Carousel (41 page)

‘Will you kill him?' asked Dupuis, meaning the detective.

Father David's hand closed over both of theirs and the Luger. ‘Father, I'm the one who has sinned. I … I shot the Corporal Schraum.'

The young priest's sky-blue eyes were moist. ‘He was abusing my Marie, Inspector. I couldn't have it happen any longer. Night after night the Corporal would come and she would have to do whatever he wanted or he'd have had me arrested.'

‘So you killed him?'

‘Yes. Father Eugène had borrowed the Luger. He was planning to get both of the guns away from Captain Dupuis because … because he was afraid Alphonse might … might do something he shouldn't.'

The confessional and the sins of a tortured mind. Thoughts of a young girl taking off her clothes in the room next door while some bourgeois bastard watched her do it.

‘The boy talks nonsense, Inspector. It was I who killed the Corporal,' said the old priest.

Dupuis ducked his red-rimmed eyes lest he steal another glance at the woman's naked breasts, her throat, her lovely throat.

Father Eugène said, ‘David,
please
! I beg you. Let me do what is right. It is God's will.'

‘Did Schraum know Roland Minou?' asked St-Cyr.

‘Yes … yes, of course he did,' replied the old priest, testy at the interruption.

‘How do you suppose Schraum acquired the dragonfly that was clenched in his fist?'

‘Dragonflies … He talks of insects at a time like this!' shrilled Captain Dupuis.

The woman wiped her breasts with a filthy dishcloth. ‘Roland gave it to him, Inspector. About two months ago. The Corporal showed it to me, but he kept it as … as a souvenir, he said.'

Thank God for saneness in the midst of chaos. ‘Did he say where Roland had acquired it? Please, madame, this is important.'

She glanced uncertainly at Father David. ‘Roland had been following the girl, even when she went into the Villa Audit. He stole the dragonfly from there. The Corporal Schraum only laughed about it and then … and then he forced me to … to …'

‘
Marie, don't tell him
! Please! It's … it's not necessary.'

Distracted, the young priest looked beseechingly at her. Father Eugène's grip tightened on the barrel of the Luger. Dupuis' grip tightened on the butt, the trigger …

The child threw up and threatened to turn blue. The Luger was plucked away by the Sâreté and pointed at Dupuis.

‘Now look, Captain. Enough is enough. If we can deliver the killer of Corporal Schraum to the Kommandant of Greater Paris and demonstrate that he was not involved with the Resistance, we might – I say might – just be able to save the hostages. As for the others …'

‘They are in God's hands, is that what you mean?' asked the old priest wisely.

‘You know it is, Father.'

‘Then what is it you wish of us?'

Could he trust them, could he
not
take them into custody? ‘Look, I have unfinished business. Be at the carousel in the parc des Buttes-Chaumont at seven-thirty in the morning. All of you, Father Eugène. That one too, with his revolver. We may need it.'

Dupuis understood the look he gave him. The old priest hesitated. The young priest didn't know what to do.

St-Cyr placed the Luger into Father Eugène's hand and wrapped the old priest's fingers about it. ‘Shoot well, if needed, eh? Break your vows, but break them for the good of others.'

Hermann … where was Hermann?

The flame of the candle fluttered. Antoine Audit had yet to lift the heavy stone from the cellar wall.

A chill came. Involuntarily Kohler shivered as the hackles began to rise. Brandl … Had Audit managed to call the Bureau? Had Offenheimer and Brandl met up with Oona?

‘So okay, my fine, that's enough. The gun's loaded. Don't move.'

Audit didn't. ‘Where's St-Cyr?'

‘Keeping an eye out. What's in the wall, eh? The coins?'

Could Kohler be bribed? Why hadn't Brandl come? The door had been left unlocked. Had Kohler put the lock back on?

‘If you'd lend a hand, Inspector, we could both … I assure you, there's far more than the coins.'

‘Emeralds?' asked Kohler.

‘Yes, emeralds and Mayan gold. Exquisite things. Turquoise, too, and river diamonds. My brother smuggled them into France, but was too afraid to try to sell them. Christabelle showed me a pair of the earrings. It was one of her ways of getting me to co-operate. I did not think Charles would use my hiding-place. It was empty. He …'

Kohler drew in a breath. The air was too cold, too damp. Was that whisky he smelled? Scotch whisky?

It was odd how the mind played tricks. Emeralds … Mayan gold and diamonds … ‘You stole the coins from yourself and hid them behind that stone. A month before the Defeat you robbed yourself so as to have a little something laid by in case all else failed. Périgord wouldn't have been any good as a hiding-place – far too many truffle-hunters, eh? You needed Paris because, my friend, you could see where things were heading.'

There'd be no help with the stone. He'd have to force Kohler to come closer. ‘I reported the theft, Inspector. I myself came to Paris to advise the Sûreté of the loss.'

Pharand would have seen the original list and so would Boemelburg. Word would have got around. ‘Were you or were you not in Paris on the night before the Defeat?'

‘I was not. What is more, I can prove it.'

Emeralds and diamonds, gold and more gold … ‘Lift the stone away. Let's see what's behind it. Maybe the two of us can make a deal.'

The candle flame stirred. His hackles rose higher. Something cold and hard pressed against the back of his neck. Son of a bitch, where was Louis now?

St-Cyr touched the courtyard door and felt it give. He'd come round the corner from the rue Saint-Luc, heading for the foot of the rue Polonceau, and had just stepped into the Pas-Léon when he'd heard something. These old neighbourhoods, the darkness, the imminence of the curfew … The courtyard beside the draper's shop. The scene of that other murder. Mila Zavitz.

Roland Minou? he asked. Was it possible that Roland had ducked in here?

Hermann … where was Hermann? There had been the sound of screeching tyres heard faintly above that of the shrieking child in Madame Marie Ouellette's arms, but he'd had no time even to consider it.

And now? he asked. Had Otto Brandl been in that car? Had Henri Lafont and Pierre Bonny?

The hinges creaked. He cursed the war, the Occupation and the shortages of lubricating oil and grease. Even goosefat was in tragic absence.

Whoever it was now held the breath and kept very still. The walls were dark, the shuttered windows only a little less so, the slot of winter's sky above the roofs but a whisper of infinity.

Roland Minou … was he lurking in some corner of this place?

St-Cyr breathed in softly. The cold and the dampness accentuated the pungency of mouldering plasterwork and window sashes that needed more than paint. But was there something else?

He drew the Lebel and cocked it. One corner of the courtyard proved vacant to all but disused trash cans. No one could afford to throw anything out these days; everything was used up or recycled. The Occupation was good for some things, eh? Rats were in retreat. There was no more of that pissing about with arrogant dustmen who turned up their noses at a bit of honest labour for which they'd been handsomely paid. Pensions, full pensions they still gave them.

Whoever it was had moved.

When he heard a breath being taken in and held, the musk of fear came strongly, and through it a faint bath-soapy odour that was sweet and of woman.

‘Madame Van der Lynn, it is me, Jean-Louis. Where is Hermann?'

She threw herself into his arms and he could not stop her shaking. ‘I was being followed. I know I was!'

Roland … Roland Minou? he wondered.

‘Four cars. Two from this end of the rue Polonceau and … and two from the other.'

Son of a bitch!

The candle flame flickered. The truffle-hunter's wary gaze had momentarily been fixed on each of the visitors but Audit was far too intelligent to let it linger on either of them.

His hands held high, he forced a grin. Kohler waited. The one behind him shifted his weight. The other one just stood to the left doing nothing. Bergmanns? he wondered. Schmeissers?

‘The pistol,' breathed the one behind him.

‘Look, Louis is out there some place. I wouldn't want him to get the wrong idea. He might think you're Réjean Tourmel or Charles Audit.'

‘The pistol, Herr Kohler.'

‘Hey, come on. It's brand-new. I've only just checked it out.
Gott im Himmel
, the paperwork. Stores aren't the same any more.'

Kohler was just fucking about. ‘You won't be needing another. You can forget about the paperwork.'

‘It's all up to you, my Hermann.'

‘Otto …' Antoine Audit began to lower his aching arms.

‘Don't!' breathed Kohler. ‘Just relax. They mean business.'

The grin faded. The hands climbed back up. ‘Otto … the … the coins, they are not here.'

‘Nor the emeralds or the diamonds?' snorted Kohler. ‘What'd he do, Otto? Call the Bureau for help? Who was it took the message, eh? Offenheimer? Was he the one?'

Brandl stood at the foot of the stairs. Had that been a car screeching its brakes in the street outside? Company so soon? ‘As a matter of fact, Hermann, the Captain was the first to take the call, but then I myself talked to Antoine.'

‘Idiot! Offenheimer's been working for the rue Lauriston. Lafont and Bonny have been putting the squeeze on him.' Kohler still held his pistol. If only Brand! would lay into Offenheimer. If only …

The cellar was too confined. Audit would be killed, himself … The candle was not that far. A sudden gust, the toss of something?

The Schmeisser nudged him. ‘Don't even think of it, Herr Kohler. Just drop the gun.'

In the Name of Jesus was there nothing that could be done? Offenheimer would have tipped off the rue Lauriston. Lafont would go berserk! ‘Louis knows where the coins are hidden. The Frog's got it all figured out, Otto, but being a Frog, the bastard's kept it to himself.'

The front door slammed. Steps rushed along the hall above them … Brandl snuffed out the candle. ‘So, we wait, yes, and see what happens.'

A burst of firing shattered the silence of the cellar, ripping boards and smashing things. ‘Henri … Henri, in the Name of Jesus, slow down!' shouted Pierre Bonny. ‘It is
Brandl
, Henri. Otto Brandl!'

‘CARBONE … It's that Corsican son of a whore's basket! That dog's offal! I'll kill the swine! I'll kill him!'

‘Henri, Henri, wait! He's not here,' shouted Bonny desperately. ‘
Brandl
, Henri … the Bureau Otto.'

Another burst of firing tore into the walls, the floorboards above them, and armfuls of wine bottles. Kohler found his pistol on the floor and started to worm his way across the flagstones. If only he could reach the stairs. If only Louis would come by.

Son of a bitch, the place had gone to silence! The stench of cordite was everywhere. Littered shell casings lay about in the pitch-darkness. One of them stirred and fell suddenly from a step. It rolled away.

‘
I want the coins
!' shrieked Lafont, his falsetto ringing.

Someone anxiously fumbled for a flashlight but was told to leave it be.

Brandl hazarded a few words from behind a pillar. ‘The coins aren't here, Henri, but there is enough gold and emeralds for us to share. What do you say?'

‘NEVER!
Goering
has ordered the avenue Foch to find the coins and
they
have ordered me to do the job! You are
trespassing
on my turf!'

Another burst of firing sent splinters everywhere. Kohler cringed and pulled himself along.

‘Where's Kohler?' hissed someone.

‘
Kohler
?' shrilled Lafont, fighting to reload that thing of his. ‘
St-Cyr! I'll kill that bastard! I'll tear him to pieces
!'

Kohler made a break for the stairs. He pitched into someone, fell, got up, tripped on the steps, heard shots … more shots!… and threw himself out of the cellar and into the hall. ‘Louis … Louis, where the hell are you?' he yelled.

The street was blocked by opposing pairs of cars, one behind the other, engines idling. Headlamps lit up everything. There'd barely be room to pass. The Citroën would have to lose its fenders. Would the doors be taken?

‘Get down, madame! Lie on the floor,' shouted St-Cyr.

More firing came from the villa. Men poured out of the car behind Lafont's Bentley. Others spilled from Otto Brandl's backup. Would there be a fusillade, no chance to get away? Ah
Mon Dieu, Mon Dieu
, glass was so expensive these days, windscreens almost irreplaceable.

Someone in bare feet bolted through the open doorway to the courtyard only to leap back from the light. St-Cyr leaned on the horn and trod on the accelerator. These old cobblestones … the narrow kerbs and pavements, the lampposts … awnings that were folded back but had their side bars low on the walls …

Kohler flew through the doorway of the courtyard. Ducking wildly, he shot across the street between the cars.

The brakes were slammed on. The door was flung open. The fenders went. A drainpipe fell. Bursts of firing took out the rear windscreens and then the one in front of them. ‘The tyres … they have hit the tyres!' shrieked St-Cyr.

Banging and throwing sparks, they just made it around the corner and into the rue Saint-Luc. ‘Enough! Enough! Abandon the car! Head for the Church of Saint Bernard, Hermann. Father Eugène will just have to give us a hand.'

They beat it. They went to ground and bathed their faces in the baptismal font.

The church was cold, and like the Hotel of the Silent Life, it had cellars that became tunnels which turned into vaulted rooms where wine had once been stored.