Gypsy (22 page)

He was still looking at the
négresse's
buttocks. Was he tempted perhaps? ‘She was afraid of Monsieur Jacqmain also, and of the others who took her.'

‘You said he never touched any of your girls.'

‘
Yes
! but this one “felt” his breath on her skin all the same.'

The girls would know everything that went on in the house. When awaiting a client, they would often spy on the entrance so as to get a little preview. She'd have seen him, then, talking to Madame.

Kohler turned to look at the woman. ‘Did Tshaya “prepare” herself?'

‘In such a way?'

Most girls were drunk half the time, some on dope, too, if they could get it in these hard times. ‘In any way.'

‘That one's defence was her hatred. She despised the profession and rejected all attempts at compromise. She was taken to Paris many times to be used in other ways, perhaps, but when brought back, was simply more sullen and determined.'

‘Did she ever go to Jacqmain's house?'

‘After dark?'

The woman had held her breath. ‘You know that's what I meant.'

‘Then I must tell you that she did on three occasions, each of which was after a session such as you have just seen.'

‘You were told to let her do this?'

Must he constantly push the matter? ‘We were ordered to by that husband of hers. Ah! there was nothing either of us could have done. Monsieur Jacqmain did not beat her, if that is what you are thinking. He merely trailed the bullwhip he had brought from Africa across her flesh. An hour … two hours, little more.'

‘Was she tied up?'

‘Yes.'

She'd have been terrified. ‘And how did he pay her – and yourself?'

There would be trouble if she did not answer truthfully. ‘In diamonds. He made us swear to say nothing of them and we agreed, of course, to do as he wished.'

The fool!

The Auberge of the Priest Who Travelled With Full Saddlebags served crayfish in white wine, pork stuffed with prunes, pike
au beurre blanc
, Saint-Martin duckling, hare
à la chinonaise, touraine de pêches à la royale, le Lochois
cakes and macaroons, cheese, wine and cognac. Absolutely no ration tickets were required – one didn't even discuss such things. There was hardly a Frenchman in the place and though the hour was late, practically all of the tables were in use but Hermann, being Hermann, had managed a quiet corner.

‘Louis, we have to talk.'

The
chèvre crottin
before the Sûreté had come dusted with dill and chives as requested; the
baguette
was broken.

‘Agreed.'

Disconsolately, Kohler dug his fork into the
saucisson de Lyon
with the hot potato salad. Louis wasn't eating, a bad sign. The Frog was simply staring at his monk's repast as if lost in thought and wounded to the quick.

‘Do you remember the Reverend Father of the Abbey of Saint Gregory the Great, Hermann?'

Vouvray, then, and that murder in Fontainebleau Forest. ‘How could I ever forget a thing like that?'

Good! The SS had used a bull whip on Hermann because he had insisted the truth be told. ‘The Abbot said the wine owed its flavour to the
aubuis
, the clay with much limestone.'

The snort was harsh, the words bitter. ‘It was the boulder of flint you picked up that settled things.'

‘Ah yes, but Gabrielle got the drop on me in that abandoned grist mill down by the river. She and I then shared a simple meal such as this and at the time, I wished her rucksack had held a bottle of their wine. With the goat's cheese and the bread, it would, I thought, have been superb.'

So much for the travelogue of memories. The Vouvray
moelleux
was of Sauterne sweetness. For well over a thousand years there had been vineyards along the Loire. The wine was clear and crisp, robust and fruity – ‘
piquant
' the Abbot had said, and ‘a good keeper'.

‘The 1934 Clos de l'Oiseau de la Brume, Hermann, the Château Thériault,' he said, showing him the label. ‘An extraordinary year.'

‘The Countess isn't mixed up in things, is she?'

Hermann still held a fondness for that one. ‘Let us hope not because if she is, this time for certain René Yvon-Paul will inherit nothing.'

‘Why don't you tell me what's bugging you?'

With great deliberation St-Cyr sampled the cheese, the bread and the wine, nodding from time to time as if well satisfied that his initial thoughts had been correct. ‘But have I been so wrong about Gabrielle,
mon ami
?'

‘Wrong in what way?'

It was now or never if they were to remain friends and partners. ‘Gabrielle collected the money, Hermann, and took it with her but may also have had the nitroglycerine the Gypsy used at the Ritz in that suitcase, cushioned no doubt by the banknotes.'

‘Ah Christ …'

‘Jacqmain may have had a flask of nitro in his prospecting kit and not have turned it in. He'd have
wanted
to be rid of it. An extra condition, then, of his letting Wehrle have the diamonds.'

‘And?'

Hermann wasn't looking well. ‘The matter is even deeper. That crone I spoke to thought the Generalmajor would soon be on his way. A little trip.'

‘To Berlin, idiot, with the contents of his safe. He wouldn't have known the Gypsy was to empty it on the eighteenth.'

‘Perhaps but then … ah
mais alors, alors
, what if not to Berlin but to Spain? A major coup for a tiny
réseau
, a fund of exceedingly valuable information for the Allies.'

‘And what if not the Generalmajor but the Gypsy, eh? What if
that's
who Gabrielle meant?'

‘An operation, code-named
Zèbre
, Hermann.'

‘A
Funkspiel
, Louis.'

‘The Resistance are desperate for funds. Those three women knew this and asked London for help. They set up those robberies and Herr Max, not London, obliged by sending them the Gypsy. Nana knew all about this safe-cracker and that he was one of the best, so perhaps they asked London to send him – this we may never know – but Suzanne-Cécilia detected a different signature at the end of London's last reply. She's convinced of it.'

‘Then it's true …' Kohler shoved his plate aside. ‘God help us now. There'll be no way out of this for Giselle and Oona short of my turning you all over to the Gestapo and Herr Max.'

‘But will you, Hermann? That is the question only you can answer.'

6

At dawn the Château Thériault's five towers were shrouded in snow. Off to the right, and away from the river, vineyards occupied the lower slopes, climbing gently until they met those of the Abbey of Saint Gregory the Great in territory that had been disputed for centuries until at last the land claim had been settled not two months ago.

‘Louis, go and talk to the Countess, eh? Tell her I'll be along in a little while.'

Hermann had slept badly and, contrary to his usual self, had not driven the car but had lamely wanted to ‘look' at the countryside.

That big Bavarian was sick at heart. Moundlike, the shapes of box, yew and hawthorn stood nearest the arched stone entrance which was set in the base of one of the towers. Ivy climbed the walls. Immediately inside the gates, the courtyard of lawns and formal gardens held mothballed fountains and statues.

The château was huge and Hermann had often said it must be a bugger to heat, but now this conscience-ridden Kripo looked away to the centre of the courtyard to where stone greyhounds leapt at a cornered stag and the nothing murder of Fontainebleau Forest had finally come to an end.

It hadn't been easy. It had been a very close thing, and when Louis let him out of the car, Kohler simply asked, ‘You haven't got a cigarette, have you?'

He went on then towards the stables which were on the far side. He paused to open the great doors to let the light in, then searched his pockets desperately yet again for tobacco.

‘Let him be, Jean-Louis. Give him time.'

‘Countess …'

‘Please wait for us in the kitchens. This frost … will it kill the vines? I had thought to burn fires throughout the night but new restrictions have been placed on such things, so I have spent the hours in walking the rows and fretting. It was silly of me, but when one loves a place so much and there is no other recourse, what else can one do but pray?'

‘Countess, Hermann needs to be alone.'

‘I think he needs to be reminded. Now go. If René Yvon-Paul should come down, tell him he's not to worry about his mother and me arguing. It happens all the time. Tell him also that the life of a detective is
not
a life to aspire to, and please ask him to let the dogs come to me. There will be coffee and croissants for the help, so feel free to partake of them even though the croissants are illegal. My cook will give you brandy. It's rough, but at the moment it's all that is left.'

‘The caves were emptied?'

His alarm was gratifying. ‘Emptied of every bottle.'

There were no horses in the stables, all had been taken. And when the far doors were also opened, Kohler found himself alone in the pearly light, the breath billowing from him.

Panic came – for just a second it was absolute. He reached out to steady himself. There were splintered bullet holes in the ancient boards. A mare had been wounded and had screamed as she had tried to free herself. Another had been killed. All thirty-two rounds from the drum clip of a Luger had been sprayed about but first there had been the lesson of a rawhide whip.

For pointing the finger of truth, the SS had roped him by the wrists to both sides of the corridor. Blood had welled up along the wound – surprising that, for he'd felt no pain, had still been in shock and staring dumbly down at his parted shirt. From the right shoulder to the left hip had been opened as if by the sudden exercise of a mad tailor's shears. The pain had hit him but by then the left side of his face had been torn from eye to chin.

A hell of a mess. Gabrielle's son had cut him free but the SS had come back. In the ensuing fight, the Luger had been emptied and the boy had driven a pitchfork into the back of one of them. Had killed the son of a bitch.
Killed him
, ah
Jésus-Christ
!

The other one had been killed by the shots. Kohler remembered telling René Yvon-Paul to beat it, to hide in the abandoned mill and had said he'd take the blame himself. Hell, the kid had only been ten years old.

‘But now it's different,' he said. ‘Now it's far worse.'

‘You'll think of something. I've every confidence.'

The Countess Jeanne-Marie Thériault spoke softly to the five greyhounds that had come to her. She still looked the same in that dark blue woollen overcoat, trousers and riding boots, though he felt a thousand years must have passed since he'd seen her last. ‘Countess, Berlin are very much involved in this matter of your daughter-in-law's. We were lucky here before, but now …?'

‘You're not like the others. With you that inherent sense of common decency and humanity has survived.'

She was laying it on the line. Pushing the hood back, she removed the scarf that had been tied over her ears and hair. The dark eyes were very clear and searching. The high forehead was smooth, the pale cheeks reddened by a night in the cold.

At the time of the nothing murder he had had the idea there were carefully arranged rings of defence around the château and that she had a network of informants all too loyal to her. ‘The Resistance …?' she had said then. ‘Oh, we've some of them about here too.'

But did it go much deeper than that? The château could be useful to the Resistance, the hills and caves too. She and Gabrielle had hidden things before, could the two of them not be at it again?

She sent the dogs away and closed the distance. ‘A cigarette, I think,' she said. ‘Here, let me offer one of Gabrielle's. They're Russian, and given to her by a general on leave.'

And on the run, eh – was this what he was thinking? The very mention of a general on leave brought anxiety and fear, ah so many things to those pale blue eyes of his. ‘You're well?' she asked.

He knew she was toying with him and said harshly, ‘Countess, why not tell me what that daughter-in-law of yours has been up to?'

Her hair was jet black and had been tied behind but now she shook it out and let it fall loosely about her shoulders, not a touch of grey though she was in her sixties. A timeless and still fantastic-looking woman.

‘What has she been up to, do you think?'

The tobacco was black and rough. He coughed and inhaled, forcing himself to become accustomed to it. ‘Let me put things this way, then,' he said sharply. ‘My confrères in the SS and Gestapo Paris-Central – Berlin, damn it – are about to use that
réseau
your daughter-in-law's mixed up in to sweep Louis and me into the bag along with the rest of them.'

‘They want, once and for all, for you to prove that you are really one of them.'

‘And if I don't, Countess? Giselle and Oona and the child will have to go too.'

‘The child? Is Oona …?'

‘Giselle is. Look, Gabrielle brought a suitcase here from Tours on the twelfth, at night.'

‘If she did, I have no knowledge of it.'

He threw his head back as if struck and clenched a fist. ‘Countess, don't trifle. There were 850,000 francs in that bag.'

‘And?' she asked, giving him that searching look of hers.

‘And a flask or dropper-bottle of nitroglycerine. It … it belonged to a prospector who has just removed himself from this world.'

Cigarette ash was tapped into a palm. Even when carrying on such a conversation, a part of her mind could still concern itself with the fire hazards of careless smoking.

‘Gabrielle tells me nothing, as you well know from past experience.'