Madrigal (24 page)

‘What problem?'

They looked at each other. ‘A fondness for hair,' said Renaud.

‘A girl's hair?'

‘And her breasts, but only to look at, never to touch,' conceded Simondi. ‘Photographs, I believe.'

‘Entirely innocent,' interjected Renaud with a nod.

‘And you're certain no one else was present?'

‘No one,' said Simondi.

‘Then that has to mean one of you killed her.'

‘
Ispettore
…'

‘No, you listen,
amico mio
. Find paper and pen and each of you set out exactly what you did and where you were between dinner and after the murder was discovered and you were “notified.” My partner will expect me to get this from you both. He's the boss. Sign and date it too.'

‘
Merda
! Can't this wait,
Ispettore?
My wife is the one I think you should question. Earlier on Monday I asked her to join us as the third judge but later understood her to be unwell and called upon Alberto here. But she … she may mistakenly have gone to the Palais at the last minute.'

‘There
was
someone else,' said Renaud. ‘César, I was certain of it and still am. You see, the chairs are hidden out of the way, Inspector. When I went to get them I felt strongly that someone was there, but when I shone my light around the stairwell, there was no one.'

‘Didn't the three of you lock the main door behind you?'

‘I'm sure Henri-Baptiste did, Inspector. We went in together using his key,' said Renaud.

‘Before or after Mademoiselle de Sinéty?'

‘Why, before her, of course. She had my key,' said Simondi.

‘Then it was Mireille who, in her agitation, César, must have left the door unlocked.'

‘I'll get us the 1926, Inspector.
Scusatemi un momento
. Alberto, find him a cigarette, or perhaps he would prefer one of my cigars.'

And
il profumo del successo?
wondered Kohler. The sweet smell of success. One targeted wife, was that it, eh, and one distracted, baffled detective? ‘You do that. A
marc
, though. Wine always seems to give me gas even when one's hosts have just bought a six-hundred-year-old vineyard.'

7

The curfew had come down, the city was like a tomb. High above the river and the Palais, the clouds had parted to reveal the sickle of a waning moon.

Kohler drew on his cigarette and hunched his shoulders against the cold as he waited for Louis to join him on the bridge. A Wehrmacht motorcycle courier had come to the cinema with a note calling him away at once. Von Mahler had insisted on the meeting place and hadn't been happy. Louis had gone against the Kommandant's express wishes and had spoken to his wife.

‘And now, suddenly, von Mahler doesn't want anyone else to know of it.'

The stars were very bright, the wind had dropped to almost nothing. Mireille de Sinéty hadn't just been murdered. She'd been savagely silenced. But had there been something else? Had that savagery been used to set an example to others? Had the
Cagoule
done it?

And what of Adrienne de Langlade? Xavier had been accused of raping her. He had known of the girl's drowning, had removed a thick twist of hair from her corpse and kept it.

‘To blackmail Brother Matthieu?' he asked. Every cop who was worth his salt knew that schoolboys often garnered pocket money by blackmailing illicit lovers, homosexuals and perverts. Some of the little buggers had paid dearly for it.

‘Xavier, what the hell did you do to Nino? Did you take her up river to where she had come upon that girl's clothing and had led you to her corpse? Did you kill that hound?'

Only the sound of the river came to him, roiling softly. When the blue cat's-eyes of the Colonel's tourer slowly approached, he asked, ‘And you, m
ein lieber Kamerad
? What of you?'

Von Mahler gripped the steering wheel. Louis sat beside him. Kohler got quickly into the back.

‘Gentlemen, this meeting never took place. Neither of you has at any time spoken to my wife, nor had any verbal or written communication from her. Is that understood?'

‘But she was at the Palais on the night of the murder,' objected Louis.

Verdammt
, would they not listen? ‘She wasn't. She never leaves the house and everyone knows this. Psychologically she is incapable of doing so.'

‘But—'

‘No buts. Berlin still have deep reservations about your loyalties. Gestapo Boemelburg made a point of telling me this. If you want it verbatim, he said he'd be very glad to be rid of you both.'

It was Louis who asked if the
Cagoule
had been mentioned. Kohler snorted and said, ‘
Idiot
, of course it was! What better way of taking care of a problem than feeding it to assassins?'

No cigarettes could be allowed lest the smell of the smoke cling to him. Von Mahler regretted this, for shared tobacco was often a facilitator. ‘Officially I must tolerate and even be seen to get along with de Passe, Rivaille and Renaud – Simondi, too, for that matter and the games they play, their constant acquisitions. The existing power structures are so useful to us. Without them, how could we possibly maintain control?'

‘
La Cagoule
, then, Colonel?' asked Louis, a reminder.

‘I have no proof and officially must look the other way.'

‘And did you do that with Adrienne de Langlade's death?' asked Kohler.

‘I had no other choice but to leave the matter in de Passe's hands. Privately I felt, and still do, that the girl met an unfortunate end. At the least, Simondi and the others know what happened to her; at the most, they were responsible.'

It was Hermann who rolled down a side window to bring in a breath of fresh air.

‘Gentlemen, I should have seen that Mireille was putting herself in grave danger. Officially I told myself it was a French matter; privately I knew from talking to my wife and to the girl that things were far from right.'

‘And with Dédou Favre, Colonel?' asked Louis.

In irritation von Mahler pulled off his gloves. ‘Officially I stated the boy must be guilty of her murder. Privately I knew he could never have harmed her even if ordered to by his
maquis
chief. I wanted to talk to Dédou, to reason with him. Do you think Kommandants have the time to comb the hills for
Banditen?
That is always left to others. But I didn't and
don't
want him killed. You see, he alone must know what Mireille had planned to say to those who judged her.'

‘The killing of Adrienne,' said Louis.

‘But was there something else?' hazarded von Mahler. ‘Was there something the terrorists needed that only the establishment and the Church could give in exchange for her silence?'

‘Blackmail …' managed Kohler. ‘Herr Oberst, are you saying she was about to—'

‘Call it what you will, but the terrorists are desperate. Many are no more than bandits and live like them, stealing from the peasants and everyone else. Extorting money, clothing, food, cigarettes and drink. They're poorly armed, badly disorganized, ill-trained, lawless most of them, and cowardly. But if allowed sanctuary from the bitterest winter in years? If allowed sleep, full bellies and proper training, what then? As Kommandant I have to look beyond the obvious. As detectives you must do the same in spite of your patriotic leanings, St-Cyr, and your acquired love of the French, Kohler. In short, gentlemen, I want that boy taken alive and kept safely so that I can talk to him. I want the truth, nothing else. And that I will relay to Gestapo Boemelburg if and when you conclude this affair. Have I made myself clear?'

He still hadn't been told that Dédou had been arrested, thought Kohler.

‘Well?' demanded von Mahler.

‘
Bestimmt
, Herr Oberst.
Bestimmt
,' muttered Louis. Definitely.

*

Alone with his partner in the Renault, St-Cyr hunted for words to express what Hermann would know only too well he felt. The threat Boemelburg posed was far deeper than the Kommandant had let on.

In Paris, Gabrielle Arcuri, a chanteuse and the new love of this Sûreté's life, had been a suspect in their last investigation. Now she'd be considered a hostage until the present matter was concluded to suit the Gestapo, the SS and the Führer.

But Bishop Rivaille had said nothing about her. Instead, he had let him know only too clearly that Gestapo Paris-Central looked askance at Hermann's living with a former prostitute and Oona Van der Lynn, a Dutch alien without proper papers. Blackmail again.

Things would have to be absolutely out in the open between them. ‘The
Résistance
, Hermann. About two weeks after the flood waters of mid-November released Adrienne de Langlade's body, Frau von Mahler took this from under the lapel of Mireille de Sinéty's overcoat.'

The Cross of Lorraine … Abruptly Hermann rolled down his side window to fling the pin into the river.

‘
Don't
! Please don't. Not yet.'

‘Are you crazy? Boemelburg, Louis. Gestapo Mueller … If anyone should find this on us …'

‘Idiot! That pin is the key to Frau von Mahler. The Colonel unfortunately came upon us just as she was about to tell me who she had seen in the Palais on the night of the murder.'

‘He insists she never goes out.'

‘Then ask yourself, as I have, how many trips to Paris she has had to make for skin grafts. Berlin is too dangerous, too terrifying – the nightly bombings,
n
'
est-ce pas?
Ask also how it is she came by a Belgian FN at a price of forty thousand francs if not purchased on the black market in Paris where it would be both safer and easier for her to have acquired such a thing without her husband knowing.'

Everyone knew the troops sold things they shouldn't. ‘De Passe took Dédou Favre well before dawn on Monday, Louis, but failed to tell von Mahler.'

‘And sent the Kommandant out on a wild-goose chase?'

‘Not quite. He bagged four
maquis.
'

‘Xavier … A traitor. Ah! Why must God do this to France?'

It had been a cry of despair. ‘The hundred thousand francs was paid in four nice bundles, two of which have already gone for expenses.'

Kohler told him about the photographs and what must have happened at the ‘picnic' early last June. ‘That little member of the
pégre
is old enough to want to try it with a girl even if she's out like a light, but did he really do that to her or is it but another of their lies?'

‘Absinthe … Was he told to do so by Madame Simondi? Apparently she eggs the singers on, Hermann. Frau von Mahler made a point of telling me this and that Mireille de Sinéty found the woman repugnant. The singers do as she asks or face dismissal.'

‘And the car is pointed in the right direction, eh?
Verdammt
, I'm tired. I want to go to bed!'

‘Then trust me,
mon vieux
. If Simondi's Villa Marenzio is any indication, his house in Villeneuve-les-Avignon should have plenty of room.'

A pedal-pushing
garde champêtre
challenged them, and when asked, led them to the villa. Il
palazzo della mia pastorella divina
(the villa of my divine shepherdess) was on the rue de la République, about halfway between the cemetery and the Fort Saint-André whose ramparts rose above the promontory from which they had commanded the terrain since the latter half of the fourteenth century.

Hermann yanked on the bell.

‘Messieurs, madame is asleep and not well,' came a strict female voice from out of the darkness of the foyer.

‘It's okay. We're doctors. We've come all the way from Paris just to look after her.'

‘Paris? The detectives. You—'

Nobody could close a door on Hermann if he didn't want it to be closed. Nobody. Especially if he had help and was agitated.

*

The four-poster was richly carved. Deep in a cocoon of sleep and wearing nothing but a coverlet rich with antique gold brocade, Christiane Bissert and Genèvieve Ravier lay wrapped in each other's arms exactly where they'd fallen.

‘Absinthe,' muttered Louis, lifting the bottle from a table.

They didn't stir. The
Primo Soprano's
blonde hair was laced with dried lavender. The
Alto's
skin glistened with a fragrant unguent; her jet black curls and long lashes were still damp with perspiration.

‘The tapestry,' breathed Hermann, not turning away to look at it. ‘A horn player …'

‘A shawm. It's like an oboe, but with a flared bell.'

Tambourines and tabors joined recorders and citterns in medieval accompaniment among dancing country folk at a wedding. ‘The rites of spring,' snorted Kohler. ‘So, where is Madame Simondi?' he asked the housekeeper who hadn't stopped glaring at them.

‘On … on the other side of the stove room. She is … is with another of them.'

‘Which one?'

‘The
Basso Continuo
. They … they keep her company from time to time when she demands it or Maître Simondi thinks it is needed.'

‘And who demanded it this time?'

‘The maître.'

‘
Bon
! Louis, find yourself a chair. There isn't room.'

Shoes were prised off, overcoat, fedora, scarf and suit jacket dropped on the floor. The Walther P38 was removed to be tucked under one of the pillows as the coverlet was flung back. ‘Sweet dreams,
mon vieux
. I've had it.'

Hermann dragged up the covers and was instantly asleep, warm in his own cocoon.

‘My partner always considers he has the right to take over, madame. He's had a hard two days and must be excused,' yawned St-Cyr. ‘Please introduce me to Madame Simondi, then find me a distant room whose door is tight when shut. This one snores but refuses to admit it. They will tell him, I'm sure.'