Salamander (35 page)

Hermann hadn't liked the idea. It offered too many outs; darkness alone would shield escape.

Yet in darkness was there truth, for without light, the voice tended to betray the deeply hidden thoughts. And the silence of the city was an asset, for it allowed each inflection to be magnified.

Alone and desperately afraid, Martine Charlebois would hide or roam the city until both the cold and the curfew drove her to seek refuge.

Not at her home, ah no, poor thing, nor up here under the bishop's wing. With her
zazous
perhaps, but he did not think so—she was fundamentally too kind to want to involve them any more. Not with Ange-Marie Rachline either, or at La Belle Époque which she hated with a passion.

A room … would she have taken a room in one of the tenements as she had before only to hang herself this time?

He shook his head over such a thing and sadly said to himself, She will not attempt to do so until after the concert.

At the sound of steps, he turned.

‘Louis, if this doesn't work, we're going to have to have transport. Let's take the préfet's car and say to hell with the consequences.'

‘Why not Klaus Barbie's?'

‘Are you crazy?'

‘Unless I am very much mistaken, Hermann, the Obersturmführer will be only too glad to allow us the use of his car.'

‘Louis, we're dealing with a Salamander that can change its colour any time it wants.'

‘But usually when warmed, Hermann, by the heat of the sun or a fire.'

‘Thanks!
Gott im Himmel
, I wish you'd tell me what you've got in mind for this little conference of yours! I
can't
watch all the exits by myself.'

‘That's why we need the car, and that's why the Obersturmführer will let us have it.'

Ah
merde
, he might have known! ‘Because if we fail, the blame for what happens will be ours.'

‘And we
must
force the Salamander into making a move now, Hermann, before it's too late.'

Kohler told himself to give it a moment. He'd take a deep breath. ‘We needed Robichaud, Louis. We should have had him with us.'

‘And Madame Élaine Gauthier, Hermann? What of her?'

Did he have to ask it like that? ‘Dead—she threw herself out of a fourth-floor window at the Hotel Terminus. Went right through the glass before the bastards could stop her.'

It would be best not to sigh. ‘Then that's all the more reason for the Obersturmführer to allow us the use of his car and the full co-operation of Gestapo Lyon should we need it.'

‘
Never
, Louis.
Never!
I'd rather shoot myself.'

Ah no. ‘Please don't say things like that, Hermann. You can't tell who might be listening. Besides, we've a date to go fishing after this war is over.'

Louis hardly ever had the last word but this time he'd let him. It'd be freezing at Stalingrad. The boys would be hunkered down behind some pile of rubble trying to keep their Schmeissers warm enough to prevent the gun-oil from freezing and seizing them up. They'd be trying not to think of home.

And Gerda? he asked. Ah
nom de Jésus-Christ
, was it not a form of poetic justice to have her wrapped in the arms of a French labourer and suing himself for a divorce?

He thought of Oona and of his little Giselle in Paris. He thought of all the cases Louis and he had been through, of sleep needed but denied to the point of overexhaustion.

He thought of Frau Weidling and of the cartridges Louis had found in that woman's purse, and he said so quietly to himself alone, You're mine.

10

K
OHLER HUNCHED HIS SHOULDERS AGAINST THE
cold and pulled his collar up more tightly. The little buggers were going to kill themselves. Instead of the silence Louis had depended on, the kids and teenagers were whooping it up on their bobsleighs, and oh
mein Gott
, what a wizard of a run! Right down Fourvière Hill and through Vieux Lyon to place Bellecour or place
Terreaux!
Right down the snaking climb of the jardin du Rosaire past the Stations of the Cross … zip! What Cross? Then straight on down the montée des Chazeaux, hitting each section of steps. Bump, bump, rumble, rumble … Forty … fifty … sixty kilometres an hour—would they hit such a speed?
Maudit
, they had the guts and the wild abandon of their youth!

And wasn't it nice to hear them having such a good time, forgetting all about the fires and the threat of others, forgetting everything about this lousy war?

It had been years since he'd been on a bobsleigh. Years! He'd led the pack—there'd been no one to catch him, and Gerda … why Gerda had been there too, sometimes on the sleigh,
ja
,
ja
, as light as a feather in those days. Sometimes by the old iron kettle of hot cider, cocoa or mulled wine if they could steal it, and always ready for a roll in the hay. Always ready with water for the runners.

Ah
merde
, sentiment had no place in a detective's life. Louis was having trouble. The noise was constantly distracting him. Once a father, always one, the poor Frog would leap in alarm at each gap in the rumbling, each pause that might signal a cliff, an imminent head-on collision with a stone wall or tree, then he'd try to recover only to catch an impatient breath as the next bit of quiet suggested its ugly possibilities.

‘Monsieur Charlebois, don't be so evasive, eh? A tragedy, my friend. Your sister …'

Rumble, rumble …

‘Mademoiselle Charlebois telephoned me here, Inspector. I assure you she could not possibly have tried to kill you,' said the brother stiffly.

‘
And
herself!' shouted Louis nervously.

‘No, no,' grunted Bishop Dufour. ‘It's just not possible in one so tender.'

‘
Tender
? Is that how your secretary found her, Bishop? Ah, must I throw the two of you to the Obersturmführer Barbie? That girl is out there, my friends. Does she have the phosphorus? Is she going to torch another crowded tenement?'

‘Inspector, what is this?' demanded the antique dealer. ‘Are you suggesting Mademoiselle Charlebois is the Salamander?'

That was better, thought St-Cyr. He would take out his pipe now and begin to pack it and they would know he was doing so, because he would offer them some tobacco. Resistance tobacco!

An uncanny silence closed in on the hill, and for a moment all the bobsleighs had gathered for a rest or had departed, or perhaps it was the riders were simply hauling them back?

Louis waved out the match. ‘No, monsieur, I am not suggesting your sister is the Salamander.'

‘Then
what
are you suggesting?' demanded Charlebois nervously.

‘Monsieur, if she telephoned you here, tell me, please, how she knew you'd be with Bishop Dufour? It's a Saturday night. You cannot have seen her in some time or is it, monsieur, that you saw her at your shop at around seven this evening and that what she said then drove you to seek an audience with the bishop?'

‘Henri, let me,' began Dufour. The Sûreté had no business being so high-handed! ‘Monsieur Charlebois and I had a meeting, Inspector, to discuss the final details for the concert. This meeting had been arranged for some time and was conducted over supper in the manse. Martine Charlebois would have known of it. She is also a member of our symphony orchestra.'

Ah
nom de Dieu
, had he to contend with them both? ‘The cello … yes, yes, Bishop. But the girl did try to kill me and herself …'

‘Surely not. The gas is often turned off by our German friends out of necessity, is that not so? Perhaps the main valve at the school was left open, the others also?' said Dufour.

All right then! ‘Did you give Monsieur Charlebois absolution this evening, Bishop?'

‘If I did, Inspector, that is a matter between God, myself, Monsieur Charlebois and no other.'

The bastard!

‘Inspector,' said the antique dealer, ‘I have a great deal of work to do tomorrow. There is an important sale in Paris on Monday afternoon and evening. The Reichsmarschall Goering will be there. Due to the robbery at my shop in Dijon, I must place a number of pieces up for auction and must have them ready to leave with me on the first train.'

How convenient! At 6 a.m. Berlin time, and with Frau Weidling, was that it? ‘Paris … yes. Yes, I understand, monsieur, but what of your sister? Surely you have a thought for her? A little concern, perhaps?'

‘Mademoiselle Charlebois will be at home where she belongs. Bishop Dufour will attest to the fact that I told her she had nothing to fear, Inspector, and that she was to go home and wait for me there.'

‘And then, monsieur?' asked Louis, drawing on his pipe. God, but the city was quiet!

‘Then I will sort it all out, Inspector. I promise you there's been nothing untoward. It's all a misunderstanding.'

‘Yes, yes, a misunderstanding,' echoed Dufour.

‘Bishop, we have the deaths of so many to consider, that of Father Adrian also, and now that of Monsieur Robichaud.'

‘Julien … but … but …'

Were they both so taken aback? wondered St-Cyr. Ah, it was not possible to tell, and now … why now the shouting grew again as the boys and girls struggled back up to the heights with their sleighs.

‘Inspector, surely Julien was not murdered? An accident …' said the bishop, aghast at what had happened.

Louis was brutal. ‘No accident, Bishop, and now the city is at the mercy of the Salamander. Yes, my friends. With Robichaud out of the way, the Salamander has a clear field unless …'

Damned if Louis didn't pause to tap out the pipe and begin to repack it!

‘Unless
what
, Inspector?' asked Charlebois impatiently.

More shouting came from well off to the left. ‘Hey, Cécile, over here, my sweet little rocket. Let us have the challenge match!'

‘Together, Cécile, a marriage of our racers, with no holds barred.'

‘Marie, he wants to contest his little bit of sandpaper with our goddess of the ice!'

‘Every year it is the same,' grumbled the bishop. ‘Shut up, you bunch!' he shouted violently. ‘You are to leave the hill at once!'

Dead silence followed, then giggles, after which came laughter and a few catcalls. ‘A
meeting
!' shouted Dufour angrily. ‘An important conference is in progress. The … the fate of the city …'

Rumble, rumble … bump … bump! Rumble, rumble … Ah
merde
, the first bend in the Stations of the Cross … A shriek! A cry …

Then cheers as the racers flew past others in the darkness.

‘Unless we have the truth, Bishop. The truth!' leapt the Sûreté. ‘Mademoiselle Charlebois made a tragic mistake. Once committed, she had no other choice but to follow through.'

‘What mistake?' demanded Charlebois.

Stung, Louis turned on him. ‘Please do not interrupt a police officer in the exercise of his duties, monsieur. A mistake compounded by a history of your abuse! Now I
must
have answers from you both!'

‘What abuse?' asked Dufour, his suspicion all too clear.

Others had arrived. ‘Not physical, but mental,' said Madame Rachline. ‘Admit it, Henri. You have always wanted Martine for yourself and to protect her purity. Oh not to love in a sexual way, Inspector—she would never have agreed to that—but to keep from others who would only violate her.'

‘Hermann …?'

‘Louis, I'm over here.'

‘Good! Préfet, this man is to be placed under arrest.'

‘Now wait a moment, Louis. Monsieur Charlebois …? Pah! It's impossible. You must be out of your mind. You expect me to put the bracelets on him for what, please?'

Guillemette had always been difficult.

‘For the murder of Robichaud?' snorted Charlebois.

The antique dealer was breathing quickly, but was it the moment to pounce? ‘Three people were involved in the cinema fire, monsieur …'

‘
Three
, Louis?' demanded Guillemette. ‘Don't tell me our Salamander is three
women
and if so, hah! how does that explain your inclusion of Monsieur Charlebois?'

Hermann had best be working the shadows. If only the bob-sleighs would cease their torment again. ‘Madame Rachline, did you go to that cinema with Claudine Bertrand?'

It was all coming back to haunt them. Concarneau and the beach, Henri and his little sister. ‘I did not, Inspector. There are several who were at La Belle the night of the fire. Any or all of them, if necessary, will tell you I was at the house over the supper hour and left it to cross into my own house at about 9 p.m. to be with my children.'

‘Good. Then please tell us, madame, when Claudine came to your door, having lost one of her shoes, did she come in tears? Was she distraught?'

‘She's dead, Inspector. It cannot matter,' came a woman's voice in German.

‘Ah, Frau Weidling, I am glad you are here at last. Leiter Weidling, Obersturmführer … we are all now gathered before a city in darkness and fear,' said Louis in German. ‘Was she distraught, Madame Rachline?' he asked in French, only to translate so as to bring it home to the others.

The time had come, and she had known all along that it would. ‘Yes. Claudine was in very bad shape, Inspector. She had been scared out of her wits but more than this, was terrified she'd be killed.'

Rumble, rumble … bump, bump …
bump
! Rumble … rumble …

‘She was certain Frau Weidling had been involved in the fire, Inspector, and that the woman would … would see to it that she …'

‘Ange-Marie, be careful what you say.'

‘Henri, why should I, with two police officers beside me?'

Klaus Barbie would be translating for the Weidlings. Charlebois waited. Perhaps he held his breath in impatience, perhaps he was figuring out what to do.