Grey Wolves (20 page)

‘Let’s see if you told me the truth when I picked you up earlier,’ Bauer said to Marc, while cracking his knuckles.

Marc was trembling. The last time he’d been this close to a Gestapo officer he’d ended up getting his front tooth yanked out. And while they’d probably just been brought in together because of the incident out in the courtyard, if Bauer did know anything about their undercover operations then things were about to turn nasty.

‘This boy said he works for you, Madame Mercier. Is that true?’

‘He’s a cigarette boy at Mamba Noir,’ she replied. ‘He also takes a cart out for me in the morning, collecting supplies.’

‘I see,’ Bauer nodded. ‘Has he worked for you long?’

‘Two or three months.’

‘And he’s honest?’

Madame Mercier shrugged. ‘I employ more than two hundred people, Herr Oberst. I can only say that I’ve no cause to believe that he is dishonest.’

‘So why would I find young Marc hiding in the bins behind Mamba Noir?’

‘I don’t know,’ Madame Mercier shrugged. ‘We throw out food sometimes. Or maybe he left something behind at the club.’

‘But why would he hide?’ Bauer asked fiercely.

Madame Mercier laughed. ‘Because a great hulk like you thundered towards him in a black uniform, I should imagine.’

Marc’s breathing eased. She’d confirmed everything he’d told the Gestapo officer as he’d walked to the truck.

Bauer scratched his chin thoughtfully, then spoke to his female assistant in German. ‘Ursula, please escort Marc to a holding cell. I don’t think there’s any reason to question him further.’

Madame Mercier looked up at Bauer as Marc walked towards the door. ‘I don’t know why I’m even here,’ she said indignantly. ‘I was working in my office all night. It looks out on to the main drag, but I have to pull the curtains when the lights are on, so how could I have seen anything?’

‘You’re here because it’s your responsibility to ensure that your customers behave,’ Bauer shouted angrily. ‘The man we arrested was drunk. He killed a German solider. Who sold him that drink? Was it one of your bars?’

‘Oh don’t be ridiculous,’ Madame Mercier said, as she rose out of her chair. ‘I am not responsible for the death of that soldier.’

‘Don’t you
dare
speak to a Gestapo officer in that tone,’ Bauer roared.

‘I speak to you like a fool, sir, because you are a fool.’

Bauer grabbed Madame Mercier by the neck and throttled her. The chairs flew out of the way as she slammed the back wall, then Bauer dragged her sideways and plunged her head first into the icy bath.

‘You think you’re important,’ Bauer shouted, as Ursula led Marc out. ‘But before this night is out I shall teach you to be humble, Madame Mercier.’

Note

  
⁵
 
Gefreiter – the lowest rank of officer in the Gestapo.

After being stitched, PT managed to stand long enough to get on to Marc’s bed. While he dozed Henderson scrubbed the landing floor and the wallpaper on the staircase. He thought about venturing out with a torch to look for Marc, but it seemed certain he’d been picked up by the Germans. What other explanation was there?

Henderson couldn’t get Marc out of his mind as he sat hunched over the little dining table, watching PT’s troubled sleep. He was used to dealing with complex situations, used to people getting hurt and killed in his line of work, but it was different with Marc.

Henderson had often heard the other kids teasing Marc, calling him
Henderson’s pet
, but he’d never admitted this favouritism to himself until now. The fact was, he saw a younger version of himself in Marc and cared about him more than anyone except his newborn son. Henderson found this truth uncomfortable. If he favoured Marc, did that mean all the other kids resented him for it? Did it make him look weak? And had it caused him to make bad decisions?

Curfew ended at sunrise. At the first chink of light Henderson went down with a bucket of water. He wiped bloody finger marks from around the keyhole in the front door and was impressed that PT had managed to pick the lock while on the verge of passing out. He poured the water over the doorstep and used a stiff broom to wipe dots of dried blood from the doorstep.

‘You’re cleaning up,’ a woman said frostily. ‘To what do we owe this miracle?’

Henderson turned back down the hallway and saw the two elderly sisters who lived on the ground floor. They worked as cleaners in one of Madame Mercier’s bars.

‘Good morning, my dears,’ Henderson said mockingly. ‘Absolutely lovely to see you again.’

As the two women stepped out he considered warning them about what had happened the night before, but didn’t feel the miserable old bats deserved it. Once they were out of sight, he strolled along to the back door of Mamba Noir and checked for any sign of a struggle. The exit had been unlocked by kitchen staff but he didn’t bother going inside.

Back in the apartment, PT had sat himself up. He looked white and his voice wavered, but at least he was conscious.

‘Morning,’ Henderson said, keeping deliberately upbeat. ‘How’s our wounded soldier?’

‘Shaking like a leaf,’ PT said.

‘Hungry?’

‘I’ll try something,’ PT answered warily. ‘God knows if it’ll stay down.’

Henderson usually relied on Mamba Noir leftovers for breakfast, but he made some coffee, found some stale bread and cut the last few pieces off a small joint of ham.

‘You’ve lost a pint of blood, maybe two,’ Henderson said as PT sat on the edge of Marc’s bed, biting the end off a piece of ham. ‘You could do with a transfusion, but I daren’t take you near a hospital.’

‘Is that serious?’ PT asked.

‘You’re young and fit. You’ll survive, provided we keep infection out of that wound. Your blood pressure will be very low, so you’re going to feel weak for some time. Most likely sick and giddy if you move about too much.’

‘I think I worked that much out for myself.’

‘So how did the German die?’ Henderson asked. ‘I stayed awake all night with my gun on the table. I’m surprised we haven’t had house-to-house searches.’

‘It wasn’t me that killed him,’ PT said, shaking his head. ‘This madman started on me with a bread knife for no reason. They shot him in the leg after he cut the German’s throat. So they’re probably not looking for a killer.’

Henderson knew PT’s reputation for con tricks and doubted that someone had simply stabbed him for no reason. But he didn’t push the point, this wasn’t the time for an interrogation.

‘Was the killer shot dead?’ Henderson asked.

‘He was knocked out for sure. I didn’t stick around to see if he was dead.’

‘If he isn’t and they question him he’ll be begging for his life,’ Henderson said. ‘He could blame you for starting the fight. The Germans have rounded a lot of people up, including Marc by the looks of it. It’s possible they’ll be looking for someone with a stab wound fitting your description.’

PT felt guilty. ‘How did Marc get picked up?’

‘Behind the club, looking for Joel’s message. Do you think you can make it downstairs?’

‘Probably,’ PT said. ‘But I won’t be walking far.’

Henderson nodded. ‘I’ve got to go to the stable and tell Edith that Marc’s not around to do his delivery route. I’ll try and get a cart to take you out to stay in the country with Paul, Boo and Rosie.’

‘I don’t even know where they’re living,’ PT said.

‘Even I don’t know their exact location,’ Henderson said. ‘But I know it’s somewhere well out of the way and I know where Marc meets Paul to pass on messages every morning.’

*

Gestapo HQ had less than a dozen proper cells. With more than fifty people rounded up for interrogation most prisoners had spent the night in the dank wine cellar beneath the villa’s kitchens. Marc nestled under an archway and kept his eyes half open.

There was clearly no method behind the Gestapo’s round-up. Some people took being locked up in their stride, while others shook with terror. One of the drunks set a barmaid off in hysterics when he said they were all waiting for a firing squad. Two women who hadn’t seen each other in years caught up, talking husbands, kids, jobs and scandals.

There was daylight coming through the barred slots up by the ceiling when Madame Mercier came into the room with smeared make-up, torn dress and a large bloody welt down her right arm. She was probably the best-known and definitely the most controversial woman in Lorient. Many admired her skill as a businesswoman and the comparative decency with which she treated her staff. Others reviled her as a corrupt brothel keeper and a German collaborator.

People seemed frightened of her as she limped into the room, but all Marc saw was an old lady who’d taken a beating. He gave her an arm and led her back to his spot under the arch.

‘What are you all gawping at?’ Madame Mercier shouted. ‘I’m not a bloody circus.’

When she settled on the stone floor, Marc caught a whiff of urine off her dress. He was disgusted, partly by the smell but also by the idea that Oberst Bauer had frightened her so much that she’d pissed herself.

‘You OK?’ Marc asked, as he stroked the back of her trembling hand.

She spoke extremely quietly because sound carried easily around the stone cellar. ‘There’s nothing you or your father need to worry about. It’s politics.’

Marc didn’t reply, but Madame Mercier felt the need to talk.

‘I have good relations with the army and the navy,’ she explained. ‘Oberst Bauer doesn’t like the influence I have over certain people, and wants me to know that he can drag me back to his little torture chamber any time I do something that displeases him.’

Madame Mercier’s dealings were largely a mystery to Marc, so all he could do was squeeze her hand tighter and whisper, ‘You’ll be all right.’

‘I overheard Bauer saying that
someone
blew up nine trains,’ she said, as she gave Marc’s hand a small but triumphant squeeze.

Marc was elated, but his smile didn’t last long.

‘The Gestapo rounded up dozens of suspected communists after the invasion of Russia,’ she continued. ‘They’re going to shoot one communist prisoner for each engine that was damaged.’

*

After helping PT to use the chamberpot, Henderson left the house and cut through Mamba Noir. The cleaning staff had been in for an hour already, but some of the restaurant tables still bore half-eaten meals abandoned the previous night.

Going through the revolving door on to the main drag was an even bigger shock. After the soldier was killed, groups of off-duty Germans had gone on a brief but highly destructive rampage, avenging the death of their colleague by kicking in doors, throwing café tables through windows and beating up anyone unfortunate enough to be in their way.

Across the street a four-strong German patrol had a young man pinned against the wall. Henderson wondered what questions they were asking, but the man was getting slapped about so it wasn’t a good idea to stick around.

A big cart pulled by two horses was coming out of the narrow stable entrance as Henderson approached. He found Edith in an empty stall, shovelling manure into a wheelbarrow.

‘Did you get back into town OK?’ Henderson asked.

‘Lucky I was indoors before any trouble started,’ Edith said. ‘Have you heard anything?’

Once Henderson had explained the situation with Marc and PT, Edith gave her news.

‘The driver who just went out to the brewery said the Krauts have already started putting notices up. There’s gonna be a nine p.m. curfew. All clubs, bars and restaurants for French people in the centre of town are shut until further notice.’

Henderson sucked air between his teeth. ‘Madame Mercier will have a few things to say to her German friends about that.’

‘Gestapo have got her,’ Edith said.

Henderson gulped. Marc being in custody was unfortunate, but Madame Mercier as well could mean that the Gestapo had suspicions about their operations.

‘How do you know?’ he asked.

‘I stayed in my room above Café Mercier last night. The girls were all talking about it. The owners of the big clubs and bars were rounded up.’

Henderson sounded relieved. ‘So not just Madame Mercier?’

‘No,’ Edith said. ‘What about the trains? I
think
I heard the explosion.’

‘Something went bang for sure,’ Henderson said. ‘But I’ve got no idea how effective it was.’

‘I could go up there later and take a peek,’ Edith said.

Henderson shook his head. ‘Too risky. What matters right now is finding a way of getting PT out of town. Can I borrow a cart?’

‘Of course,’ Edith said. ‘But it’s probably better if I drive him. I’ll have to do Marc’s delivery route if he’s not around. The dairy is outside of town, so I can see if there’s extra security when I pick the milk up. Then I can go back a bit later with PT.’

‘That sounds ideal.’

‘No problem,’ Edith said, before breaking into a grin. ‘Of course if I’m out for most of the day, I’ll need someone here to muck out and feed the horses.’

Henderson clearly didn’t fancy doing this himself. ‘They’ll need me at Mamba Noir if Madame Mercier isn’t around. I’ll speak to the cleaners. I’m sure one of them will be happy to do it for a few extra francs.’

The food collection route took an hour longer than usual because the Germans had put up snap checkpoints all over town. But if the Gestapo had it in for Madame Mercier, the message hadn’t been passed down to regular soldiers yet: Edith drove the cartload of black market foods past every checkpoint unscathed, apart from the usual petty thefts of fruit and a senior officer helping himself to a nice bottle of wine.

When she got back to Mamba Noir, Henderson came out of the rear entrance followed by a pair of kitchen porters who began unloading the cart.

‘I met Paul by the trough and explained what’s going on,’ Edith told Henderson in a whisper, as the porters took a milk churn off the cart behind her. ‘He’s going to wait for me at the dairy and take me to their place. Says it’s a half-hour ride each way. There’s also a doctor in their village who they think they can trust.’

‘Where would I be without you, Edith?’ Henderson asked. ‘Do you want to go inside for a spot of lunch while I help PT get down the stairs? The irony is, you’ve brought all this food and we’re not even sure if we’ll be allowed to open.’