Cold Lonely Courage (Madeleine toche Series Book 2) (11 page)

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CHAPTER
TWENTY-FOUR

Madeleine was back in the storage facility, miles away from the kill site. Tonight I’ll stay here and then move on. I hope I never have to return, she thought, sitting on a small cot with her back against a wall, smoking. The can next to her had several butts in it; she had been winding down for a while. That was too close. I was lucky to run into a real cop, not a Gestapo or SS goon. That would have been a fight with me dead and some of them, she thought. There must be a guardian angel looking out for me, she smiled at the irony of it.

London was careful to move her around the country so that she wasn’t pinned down regionally. Travel was the most dangerous part of her job. The killing had become so organized and habitual that the act itself was a relief. She remembered the words of the ghostly German who told her never to become complacent. Hartmann told her to expect capture, and to relish each escape from it as a victory. She forced herself to plan to the point where her actions were like a dance or a story, with a beginning, middle, and an end. Each part was as important as the others.

Madeleine moved from the bed to the stove and opened another container in a seemingly endless parade of prepared food. Generally it was edible and designed for maximum nutrition and energy. She longed for the days prior to the war when she and her family would often discuss the meals of the day to come, what they would eat, who would prepare what, which new wines were available. To her family, food was life. She cherished the days when her family sat on their veranda overlooking the town and ate their meals together. They watched their friends and neighbors pass by and observed the comings and goings at the beach a few blocks away. They worked hard, but play was just outside the door. They did everything you could in a beach town. On Mondays, when the restaurant was closed, the family took their small sailboat to one of the hidden calanques. The little inlet knifed in from the sea, and its waters were clear and cool, protected by the sheer rock cliffs that formed its sides. They anchored the boat and swam until it was time to eat. They always had a cold lunch, washed down with white wine from the nearby village of Cassis. Jean-Pierre would lower a bottle down beneath the boat to cool and heighten its perfectly crisp, dry bite. As she thought of it, she could taste each sliver of melon and pulled chicken splashed by the fruit of the wine’s flavor. By the end of summer the Toche’s had the deep tans of their Provencal heritage, Yves’s set off magnificently by his blond hair and blue eyes and hers married beautifully with her mane of wild black curls.

Chez Toche prospered because of the family’s attention to the quality of their food and the loyalty of their patrons. She physically felt the loss of not being there working a Sunday afternoon meal. She worried about her parents and how they coped without her and, sadly, Yves. He had been gifted. He was so serious about the restaurant and the food from such a young age. Madeleine could cook; her mother and grandparents had taught her how. Yves just knew how. He was an artist born to the kitchen. He could watch one preparation, taste it, and improve it. He could look at herbs and other seasonings and invent dishes and entire meals of many courses as vehicles for their flavors and nuances. She allowed a little happiness into her grief as she thought of him, knowing that when the thoughts faded she would feel that slow sink back into melancholy and despair. It was a mire of pain from which she could only extract herself for short periods. Lately, there seemed to be an increasing glimmer of hope, some promise of happiness to come. She knew the allies would invade soon. She was privy to information that came directly from the premier espionage service in the world. Her organization knew the military’s secrets before the military knew them.

Madeleine always speculated that Prime Minister Churchill had something to do with that. There was a brilliant man, she thought. What were the Germans thinking, taking on the Brits with him as their leader? He was born for conflict. Not only that, he was half American, his mother from the States. Madeleine was Churchill’s dagger at the throat of the enemy. He had insisted that she be assigned the task. Madeleine had met him only once, but remembered the occasion vividly. He had simply asked if she was capable of the job, as he looked hard into her eyes. Madeleine made no answer, only looked back at him, her black eyes focused and completely without fear. Then the great man had laughed, pushed a brandy into her hand and talked about everything but the war. Too soon other duties called him away, but she carried his confidence every day as a bolster to her courage and against the loneliness in her heart.

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CHAPTER
TWENTY-FIVE

Stenger sat with his feet up on the desk, pushing around a few files. Willi was in his customary position; hat tilted back, unabashedly snoozing. Stenger smiled, knowing Willi purposefully cultivated his laid back manner. It must be nice to have that kind of contentment. I just don’t have it, he thought. Every time I try to sit still, I get more restless. Out of curiosity, he picked up a file with SS markings. He opened it and noted that it was a theft case. Finally he had something where the culprit might have exercised a little ingenuity and not just wanton violence or unplanned killing. During his time in the civilian police force, murders were the exception, not the norm. Financial crimes and large-scale thefts with intricate planning and execution, now those were the crimes that are worth investigating, Stenger thought. At least thieves consider their work an occupation, just like the traditional jobs that people go to every day. The illegality and the prison time associated with getting caught is just part of the equation. Catching them was one thing, convicting them was another.

The file Stenger held was a priority for the SS. He read that varying amounts of gold had been disappearing with some regularity in the Limoges region in the western part of France. With Hitler shooting generals for little reason, nobody was above suspicion. With the threat of invasion and increased Resistance activity, there were few resources for an in-depth investigation. Nobody had interviewed the commanding general in the area, Heinz Lammerding. In fact, nobody seemed interested in questioning anyone from the General’s SS division. Stenger read further. A note had been attached about the
Das Reich
Division. They had seen some of the bloodiest and most vicious combat along the eastern front, fighting the Russians. He thought about the Russian civilians that were tortured and killed indiscriminately. Whole villages were decimated. The Russians retaliated in kind. Some of these atrocities took place within sight of both enemy forces, like some horrible tit-for-tat game of death with women and children used as pawns. Presently,
Das Reich
was regrouping and resting up in the Limoges region, apparently in anticipation of the invasion. He shook his head. I hope that the allied generals don’t think the invasion will be easy, he thought. With soldiers like
Das Reich,
killing is like eating or sleeping. You send men with no combat experience up against those kinds of troops and you’ll see hell. He paused while he thumbed through the last few documents. His memory went back to the terror of battle and the knowledge of how effective seasoned troops could be. These were men with the stare that never seemed to settle on anything but were aware of everything. It was the result of endless fighting. He had it and Willi had it. It never left. He had heard it called the thousand-yard stare; the one searching for the enemy, knowing they were coming.

Stenger’s silence alerted Willi, who glanced up and saw the look on his face. Willi said nothing and closed his eyes again, knowing that Horsty would work through whatever demons were creeping into his mind, just as he did when they came to him.

Stenger repressed a shudder at having to investigate a case that involved
Das Reich.
At least Willi would be at his side, reminding him that there were still men of decency and honor who wore German uniforms.

Stenger shook the cobwebs out and pulled back from a walled-off place in the recesses of his mind. He looked back down and started reading where he’d left off. Apparently, a large amount of gold that had been seized from the civilian population had disappeared. Nobody seemed to know anything about it. He smiled; it seemed that the SS could commit any act of depravity against mankind, but if you stole from the Reich, that was a different matter, one that could get you shot, he thought. The perfunctory investigation had revealed nothing, and suggested that the Resistance might have intercepted the gold and hidden it away. The report mentioned a few SS officers of varying ranks, but was careful not to cast any suspicion their way. Stenger liked the idea of looking into the matter. He expected no help from the SS, and it seemed to him that the best way to get the SS off his back was to investigate them. He would proceed with caution and considered the fact that this new investigation might turn out to be his last of the war. He and Willi would casually look into it, and when
Das Reich
ran off to stop the invasion he and Willi would sit quietly in a police station and surrender peacefully when the Allies came. Either that or take a side trip to Spain and wait the war out there. I’m not going to shoot any more young men for the Fatherland, he told himself. Willi is with me on that. The investigation will take us out of the area, which is an added bonus due to a question or two thrown our way concerning Von Schmelling’s assassination, he thought.

Stenger had closed the book on chasing the Angel now that he’d put a face to the assassin. She wasn’t a random, out of control killer. She was precise and measured. She would have done anything to avoid shooting Willi. My instincts are still good. I’m not going to abandon them now. Besides, Willi said, after several large beers, she didn’t need catching. Willi was quick to point out that it wasn’t because she was terrifying; it was because for some reason, the entire time she held the gun to his head, he felt safe. He didn’t have to say that he trusted Stenger not to do something stupid and get him killed; the possibility of that happening was left on the battlefield decades ago. No, the feeling had come from her.

“Willi, how about a trip to Limoges?” Stenger said, closing the file.

“How’s the food?” Willi asked.

“Wonderful, like everywhere else in France. Don’t you want to know what we’ll be doing there?”

“As long as it doesn’t involve assassins and guns in my ear, I don’t care, Horsty.”

“Gold, Willi!”

“Do we get any?” Willi asked now fully awake.

“You know, Willi, ordinarily I’d say no. But now, who knows? Sounds like some of it might be German gold and it would be our patriotic duty not to allow all of it to fall into enemy hands. Besides, if we open a
Hoffbrau
after the war we’ll need capital.”

“What? The intrepid Detective Horst Stenger will put down his magnifying glass?”

“Consultation or private work, Willi. No more day in and day out.”

“Sounds good to me. Where do we put the
Hoffbrau
?”

“Right in the middle of Munich. When the city is rebuilt we’ll build right next to everything. Your family makes the beer; we sell it and give them a cut.”

“On one condition, Horsty. I get to hire the beer maids.”

“Who better, Willi? Who better?”

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CHAPTER
TWENTY-SIX

Hundreds of miles away in the middle of western France, Gabrielle Richard glanced out the window and into the courtyard of her neat little home. She was keeping an eye on Antoinette, her wandering three-year-old. Gabrielle smiled, thinking how precocious the little girl was. She was so cute with her jumble of curly blond hair and blue eyes. She was always talking and laughing. Antoinette was a village favorite. She was curious and warmed up to people right away. She would often take neighbors by the hand and lead them around her yard, showing them her latest discoveries. She was beautiful in every way.

Gabrielle cut some root vegetables from last year’s crop. Soon enough, she thought, her backyard garden would give them a supply for the coming winter. Her husband Marcel was off working. He was a short train ride away but would be home for dinner. Gabrielle felt fortunate. Day to day life in Oradour sur Glane was much the same as it had been before the war. She had been a newlywed then. Marcel had mild hearing loss from a childhood malady that kept him out of military service. The only German soldiers Gabrielle had seen drove through as part of a convoy headed somewhere else. That was exactly what Oradour sur Glane was, a town on the way to somewhere else.

More than once Gabrielle thought about life outside of Oradour. She had traveled as a girl. Her cousin and her family lived in the south. Gabrielle visited Madeleine, her younger cousin, several times. They were a few years apart and Gabrielle had taken it upon herself to teach her about the ways of the world. While Madeleine was dark, with sculpted features and a somewhat reserved personality, Gabrielle was blond, with bold, open features. The two complimented each other perfectly. Gabrielle saw the way men looked at Madeleine from an early age and decided she needed a little schooling in the art of flirtation and manipulation of men. Gabrielle regretted that she had lost touch with her. Letters from the Toche family had abruptly stopped after she learned that Yves was killed when the Germans invaded. She mourned his loss but knew his death must have been devastating for Madeleine. Madeleine and Yves had been so close.

Soon, the war will all be over, Gabrielle thought, as she dropped slices of carrot into the stock she was preparing from last night’s chicken. There were shortages everywhere, but in the rural farm areas a little bartering provided most of the staples. Sugar and coffee were almost impossible to find and were saved for special occasions. Perhaps rationing would be over soon. People in town were talking about the coming invasion more often. That would be a special occasion, she told herself. Everyone expected it, but had no idea where or when it would happen. More German troops were being moved into the coastal areas in the north, near possible landing areas for the Allies. Some people thought the Calais area will be the target, or the south across from the Allied-controlled areas of Africa. Will the fighting ever come to our little town? she wondered. We have no strategic importance at all. That’s fine with me, she thought. Not even the Resistance groups did anything in Oradour sur Glane. As far as she knew, there were no
Maquis
groups functioning within, or even close to the town. It’s as if there’s an understanding in town to stay out of the Resistance, so that the Germans will continue to ignore us.

Spring was turning to summer and perhaps all of this would be past soon enough, she hoped. I’ll go and visit Madeleine as once the Germans are gone and it’s safe to travel. It’s been almost five years since I’ve seen her. What a beauty she must be now. Who knows, maybe she has a boyfriend. She could even be married.