Madrigal (38 page)

‘Or else I would suffer and … and so would Genèvieve. The
accabussade
for us both. Me first so that Genèvieve could watch what was happening to me, and then … then her, too, but … but after I was no more.'

‘Ah
bon
,' said Louis. ‘Now we can return to the murder of Mireille de Sinéty and to the night of Monday last. Your lover was to have been dismissed, mademoiselle.'

He had moved nearer to Genèvieve but was on the opposite side of the hall from her and the entrance to the Saint John's Tower.

‘To save herself,' he said, and his voice carried and was full and robust and without fear, ‘your lover instigated what happened to Adrienne de Langlade, both at the
mas
of Mademoiselle de Sinéty's mother and then at the mill on the Îie de la Barthelasse. She egged the rest of you on, didn't she, but with Xavier's help and under instructions from Madame Simondi?'

‘I'm sorry, Genèvieve. I know you will hate me but yes. And
yes
, I helped her, Inspector. I did! And … and may God forgive me.'

‘And as an accessory to that first murder, mademoiselle …'

‘
Ispettore
, I object! Adrienne de Langlade drowned.'

‘An accident,' spat Rivaille. He'd had just about enough of this upstart from Paris.

‘An accident, Bishop, to which we will return,' countered the Sûreté. ‘But first, mademoiselle, to the murder here. You had to intervene, didn't you?'

‘I knew what you planned to do to Mireille, Genèvieve. I couldn't let it happen.'

‘Happen …' sang out Marius Spaggiari.

‘Happen …' echoed Norman Galiteau.

‘She took a black robe …' continued the tenor, Guy Rochon.

‘A black robe from our props r—' Xavier's voice broke. Shattered, the song fell apart, and for a moment Christiane glared hurtfully at each of them, then angrily wiped her eyes and blurted, ‘Damn you, yes!'

‘The sickle also, mademoiselle,' said the Sûreté, his voice carrying into the stairwell. ‘The main entrance to the Palais wasn't locked.'

NOT LOCKED … NOT LOCKED …

‘The door was wide open!' she cried in despair. ‘Genèvieve, I had to do it for you. I had to!'

Marie-Madeleine had reached out to the girl to grip her by the shoulders. ‘Quite by accident you ran into Frau von Mahler,' she said accusingly. ‘You turned around and left her, didn't you? Well, didn't you?'

It was no use. The Inspector must know everything, thought Christiane. He was watching Genèvieve closely, was afraid she would try to make a break for it. He was watching Xavier and the others, even Nino too.

She gave a nod and said hollowly, ‘They … they had come into the Jésus' Room through the entrance that gives out on to the Main Courtyard. They … they were all wearing cassocks and hoods as black as mine, but … but I didn't see this until later.'

So silent had the hall become, she felt she could hear the candles.

‘There were four of them, weren't there?' sighed Louis, his voice carrying and causing Kohler to wince at its intrusion into the Tower.

The girl must have swallowed tightly and nodded, was probably still trying to beg her lover to understand and forgive …

‘One of them took the sickle from you,' sang out Louis. She was heard to answer faintly, ‘Yes.'

‘And one of them killed Mireille de Sinéty,' he continued. ‘It wasn't Genèvieve Ravier because she hadn't been able to get to the Palais.'

‘
Ispettore
, what is this you are saying?' demanded Simondi.

‘Only that Genèvieve failed to reach the Palais.'

‘Then where was she?' demanded Renaud, his glasses winking in the candlelight.

‘With Madame,' said Genèvieve bitterly. ‘Madame had made it as far as the Villa Marenzio. She was frantic, incoherent, highly agitated and shaking like crazy. Like
crazy! Chérie
, that is why you couldn't find me when you went to my room after I had found you “asleep.”'

‘Ah no. No!'

‘And now you've told the Inspector that you were here with them,
petite
. With
them
!' said Genèvieve in tears.

The echoes ran. They seemed to chase one another and for a time no one moved in the upper chapel and in the narrow staircase that led to it.

Cautiously Kohler let the fingers of his left hand explore the rough stone wall ahead of him, and when he touched the cassock again, he waited once more.

It was Louis who said clearly and sharply, ‘Four men, Mademoiselle Bissert, but were our three judges and Alain de Passe those four? That is the question.
Bien sûr
, they each know who did the killing, but did those who judged her so harshly not leave the Palais as claimed after the audition? Did they not turn their backs on that girl and let others do the task they wanted?'

WANTED
…
WANTED
…‘Who really killed Mireille de Sinéty?' he sang out suddenly.

DE SINÉTY … DE SINÉTY …

In the pitch darkness of the upper chapel, one name was said softly but urgently by Frau von Mahler. ‘Kurt …'

And then, ‘Ingrid, I tried to warn you that I couldn't countermand an order from Berlin. We weren't supposed to be here. It was all to have been left up to them.'

‘But Mireille …'

‘Was a terrorist,
eine Banditin
, was she not?'

Ah nom de Jésus-Christ
! swore Kohler silently.

But then the point of a stiletto dug itself in under his chin and the gun in his hand was teased away. Others were behind him. Others had come up the staircase so silently.

‘Go on up, Inspector. The time for all such singing is now over.'

The Grand Tinel had grown so silent, even Nino cringed at Hermann's feet. Von Mahler, furious with what had happened, had been forced to relinquish his pistol. He'd objected coldly and with threats that were far from hollow, but Alain de Passe, who had been the last to arrive, was totally in command. Berlin would understand. Berlin.

The one in the black cassock stood out, with hood thrown back, but not a monk, by the look, not one of the brothers. Tough, grim-faced and in his mid-thirties, had he been the killer? wondered St-Cyr. Marie-Madeleine had glimpsed him only once and that had been enough for her. Terrified now, her lips moved silently in prayer, for she knew only too well what was going to happen to them and to herself.

But this one alone wore black. On both sides of the hall, and at equally spaced intervals with glowing candelabra between them, some sixty of the Hooded Ones stood in two long lines facing each other. They blocked all exits. No weapons showed – they didn't need those to strike terror into their victims. And the white hoods they wore hid their faces except for the eye, nose and mouth holes. And on the left breast of each white robe, each shroud, was the silvery dark blue brocade of a fleur-de-lis with gold piping.

Mireille de Sinéty had had to make these ‘costumes' and would have known only too well what she and Dedou and the rest of his
maquis
had been up against.

Only the turn-ups of stiff, coal-black trousers showed beneath the hems of these robes, and then … then the black leather, hobnailed boots Vichy must have given them. The
Milice?
wondered St-Cyr and glanced at Hermann, only to see his partner grimacing with distaste and know the stomach was tightening at the thought of Vichy's newest police force playing dress-up as
cagoulards
. Ah
nom de Dieu
, to be kicked to death by those boots – and they would be; he could tell Hermann was thinking this – would not be nice.

Strong hands, perpetually tanned by generations and generations of Mediterranean sun, were there, but so, too, were those of the fairer. Peasants, small businessmen, shop clerks and bankers, the extreme far right, the
Comité secret d'action révolutionnaire
.

Here, at last, was its Action Squad and its leader, Préfet de Passe.

‘Your revolver, Jean-Louis,' said de Passe, and though his voice hadn't been raised in the slightest, it was heard throughout the hall.

Kohler could see Louis hesitate. Those big, dark brown ox-eyes watered. The moustache that had been grown long before the Führer ever thought of wearing such a thing was twitched, a sure sign the former
pugiliste
and champion of the Police Academy was furious.

The singers were clustered, but not about Christiane Bissert who stood alone, dejected, lost and terribly afraid.

Marie-Madeleine had gone quickly to join Frau von Mahler and to take the woman by the hand.

Von Mahler waited by the entrance to the Saint John's Tower but was defiantly blocked from entering it.

The judges were standing beside their chairs, each of them looking on with bated breath.

‘Don't be foolish,' breathed de Passe to Louis. ‘Just hand it over. You and Kohler can do nothing.'

‘Then that's it, is it?' demanded the Sûreté coldly.

‘You know it is. Why argue?'

Louis tossed a gesturing hand in defiance. ‘At least allow us to settle this matter so that all may go their separate ways knowing the truth.'

Verdammt
! Don't push your luck,
mon vieux
, thought Kohler. Stall for time –
ja, ja
, of course, but watch out.

The Lebel was taken. ‘Proceed,' taunted de Passe acidly. ‘Please let us have the benefit of your “truth”, knowing well that you ignored the warning I sent you.'

Louis indicated that he wished, at least, to enjoy his pipe and tobacco, only to remember Frau von Mahler, to look at her with concern and empathy, and say, ‘Forgive me, madame.'

She nodded tightly. She watched him closely.
Mein Gott
, the strain in that woman's expression, thought Kohler. The grief, the anger, the tension …

‘Ah
bon
,' acknowledged the Sûreté, tossing his head a little. ‘Now let us begin. Mireille de Sinéty thought as one would have done in the fourteenth century. Bishop, you of all of us know this best. You lingered over her body while giving the last rites. You tried desperately to read the rebus you knew she must have left for others like us to find, but until now I didn't fully comprehend how deeply she felt and lived that century, nor how complete was her foretelling of this affair.'

He began to walk about, cupping that cold pipe in his left hand and gesturing with it now and then. ‘She had laid it all out for us, hadn't she, Bishop? The Cross of Saint Bénédict, the tiny silver bells, the pentacle and others were there to tell us she knew she was in great peril. The keys were to signify that something was locked up – a secret. But she knew you could and would quite probably read and perhaps even remove a part or all of the rebus, so lost among the coins she included a maze you might not see if in haste. That maze, Bishop, and the tin of sardines were there for people like myself and my partner to divine.'

‘Get on with it,' shouted Rivaille angrily.

‘Of course. She named you, Bishop. To her you were at the heart of the matter because as God's emissary you should have been sitting at His right hand and not caught up in your own dreams and aspirations. You're the Capricorn at whose sign Dédou Favre points the Archer's arrow. But, please, Préfet, be so good as to tell us what sign you were born under. Was the moonstone yours?'

‘What moonstone?'

‘The one that was pinned next to the friar who sprinkled holy water on the devil of the Goat!'

‘Enough!' shouted Rivaille. ‘Alain, stop him this instant!'

INSTANT
…
INSTANT
… came the echoes, to be chased by
ENOUGH!

Get to the point, Louis, swore Kohler silently as he tried to edge his way closer to Frau von Mahler, but Nino … Nino was sensitive to the slightest move and would questioningly lift her head and look at him with sorrowful eyes.

‘Then let us accept,' continued Louis, ‘that all present will find themselves spelled out in the comet's tail that trailed so beautifully and mysteriously across that young woman's belt from the sign she wore high on her left hip, the sign of herself.'

It was coming now, thought Christiane, her heart sinking further at the thought of what awaited them. Genèvieve was ashen and had sensed it too, and when the Chief Inspector said, ‘But what, really, was the answer to the rebus? We know now that the killer couldn't have been born under the sign of the Fishes or that of the Twins. Xavier could well have done it, but she had worn an emerald, a beautiful deep green, crystal-clear stone to signify that she had seen well into the future. And when you called out to her through the darkness of this tragic place, Frau von Mahler, she told you to leave at once because by then she had realized exactly how true that emerald's voice had been.'

‘Jean-Louis, this is all hearsay, a figment of that girl's imagination no magistrate or judge would accept. We gave you a suspect—'

‘As you tried to give us Brother Matthieu, Prèfet? That girl's comet's tail ended with a moonstone over which fell a rain of pearls.'

‘Pearls?'

‘Tears, then, for that is what they represented in the Renaissance. The assembled. Your
cagoulards.
'

Louis gave them a moment, and then, like the judge he had become, said sadly, ‘Which of you ordered them to kill her, Bishop? Was the choice drawn by lots as when a new Pope is elected?'

‘By lots,' said Rivaille condescendingly. ‘And in the old way, as during the Babylonian Captivity.'

‘The Second Babylon,' acknowledged the Sûreté with a curt nod. ‘You drew the white slip, Bishop. That girl had even foreseen this. A single pearl was pinned next to your leaden Goat, and on the right hand.'

‘I did not kill her.'

‘Of course you didn't. Your kind never do, not when you have cowards like these at your beck and call. They wore black, not white, those assassins you sent. They swiftly entered via the Jésus' Room and we know the rest, Bishop. Xavier, coming back from a night of poaching rabbits on the Îie de la Barthelasse, found the door to the Palais open and let Nino loose. He knew what was to happen, didn't you, boy?'