Hermann loved to dance and listen to the Voice of America whenever possible, and he did like such music as did those ensembles, and of course they played in clubs and bars and even held outdoor concerts the Occupier also loved, though all of it was verboten.
‘Tell the slut to shut up,’ said Ludin to the husband who was now trying to claim the shoes he’d found had been of a darker shade.
‘Eugene, mon cher, they are exactly the ones you told me of. The imprint, it says so. Hanan, wasn’t it? Hanan of New York, at 43 avenue de l’Opera.’
And no longer there since the Fuhrer in his wisdom had declared war on the Americans on 4 December 1941.
‘Are those the shoes?’ grunted Ludin, clutching at a spasm that must have wrenched his gut.
‘What else would they be,’ said Louis in Deutsch, ‘since they came from my coat pockets and we save everything we can from every case we have to investigate and this one, if I must remind you, is still very much a murder inquiry and not some circus.’
‘Rocheleau, you idiot,’ said Ludin, ‘take that slut and get her out of here. Go home to where you belong.’
Somehow they understood.
‘But first a little visit,’ said the master of ceremonies, tucking three or four big ones into the woman’s hand, she giving him a kiss on the cheek and the playfully lingering touch of her tongue.
Ludin lost all patience. ‘These gentlemen have come all the way from Berlin to talk to you, Kohler, so you had damned well better listen.’
Blitheness was called for. ‘And are they aware that you’ve a Spitzel aboard that gazo, one whose presence you’ve already advertised enough without having them come all that way?’
‘One that may well need your help, is it, Kohler?’
‘Hermann, let’s hear what they have to say when they’ve finished eating.’
Unknown to her, for sure, Anna-Marie had just brought down the wrath of the Reich on them, felt Kohler, and reaching for the empty bottles, held two up for one of the waiters.
‘Ah, the Chateauneuf-du-Pape, the 1921, Hermann. Of course, neither Herr Ludin nor these gentlemen could have known that after the Great War, the market was flooded by fake bottles of it, so much so that Baron Pierre le Roy de Boiseaumarie led a campaign to safeguard the name and his own. Ask for the Chatau Latour. Any year you like, but let’s drink a toast to their health.’
And to that of Anna-Marie Vermeulen.
Frans was in the room and at the bed. He had given her an hour and a half to get to sleep and was now going through her pockets to find that coin and her papers. He had to know the name she was using in Paris.
Unable to find either, she heard him draw in an exasperated breath and then gingerly slide a hand under her pillow and her head. There … there … have you found them now, Frans? Have you?
Quickly leaving, he softly eased the door closed, but now if they did manage to get into Paris, she would have to make him follow her, for only then could Etienne, Arie and Martine be saved, since he must tell no one else anything until he had been forced to tell the right ones everything.
To the Boeuf sur le Toit, felt St-Cyr, there was nothing but increased noise and laughter, to this table with its two visitors from Berlin and Heinrich Ludin, but the desperate. All three seemed to be waiting for something or someone. Hermann had explained their having followed that truck’s route to its link-up with the bank van and murders, but Ludin, sour and troubled as always, had been far from satisfied, the others simply belligerent.
‘Eine Halbjudin?’ swore Ulrich Frensel. ‘Eine Mischlinge, Kohler?’ Angrily, he stabbed an already loaded fork into the braised red cabbage that accompanied the roast pork and potatoes he’d been devouring. ‘Are you and that verfluchte Franzose telling me that you know nothing useful yet and are letting a verdammte Hure get the better of a person such as myself? Die Schlampe will be stripped naked, I tell you! Naked, Kohler!’ He jerked a butcher-size thumb back to indicate the bronze behind him. ‘All questions will be answered. If not, I will personally see that she shits through her nose.’
Liebe Zeit, was he about to have a heart attack? wondered St-Cyr. Red in the normally florid and fleshy cheeks with double chin and brew-master nose, Frensel knuckle-wiped the Fuhrer-like moustache that went with the haircut before lowering that fist to stab the fork in again.
‘The black diamonds, Kohler,’ seethed the other one, slab-faced and dark-eyed, and with the boeuf bourguignon and side dishes of caramelized onions and braised chestnuts. ‘She knows where they are, I tell you! That filthy Schweinhund Meyerhof told her. That is why we had to let her run. That is why this Sonderkommando!’
And wouldn’t you know it, thought Kohler, the myth of the so-called black diamonds, and both of these two from Berlin in on it but hating each other.
‘Ach, this other one is Johannes Uhl, Louis, and none other than the person who almost single-handedly during the Blitzkrieg captured 940,000 carats of rough industrials, so pleasing the Fuhrer that he …’
A long-fingered, agitated fork-hand was acidly raised for silence, sauce dribbling. ‘Bitte, mein Lieber. Bitte. There were an additional 290,000 carats of Congo cubes and other industrials I personally took off Belgian vessels in Antwerp’s harbour. The Fuhrer …’
‘Was ecstatic, Louis, and gave him this medal and a photo spread in Signal.’*
Having leaned over the clutter, Hermann pressed a forefinger to one of the awards, and turning away as if to ignore it, said to the other visitor, ‘And you must be in charge of gem diamonds. Herr Uhl of the industrials is from Frankfurt, Louis, where on the day we started this investigation, the RAF and USAAF did a round-the-clock, levelling a good part of the city and leaving more than 500 dead.
‘Herr Frensel, is from Munster where, on 6 July 1941, and in three nights, that same RAF flattened a good quarter of the city, so like our Kriminalrat, they both have that added reason for wanting us to solve this mess they’ve created.’
Shock brought silence and then from Ludin, not looking up from the vichyssoise that had finally been set before him, ‘As does Reichssicherheitschef Kaltenbrunner, Kohler.’
There could be no smile, felt Frensel. Instead, he would simply spear a chunk of pork and offer it to this verfluchte Kripo who was nothing but trouble. ‘In Berlin, mein Lieber, though a million have been evacuated, we who are left still pray for the zoo to be hit. Lion testicles in a sauce perhaps, or elephant teats in their cream-it’s said to be very rich. Some maintain that the giraffe will be stringy and must be tenderized by pounding as we do the war bread we are now having to eat with the turnips instead of potatoes; others that when plucked, stuffed and roasted, the ostrich will be a bit gamey, but a meal to walk on its legs. I believe, and you can correct me if I am wrong which I seldom am, St-Cyr, but didn’t the population of Paris eat their zoo animals during the Franco-Prussian War we most certainly won?’
‘The boa constrictors were said to be tasty. Grand-mere always swore that her portion was exquisite, like eel served with mustard, so, too, the Indian cobra, but fortunately without the poison sacks.’