Gypsy (11 page)

‘By five o'clock it'll be in all the newspapers,' sighed Kohler ruefully. ‘Hero boils it up. Shots exchanged. Sûreté car stolen in getaway.'

‘They'll make a living legend of him,' said Suzanne-Cécilia Lemaire, her soft brown eyes clouded with worry, hesitantly cradling her ‘
café au lait'
, no milk, no sugar, no coffee but hot. With the paper curlers removed and her hair combed, she looked a little better but was far from sure of things.

‘Why not go and find the car, Hermann? Try the quartier de l'Europe. He may have friends there. He can't drive around, not for long.'

Louis wanted to be alone with the woman. ‘And if not there?'

The woman threw Louis an apprehensive glance, was watching everything.

‘The Avia Club Gym but I would prefer to be with you for any interviews.'

She took this in.

‘The Spade, ah yes. Okay, Chief. I'll find you back at the house on the rue Poliveau?'

As if on cue, the thud of a massive explosion several blocks away brought dust from the ceiling and everyone to a crouch.

Silence followed. It was as if the rain of rubble was still up in the sky and had yet to come down.

‘Ah Christ, Louis. Widows and orphans!'

Everyone began to move. A hand shot out and grabbed Suzanne-Cécilia by the arm; she threw the Sûreté a look of panic, more tears springing from her.

‘
Sit down
!' he ordered. ‘Hermann, go and find the car. Neither of us can do anything for them. It's impossible,
mon vieux
.'

‘Boemelburg, Louis. He'll demand hostages. He'll say it was a Resistance plot. Ah, hell!'

‘Calm down. We can only take it as it comes.'

‘That's what I'm afraid of.'

He left them then and they had a last glimpse of him agonizing over things on the boulevard. Like the soldier he had been, Hermann began to run towards the disaster knowing exactly what he'd find because he'd seen it all before.

‘My partner was a bomb-disposal expert, among other things, in the last war.'

Filled with despair, she darted her eyes away, and for a moment could not find her voice, then said abjectly, ‘You must know each other very well. What one thinks, the other is aware of.'

‘Usually, but not always, and he's the stubborn one. Now please, mademoiselle …'

She pulled her shoulders inwards to wrap the bathrobe about herself more tightly. Terrified by this new development, she said hollowly, ‘It's Madame Lemaire. My husband was killed in 1940 at Sedan. A woman has needs, Inspector. My Honoré left me no money but the widow's pension and, as we have no children and I'm too young to stay that way, I have to think of the future.'

‘Laviolette …' he muttered, passing her his handkerchief which she took with a faint, ‘
Merci
.' ‘It seems an odd choice. Your lives are so different, your interests … Do you share
anything
in common?'

Ah
Jésus, Jésus
, she said to herself, why must he ask a thing like that at a time like this? The house in pieces – had it really been the house? How many dead, and she the only tenant? The Gestapo would come for her – they would have to, yet here he was trying to distract her. ‘We … we met in the zoo. Clément would come to feed the animals – he knew we had little to give them and for him, it took him away from his wife on a Sunday afternoon and allowed him to exercise a kindness. I found him one day with oats he had gathered handful by handful in Normandy – can you imagine him doing such a thing?' Quickly she dried her eyes. ‘My zebras loved it, Inspector, and he genuinely loved them and was not at all like most who come to see them. And to think,' she sighed and shrugged and tried desperately to smile faintly, ‘he had brought the oats from far away. Not for himself, you understand, but for my animals.'

‘
Bon
. Compassion's rare these days. You met when, exactly?'

‘Inspector, is my private life suspect?'

‘Ah no. No of course not. I merely wish to establish why Monsieur Laviolette should leave the keys to that house in his private safe.'

Again she threw an anxious glance towards the street as if expecting the Gestapo momentarily.

‘They … the keys were with the deeds. For this, you must understand that Madame Laviolette holds him constantly under suspicion and frequently includes his private office and desk among her searchings.'

‘Henpecked, is he?'

‘The roots of your suspicions are deep, Inspector. Why is this, please?'

‘Just answer the questions.'

‘Or you will get angry with me, eh? Hey, monsieur, you're perturbed enough when it is
I
who have been subjected to such indignities, I …'

He wasn't having any of it. ‘
Yes
, then. He
is
henpecked and not just by that wife of his, by his four daughters, two of whom are married. They constantly examine every aspect of his life and criticize him amongst themselves.' She blew her nose.

Creases framed the frown she gave. Her lips were parted slightly as if she wondered, still, what he was thinking of her answers. The nose was not big or small but decidedly impish. The thick, auburn hair was a little less than shoulder length, in waves and curls, masses of them, and worn over the brow with only a part in the middle to all but hide her frown and emphasize her eyes.

‘Life on the sly with a thirty-two-year-old zoo-keeper and veterinary surgeon must be better,' he grunted. ‘Should they ever discover the affair, your Monsieur Laviolette will immediately blame his wife and daughters to their faces for having caused him to stray!'

Taken aback, she said softly, ‘He's not vindictive. Oh
bien sûr
, the house, it was an investment and not much – he wouldn't let me spend a sou fixing it. He always said she would only find out if he did. But …' She clutched the robe about her throat and tossed her head. ‘But he has made his promises and I believe he'll keep them.'

New laundry for the old and she beginning to distance herself from the explosion. ‘You're far too intelligent to believe it, Madame Lemaire. So when, please, did the two of you first meet?'

Ah damn him. ‘Last summer. 13 June.'

‘And he was feeding oats he had gathered in early summer to the zebras?'

Merde
! how could she have been so stupid? ‘He had purchased a small sack of last year's harvest from a farmer. I thought …' She shrugged. ‘Well, that you would understand that's what I meant.'

‘And when, exactly, did the affair begin?'

Laviolette would be questioned closely, therefore she had best answer as truthfully as possible. ‘The end of June,' she said. ‘I … I only make 650 a day, Inspector. It's not so much for a woman who does a man's job, is it? That's when we decided on our little arrangement. He wanted someone to live in the house, otherwise the authorities would have taken it over, isn't that so? It was close to my work. In a few minutes by bicycle, a little longer on foot, I could be there without the expense of the
métro
or
autobus
but now … now I don't know what I'll do. His wife is bound to find out. The press … Ah
nom de Dieu
, I had not thought of them.'

A study in contrasts, the expressions she gave in quick succession changed from firmness of resolve to doubt, hesitation and despair as she realized they had already mentioned the press.

‘The bolts on your side door, madame?' he said.

‘Pardon?' she managed, startled by this new direction.

‘Why were they left open? Ah
certainement
, the Gypsy had the key but there were two other bolts, one at the top, the other at the bottom. The owners of those old houses felt they never could take chances. The
cambrioleurs
of those days were tougher than they are today.'

The housebreakers … ‘The bolts stick in winter because the cold freezes the dampness in the wood, so I …' She shrugged. ‘I left them open, otherwise it would have been a window for me and those are – were, I should say – stuck tightly and shuttered also.'

She'd try to have an answer for everything. ‘Then only the key was necessary. The Gypsy entered at about 4 or 5 a.m. Did he have two suitcases or a rucksack – what, please?'

She drew back, and again threw a frantic look towards the street. ‘I … I wouldn't have known, would I? He wouldn't have carried all that loot upstairs. He'd have needed his hands, his wits …' Why was the Sûreté so suspicious of her?
Why
? she wondered anxiously. ‘I awoke to find a gun pressed under my chin and a hand clamped over my mouth. He was lying on top of me, Inspector.
Me
! Can you imagine what I thought? Ah! a woman's worst nightmare. He assured me that wasn't the case, and since he had the gun, I did not resist.'

The Inspector fiddled with the pipe he had taken out but had yet to pack with tobacco. He was waiting for her to add to what she'd just said and she knew that if she did, it would not be wise of her, but if she didn't, he'd believe her evasive. ‘He lit the candle I have beside my bed – or had, I should say. It's necessary to have such things due to the frequent electricity outages, is it not? He let me see him. He was tall and thin and blond and had the sharpest blue eyes of any man I've ever met. Swift, calculating – far ahead of my thoughts or anyone else's, I must think, and very sure of himself with women – with men, too, I suspect, though I cannot say for certain. The nicest smile, the gentlest hands.
Très caressant
, you understand, even when tying a vulnerable woman and gagging her.'

‘Yet he warned you to lie still.'

‘
Yes
!'

‘And when we left the house together, madame, you said on the doorstep …' St-Cyr flipped open his little black notebook. ‘“No one told me this would happen.”'

‘I … I didn't know what I was saying. I was angry. I was scared. I'd been put upon.'

‘
Who
was it that failed to warn you?'

‘No one. I'm not lying, Inspector. I've no reason to. How could I have?'

Ashen, she threw another glance at the street. He couldn't let her go. He had to keep an eye on her and keep her from the Gestapo. ‘And now you have no house or clothing beyond what you wear. Permit me, please, to offer the use of my house until you're settled once again.'

‘Is it that you wish to keep me a prisoner?'

‘Ah! of course not. The house is empty. There are two bedrooms and if I am ever there, you may lock your door and leave the key in the lock though, as a detective, I would not advise this elsewhere.'

‘Why is that, please?'

‘Because as every experienced housebreaker knows, such a key can easily be manipulated.'

‘And your partner?'

‘Lives with two women and at the moment, has his hands and flat full.'

‘And you have no one?' she asked, fiddling with her robe.

‘A chanteuse, but she's very understanding and works nearly every night. Besides, she has her own place.'

‘Then perhaps I could stay with her. Would this be possible?'

‘Perhaps, but you will need clothing, and this I have plenty of – my dead wife's. I … I haven't had time yet to pack up her things. You're about her size, I think, though she was a little younger than yourself.'

‘Ah!' she tossed her head in acknowledgement. ‘And how, please, did that one die?'

There seemed nothing else for him to do but to tell her, and she knew then that he had deliberately manoeuvred her into accepting and that he had not yet wanted to let go of her.

And his partner? she wondered. Would that one reinforce the Sûreté's doubts or merely treat them with impatience?

And why, please, had the Gestapo not come for her, not yet? Were they leaving it to this one and his friend? Was he offering the house to keep them from her?

‘All right, I accept. It's very decent of you but I should warn you I sometimes have to work late and for this, I must stay overnight in my surgery. Just so that you understand and don't come looking for me.'

‘Of course.'

*

The look Boemelburg gave would have broken glass. Grabbed by two strong-arm boys while frantically clearing rubble, Kohler had been hustled into a black Renault and hurtled across town at 180 kilometres an hour.

‘Four men, Hermann.
Dead
, do you understand? Two others so injured they will not recover. Did you
think
von Schaumburg wouldn't shriek at me to find and arrest those responsible immediately?'

Old Shatter Hand … Rock of Bronze, the Kommandant von Gross Paris under whose authority the ordering out of the bomb-disposal boys had fallen. An old friend from previous investigations. Well, sort of.

‘Sturmbannführer, we didn't know the Gypsy would be doing a boil-up. He's moving far too fast even for us. He's also leaving surprises.'

‘And the dynamite?'

‘We don't know how he got it. We're working on it.'

‘You're “working on it”,
Ja, das ist gut
, Hermann. You disobey my orders. You lock Herr Max out when it is he who is in charge.
Verdammt
! could you not have gone up with the mortar dust to save the lives of those men?'

Furious with him, Boemelburg seized and hurled a Chinese porcelain figurine, a leftover from the days when Louis's boss had occupied the office.

10,000
Reichskassenscheine
went everywhere and even Pharand down the hall would have heard it and leapt.

‘I'm warning you, Kohler. This matter is to be handled delicately. Berlin, you idiot,
SONDERBEHANDLUNG, JA
?'

‘Chief, your heart.'

‘Fuck my heart. It's your balls we have to worry about
und
your neck. Mine too.'

‘We know so little,' bleated Kohler. ‘We're not being told everything.'