Madrigal (39 page)

‘I knew,' taunted Xavier.

‘And may God forgive you for what you did to Dédou,' said Louis. ‘The
Resistance
won't. I'll make certain of it. Believe me,
mon fin, La belle France
will be well rid of you.'

The candles flickered, throwing soft shadows over the Hooded Ones. And why did he have to emphasize his patriotism? wondered Kohler. A last taunt, was that it? Had he completely forgotten what awaited them?

Nino fidgeted. Unnoticed by the others, von Mahler had somehow moved much closer to his wife.

‘Last October,' said Louis, ‘your little friend led you to Adrienne de Langlade's body, to where these four and others had hidden it underwater. You took some of her hair, Xavier. You might never know if it would be needed but, just as in your hiding of the sickle and the
martinet
, it would give you such a hold over Bishop Rivaille. You rejoiced, I think, in your good fortune.'

‘What if I did?' sang out the boy. ‘It means nothing now to you.'
YOU
…
YOU
…

‘Keeping silent about a murder is punishable by a stiff sentence!' shouted Louis.

‘One I'll never see!'
SEE
…
SEE
…

Frau von Mahler and Marie-Madeleine had somehow moved themselves a little away from the Colonel. What the hell was going on? wondered Kohler.
Verdammt
! How were they ever going to get out of this?

Louis wanted desperately to light that pipe of his, even to taking out his matchbox, only to acknowledge the mistake. ‘Of course, you'll never see prison,' he went on. ‘We've other plans. But let us finish with you so that we can taste the Châteauneuf-du-pape of this whole affair. Everything you do, Xavier, is done first to protect yourself and gain the upper hand, and secondly to keep the bishop content. Adrienne de Langlade's hair was presented to Brother Matthieu as a parting gesture of contempt. You told that poor unfortunate he had best do as the bishop had instructed and put an end to himself.'

‘You raped Adrienne de Langlade,' said Kohler. ‘She was as much of a threat to you early last June as she was to your
Primo Soprano.
'

‘I wasn't the only one.'

‘I didn't think you were, did you, Louis?'

‘Norman had a go at her twice,' said the boy, ‘to prove himself capable of being a man.'

‘You little bastard!' shrieked the cherub,
BASTARD
…
BASTARD
…

‘Enough!' shrieked de Passe. ‘Take these two from Paris and dispose of them. The river, but first the garrotte and the knife.'

The Hooded Ones began to converge on them. Hastily Louis stuffed that precious pipe of his away.

Kohler …

‘Stop! Don't any of you move!' shrilled Frau von Mahler. ‘Let … let him finish.'

The Belgian FN was in her hands. De Passe was so taken aback, he frantically looked to Rivaille for help and was signalled caution.

She motioned to the
cagoulards
to retreat to their former positions. ‘Please continue, Inspector. Let us have the benefit of your analysis. Kurt, stay where you are.'

YOU ARE
…
YOU ARE
…

‘Madame,' said Louis, still standing some distance from her and therefore not able to get that gun from her, thought Kohler ruefully. ‘Madame, we know Bishop Rivaille, in a drunken rage, had Adrienne de Langlade brought to his room at the mill. We believe he did things to that girl, perhaps after first purging himself with the
martinet
for being so foolish as to think her “pure”, and that he forgot his vows and then blamed her for encouraging him.'

‘Alain, tell him it wasn't so! She refused to name the father of her bastard, damn you! I … I repeatedly asked her.'

‘But she couldn't! She didn't know, Bishop, and no one, not one among those she was to join and call her friends and associates, would tell her because they didn't want her with them. “She didn't work out.” And for her “sins”, Bishop, you sentenced her to the
accabussade
. What happened, Maître Simondi? You've listened to all I've said and known it was the truth, yet have said so little.'

‘It was an accident. That infernal cage was far too heavy and awkward. The rope broke and we … we couldn't raise her in time.'

No one moved. Frau von Mahler glanced apprehensively from one to another of them, and to the long lines of
cagoulards
who waited as before.

Far from sure of herself, did she really know where to go next? wondered Kohler sadly.

‘Ah
bon
,' said Louis with that little toss of his head his partner had come to know so well. ‘But then, Maître, the four of you had a problem on your hands, one that Mireille de Sinéty refused to let you hide. Dedou wanted her to use the information to gain the
maquis
a small reprieve, but couldn't be here to back her up. Instead, she had to face you all alone.'

‘She wouldn't listen! She defied the Mother Church!' seethed Rivaille.

‘No, Bishop, she defied the four of you, one of whom, I'm certain, deliberately detained the concierge until the deed was done.'

‘Messieurs,' quavered Frau von Mahler, and there were tears she had yet to realize. ‘You robbed me and my family of a light when it was most needed. Did you not think of this?'
THIS
…
THIS
…

‘Louis …' began Kohler, only to see the Sûreté raise a cautionary hand.

‘Robbed?' said Renaud, deeply puzzled.

They faced her, the four of them. They still didn't know quite what to make of her. To a man, the Hooded Ones waited, the singers also.

Von Mahler started towards her, only to find himself held back by Marie-Madeleine.

‘
Dio mio
, do something, Alain,' breathed Simondi. Renaud just stared at her as if he couldn't yet comprehend her intentions. De Passe took a step toward her, saying, ‘Frau von …'

‘Don't come near me!' she shrilled. ‘I'm warning you!'

Rivaille hastily crossed himself and went down on his knees, his hands clasped in prayer.

‘Now give me the name of her assassin. Call it out to me, Préfet.'

Merde alors
, she wouldn't really use that gun, would she? demanded de Passe of himself. ‘Duverger … Vincent,' he sang out.

DUVERGER
…
DUVERGER
…‘Remove the hood,' she shrilled. ‘Let me see your face.'
YOUR FACE
…

He was not old, nor young, nor anything but ordinary and when she shot him, he simply collapsed as the sound of the gun boomed and echoed all around them. Other shots quickly followed it. One by one, and without hesitation. De Passe tried to get to her. Renaud turned away to run and was hit in the back. Simondi begged her not to kill him, but she wouldn't listen.

‘Ingrid!' cried out von Mahler, but her hand refused to shake and she still didn't listen.

Rivaille looked up at and beyond her to his God as she fired. ‘It was the only way, Kurt! The only way!' she cried, and walking among the fallen, fired once more into each of them.

Leaderless, the Hooded Ones had vanished.

*

It was freezing in Orange, some twenty-five kilometres to the north, when they got to the station, the night so pitch black, the hour so small, it was uncomfortable. Von Mahler's driver simply lifted their bags out of the boot and dropped them on the pavement.

Then he was gone and they were left alone. Hustled out of Avignon without a moment to lose, they stood listening to the tourer's rapidly dwindling sound.

No one else was around. No one.

‘
Verdammt
, Louis. How the hell did you know that woman would do a thing like that?' muttered Kohler, still shaking.

It was tempting to call up a further
enseigne
but Hermann was just not himself. ‘A pistol without a safety? And fully loaded? She had to have had some training to have known at least enough to leave the firing chamber empty until needed.'

Frau von Mahler had risked her life to save those of two police officers. It would be claimed not by them, but by her husband, that she had suffered from a severe psychotic trauma. The courts would be lenient –
bien sûr
– and she would probably be confined to a private clinic in Paris for a while to satisfy the Vichy authorities and the Occupier.

‘The singers will be sent into forced labour,' said Kohler emptily, for always at the end of a case, especially a difficult one – and when were they never difficult? – there was this tremendous sense of loss.

‘Even so, Christiane and Genèvieve will be separated. Will they find each other, Hermann, after this war is over?'

Louis worried about such things and was of too forgiving a nature. He'd wanted stiff prison sentences but had had to defer to the Kommandant's express wishes, seeing as
cagoulards
could well be skulking in the streets and magistrates, especially those in the provinces, were tardy at best. ‘Madame Simondi will find her way back to Paris, once she dries out. It would have been too hard to pin anything on her. Forget her,
mon vieux
. Remember that you can't always win all battles.'

Hermann invariably said things like that, and one nearly always let him. ‘Marie-Madeleine will move into Mireille's flat to take up where her friend left off.'

‘Yes … yes, she'll do that, Louis. A nice kid. Thérèse and she'll get along okay. They'll pay Madame de Sinéty a little visit and break the news as gently as they can.'

‘And us?' asked the Sûreté, still looking off into the cold black emptiness.

Kohler searched his pockets desperately for a forgotten cigarette to share. ‘We'll just have to stay out of Provence.
Mein Gott
, it'll be a relief! No more talk of your finding a little farm down here and retiring to raise melons and strawberries without me around to tell you how to do it!'

They were still arguing when the
sous-chef de gare
found them and, passing her blinkered torchlight over them, said haltingly, ‘Messieurs, there is a telegram for whichever of you will agree to pay the fifty-seven francs that are due.'

Louis snatched the flimsy tissue from her, Kohler the light.

‘“Beekeeper”, Louis.'

‘
Merde alors
, let me read it will you? “Body of Beekeeper found in apiary near Père Lachaise Cemetery requires your immediate and urgent attention.
Heil Hitler.”
'

‘Boemelburg's still mad at us for not letting the
Cagoule
put us down, but is willing to momentarily kiss and make up. But isn't it a little cold to be worrying about bees?'

‘Perhaps, but then … ah
mats alors, alors
, Hermann, in Paris anything is possible, especially when under the Occupier.'

As if he didn't already know it!

Kohler thought to add a word but was too tired. And anyway, Louis deserved to have the last one. ‘Come on,
mon vieux
. Hey, I'll even let you ride second-class if you want.'

‘
Merci
. And while you're up there in front with others of the Occupier, please think about his use of “urgent”, Hermann. That suggests trouble.'

Turn the page to continue reading from the St-Cyr and Kohler Series

1

The Restaurant of the Gare de Lyon was huge, a prince, a god among all others. But now under the blackout's hauntingly blue and ethereal light from Paris's infrequent lamps, its gilded cherubs and buxom nymphs were cloaked in grime. They shed their gilding, clutched their bouquets of daisies and looked offended as if wanting to cry out, Monsieur the Chief Inspector of the Sûreté Nationale, how could you – yes, you! – of all people have let this happen to us?

Gone were the diners in their splendid dinner jackets and tails, the beautiful girls in their magically tantalizing gowns, the
femmes du monde
, the society women, too, and those of little virtue. The gaiety … the laughter … the sounds of silver cutlery and crystal, the pewter plates upon which the porcelains had been set.

Gone, too, were the bankers, politicians, industrialists, the men of solid cash and much power. These days most of them had found other pastures upon which to graze.

But now … now after more than two and a half years of the Occupation, the restaurant's crumbling horns of plenty let fall a constant rain of golden fragments and plaster dust which littered the mountains of crates, barrels, sacks and steamer trunks – suitcases, too, of all sizes – that climbed high into the vault of the ceiling to where once Gervex's magnificent painting, the Battle of the Flowers, had portrayed the city of Nice.

‘It's like an Aladdin's Cave that's all but been forgotten,' breathed Kohler, aghast at what lay before them.

Distracted, St-Cyr ignored his partner. The restaurant, that triumph of the Mauve Decade and the
Belle Époque – le Train Bleu
, some had begun to call it – stank of sweat, mould, sour produce and rotten meat that the inevitable delays in transit had left to languish. Soot, too, of course, and urine, for what better ‘terrorist' action when forced to store things destined for the Reich, than to piss on them in secret – or do worse – in the name of freedom and of
Résistance
?