. But Marianne and her friend? He was increasingly certain they knew precisely what he was talking about.

‘I was aware there were tensions, but since I didn’t know anyone except for César, and people are often on edge before something big like that, I didn’t take it to mean anything. Unfortunately, I failed to listen to my own instincts.’

‘Did you talk about your suspicions with anyone else?’

‘I tried to talk to César. He clearly had something on his mind, but stupidly I didn’t press him, so—’

‘Where’s César now?’ Suzanne interrupted.

‘He was arrested this afternoon. At his apartment.’

This time Marianne and Suzanne made no attempt to hide the glance that passed between them.

‘Do you know him?’ he asked.

Neither woman answered.

‘Go on, Monsieur Pelletier,’ said Marianne.

‘I was outside Saint-Michel when the bomb went off. I shouted a warning to get people out of the way, but I was too late. Laval left a pile of the tracts we’d been distributing at the site, or packed them into the bomb, I’m not sure which. I had a few with me. I was trying to help the boy who was injured, they fell out of my pocket and a woman saw. Started screaming.’

‘You have any proof of this?’

‘Marianne!’ Sandrine protested.

‘No. But it’s the truth.’

‘A
bouc émissaire
, a scapegoat,’ Suzanne said.

Marianne took no notice of the interruption. ‘Is that all you were doing, handing out tracts? No – no other action?’

Raoul again held her gaze. ‘Just handing out leaflets.’

‘What was in them?’

‘Photographs of the conditions in the camps at Argelès, Rivesaltes.’

‘I saw them,’ Sandrine said.

‘So did I,’ said Lucie. ‘Awful.’

Marianne was silent for a moment. Raoul waited, feeling that the tide was turning in his favour, but not wanting to jeopardise anything.

‘Do you think Coursan and Laval were working together?’

Raoul shook his head. ‘I’ve been trying to work it out. I didn’t see Coursan today and I don’t know what’s happened to him, but he and Laval are close . . .’ He shrugged. ‘It’s hard to be sure.’

He paused, trying to decide whether to go on or not.

‘Is there something else, Monsieur Pelletier?’

‘I can see it was easy for Laval to frame me. I was right there at the critical moment. On the other hand, it’s possible I’d been singled out anyway.’

‘Why?’ Marianne said quickly.

‘Because of what happened yesterday at the river.’

Now Lucie started to pay more attention.

‘Antoine Déjean is missing. Has been for several days.’ Raoul risked a quick glance at Sandrine, who was sitting very still on the sofa with her arms wrapped around herself. ‘You were holding his chain when I found you,’ he said softly.

‘It was in the pocket of a jacket abandoned down by the water,’ Sandrine said, ‘though that had gone when I came round.’ She looked at Lucie. ‘Do you remember, I asked you and Max to look for it?’

‘I’m sorry we didn’t believe you,’ Lucie said. ‘It just sounded so unlikely, all of it.’

Marianne leant towards Raoul. ‘The man Sandrine helped at the river, do you think it was your friend?’

‘I can’t be sure. But he’s still not turned up, and from Sandrine’s description, it sounded like Antoine.’

‘I didn’t want to say anything in case I was wrong,’ Sandrine said quietly. ‘I’m sorry.’

Marianne thought for a moment. ‘Are you saying you think Coursan attacked Déjean?’

Raoul shook his head. ‘The timings don’t work. He can’t have been hauling Antoine up the bank, finding somewhere to hold him, then back at the rue de l’Aigle d’Or in time for the meeting. He was there before me.’