‘Angélique and your husband visited the shop the day before the murder, madame. A pair of candlesticks.’
Her smile must be faint and whimsical. ‘She has far better taste, Inspector. I ought to know. I helped to raise her.’
Merde, why would she not tell him? ‘The doll, madame. Kämmer and Reinhardt were the manufacturers.’
The sadness only deepened the lovely hazel of her eyes and he was at a loss as to how to make her tell him before it was too late.
Again there was that smile and then a tiny shrug. ‘The Star of David, Inspector. The K is within the left-hand point, the R within the right and that is why she chose it and kept the doll of me a prisoner for later. Johann must have told her that the firm had been Jewish and since it was the only one among her dolls that bore that particular trademark, Angélique used it but …’
‘But what, madame?’ he asked gently.
‘But cut from yellow velvet a much larger star and, having pinned that to its breast, added the word stepmother.’
Jésus, merde alors, how could the child have done such a terrible thing?
‘I …’ began Hélène Charbonneau only to suddenly stop herself.
Had they both heard it, he wondered? The scrunch of tyres on gravel in the drive?
For a second they looked at each other and held their breath. A sudden gust drew the flame of the candle out, but then it retreated to flutter normally.
Both of them looked towards the front hall. St-Cyr swept his eyes around the kitchen. His clothes were hanging above the stove, his shoes by their laces … ‘Madame,’ he whispered.
She could not move. Fear tightened her cheeks and darkened the look in her eyes. Like himself, she waited for some other sign that they were no longer alone.
When nothing further came, St-Cyr pinched out the candle. ‘Say nothing,’ he croaked. ‘Stay right by me. If it is Herr Kaestner, he will go upstairs to your bedroom first. Let me find my clothes and get dressed. Put something on — anything dark so as to hide the whiteness of your nightgown. Boots … try to find some. We may have to go outside. He won’t harm the child.’
‘The child,’ she said. ‘The child …’
Hermann … where the hell was Hermann when needed most?
*
Through the haze of tobacco smoke, and from across the crowded dance floor, Kohler and the cook could see Paulette le Trocquer sitting pensively at the flotilla’s bar. She was very pretty and of course there should have been intense pressure on her to dance, but now it was as if she had best be left alone. Her knees were together. The high heels with their studded rhinestone straps were spread so as to hook themselves into the lower rung of the stool. The glass of brandy to her right was still untouched, the stool next to her on the left was empty. Though the clamour for sustenance went on all around her, there were no offers.
She was spoken for.
The cook’s laughing dark eyes with their trace of insanity flicked over her and then returned as Kohler asked him if the Captain was back in the lock-up.
The bushy dark brows furrowed, the Kaiser moustache was wiped with the back of a beery knuckle. ‘I just left him. No problem. Vati has had his bit of fun and will now sleep like a baby.’ Schultz hoisted the borrowed stein in salute.
‘Sleep? And not have any nightmares?’
Was Herr Kohler so naïve as not to notice he was surrounded? ‘You’ve been reading things you shouldn’t, Inspector.’
‘Luminalette, eh?’ snorted Kohler, digging a hole for himself. ‘Six times a day if necessary? Your Captain’s so high-strung he could well have done something he might now regret. Why not help us? The odds against him are still too high but another possibility has entered the race.’
Oh-oh, was that it?
Kohler tapped the iron-bound drum of the giant’s chest. ‘You were at the warehouse on the morning of the murder, my friend. It’s only a pleasant little stroll across the moors to the clay pits.’
Schultz removed the finger from his chest but did not break it. ‘So, I had stores to check and this makes me a suspect? Maybe you should have noticed when I clocked out, Inspector. By 1330 hours I was in Lorient and back at the bunker.’
‘A man like yourself? A man who has a vested interest in things? Come off it. You were in that shop on the day before, the murder. It wouldn’t surprise me if the autopsy shows our shopkeeper had pickled pork hocks, sausage and a whole lot of other goodies inside him. Working the black market is against the law, my friend. Our laws, never mind the French ones.’
Ali Baba’s Cave had a logbook and detectives were always minding other people’s business and noticing that those who entered always wrote down their times of leaving. Glenn Miller’s band was playing something called ‘String of Pearls’. All around them the racket and the comings and goings went on and still the girl sat alone. ‘Okay, I forgot to write down when I left. I was in a hurry.’
‘I’ll bet you were, and now I’m going to lean on you,’ said Kohler. ‘Something went on in that shop before the murder. That girl over there has finally realized you are aware of it. Either you were there or you saw someone going into the shop. Whatever it was, it made you put yourself in position well before the murder. Sure you’ve been plying her with silk stockings. A sweet little piece of ass like that. Did you think I wouldn’t notice that cologne she’s wearing isn’t the bilge water you boys like to take to sea so that your iron coffins won’t always stink of farts and sweat and urine but smell like a brothel? You’ve had your eye on her for some time.’
Schultz indicated the thugs from the torpedo and engine rooms. Baumann was there and so, too, were the Second Engineer and the boy.
‘She’s terrified,’ said Kohler levelly. ‘You leave her alone. You touch her and I’ll have you up on suspicion of murder.’
‘All right, I went into the shop on the day before the murder. What does that prove? A few things in trade for a few bits of sausage and candied fruit. Some silver-plated spoons to send home to my mother.’
‘With six millions missing? Good Gott im Himmel, don’t be a Dummkopf.’
‘As I left the shop, the pianist and his daughter went in. I hung around and watched them through the window. The kid had a doll but when she came out, the doll wasn’t with her.’
‘A doll?’
Was it so surprising? The detective looked away across the room and said, ‘Ah, Christ, you bastards …’ One minute the girl had been there at the bar, the next, she was gone and her glass of brandy was still waiting for her to come back.
In desperation the Bavarian’s gaze sifted the crowded dance floor. He heard the ribald laughter, the singing and then the shouting from the toilets.
A girl was being helped into a chair at one of the tables. She had lost her purse but was too fuzzy-minded to remember where she had left it. Another girl was chugalugging a pitcher of beer to cheers from the men around her. Yet another was sprawled asleep with her mouth wide open and her head thrown back.
Swiftly Kohler’s eyes returned to that empty stool, then he ran. Barging his way through, he hit the door to the toilets and stopped cold as couples lay entangled on the wet-tiled floor or stood against a wall or leaned over the sink. No stockings, no underwear, skirts and dresses hiked out of the way, blouses open and burst-buttons scattered. Trousers dropped. Couples going at it while others watched and gave encouragement and the boys took turns.
No sign of Paulette. Not here. Not here, he shouted at himself and ran outside into the rain, the wind and darkness.
The club was not far from the cliffs of the Côte Sauvage. The sound of waves exploding against the rocks came to him. ‘Paulette!’ he shouted. ‘Paulette!’
Gott im Himmel, what had become of her?