‘That one seldom comes here, since we have never sold cigarettes or loose tobacco. For those one must patronize a tabac, I think.’
Methodically descending from his perch, Honore Paquet told himself that one should always be polite even when speaking of men such as Laval.
‘Please have a seat, Inspector. A little of the Remy-Martin Louis XIII? It’s superb and has such a bouquet. I find it whets the appetite but one can’t, I’m sorry to say, enjoy one of our cigars here or that pipe of yours. Should you wish to smoke, why, we can go into the shop. Pierre-David will, of course, have pulled and locked the shutters by now.’
The Louis XIII … The 1925, and on a pas d’alcools day.
The hand that poured was steady. The elder Paquet sat only after he had finished, the son coming into the room to quietly say, ‘Papa, shall I wait for you?’
The head was briefly shaken. ‘Have the velo-taxi pick me up on your way home. Don’t worry so much, Pierre-David. Mon Dieu, if my last breath is to be drawn, let me take it here.’
‘There’s an early curfew, papa. You need to rest and then to eat something. The soup and bread, a little of the poached salmon and then the pot-au-feu or the chicken.’
‘Inspector, you see what I’m blessed with? A miracle. How long do you think we will be?’
‘A half-hour. Perhaps a little more. My partner is to meet me here but one never quite knows with him.’
‘One of les Allemands?’
‘They are our constant companions. Monsieur Pierre-David, please keep an eye on the time, allowing sufficient for you and your father not to miss dinner. And a black-market one at that! Could you bring us the register, though?’
The father gave the son the slightest of nods. Holding his glass in both hands to warm it and catch the light, the elder Paquet grew serious. ‘Four jeunes filles, Inspector. Tres adorables, tres intelligentes, yet each murdered in a different way. It’s curious, is it not? The knife for all, one would have thought. Guns are far too noisy, wires too brutal, too savage.’
‘Did any of them come into the shop?’
‘Each of them, and from time to time. A little present for the men in their lives, the theatre props also.’
‘Pardon?’
‘The cabaret, but only with Madame Dupuis or others of that group. She always chose the less expensive, machine-made cigars when she could, though we seldom carry them. The cost was not one for which she received any compensation, so we reached a little agreement. Piano lessons for my great-grandson in exchange. Surely that’s no crime. If it is, I freely admit it.’
Barter most definitely was, but to prosecute him or anyone else for such a thing would only be to align oneself with an authority whose smallness one increasingly despised, as did Hermann. Women, though not allowed a tobacco ration, could have been ‘given’ the tickets to buy supplies for a friend or relative.
‘From time to time such as these would come into our possession. A moment, please. Excuse me,’ said Paquet only too aware of what must be running through this Surete’s mind.
Pushing the ladder, he vanished round a corner and went right to the back of the humidor, returning a patient few minutes later with a pocket case.
The label was in English.
THIS AIRTIGHT TIN CONTAINS FIVE CIGARS, SELECTED AND PACKED FOR CAMPAIGNING.
‘“Alfred Dunhill”,’ read St-Cyr with a sadness he couldn’t help. ‘“Thirty Duke Street, St James’s, London, SW.” Property of a “Thomas Almond, Esquire”.’
‘Inspector, I have no knowledge of where this flying officer, navigator or gunner was shot down, nor do I know if he even survived. The cigars are no doubt the best Dunhill’s could provide at cost, given that the German naval blockade must surely have cut off virtually all such supplies, but I content myself with their having at least attempted to fit out their servicemen in such a proper fashion.’
One of the old school most definitely, since similar tins including the use of the word ‘campaigning’ had been used in the Great War.
The son produced the register and retreated, the hush of the humidor closing in on them. And how many secrets are there here? wondered St-Cyr, for the register began on 14 June 1862 and contained the signatures, dates and purchases or special orders of every client since then. A truly remarkable historical record — tsars and tsarinas, kings and queens, et cetera, et cetera, but Laval hadn’t wanted them to dwell on this aspect.
Running a finger down through the recent months, he found the signatures of several women, including those of Celine Dupuis and … ah merde, Blanche Varollier. A Choix Supreme, purchased for 500 francs and part of a ration ticket, the balance to be held on account, on Saturday, 30 January 1943 at 4.45 p.m., the same day that Lucie Trudel had been murdered.
‘The other cabaret dancers and singers, monsieur?’ he asked harshly. ‘Did they also choose only the cheapest for each performance?’
‘Madame Carole Navaud prefers the Hoyo de Monterrey double corona, the favourite of many who know and appreciate a truly fine cigar. Madame Aurelienne Tavernier will smoke anything and always asks what I advise, and Madame Nathalie Benoist purchases only the El Rey del Mundo Demi-Tasse, a small cigar, quite slender, smooth and mild, the aroma always delicate.’
This was all written down in the detective’s notebook. ‘And Henri-Claude Ferbrave?’ he asked
‘Is not a client.’
‘A supplier?’
‘Sometimes.’
‘That’s not good enough, monsieur.’
‘Then often. Inspector, were we not to purchase what he brings us, others would sell it. These days one does what one can and hopes that one’s stock won’t be requisitioned.’
Otto Abetz was a frequent client, Charles-Frederic Hebert, the custodian of his chateau, also Herr Gessler and, just recently, an Arnolt Jannicke — the nameless one? wondered St-Cyr. A Major Remer was the district Kommandant.
As with the list of occupants of the Hotel d’Allier, to go through even this small portion of the register would require far too much time.
Taking out Camille Lefebvre’s megot tin, he opened it. ‘Surely she wouldn’t have mixed tobacco from the cigar butts with that from the cigarettes?’
Paquet lifted his gaze from the tin. ‘To inhale such smoke would only make one sick, I should think. Far too harsh. The curing is quite different, n’est-ce pas?’
‘Ah, oui, but are they …’ The detective hurriedly flipped open his little notebook to the note he had just made. ‘The Demi-Tasses of the cabaret dancer, Madame Nathalie Benoist?’
‘They are. At least, they could quite possibly be hers.’
‘And these cigar bands?’ he asked, opening another tin that had once held dressmaker’s pins.
‘An El Rey del Mundo Choix Supreme and a Romeo y Julieta double corona maduro. The latter’s dark brown leaf is the result of extra maturing which produces a richly flavoured cigar with a mild aroma. The British Prime Minister was very fond of them.’
Pacquet turned the heavy register towards himself and, finding a page several years back, quickly located the name. ‘A brief visit in the summer of 1913. Mademoiselle Mailloux was very much interested in seeing his signature. Winston Leonard Spencer Churchill, First Lord of the Admiralty then. A very determined gentleman with decided views as to his choice of cigar, the francais atrocious, but I did manage to understand him. Two dozen of the maduras at twenty francs each. Mon Dieu, how prices have risen. Mademoiselle Mailloux laughed a little when I gave her that band but she didn’t enlighten me as to what she saw as being so funny. Albert Grenier wearing it, I suppose. She was a bit of an imp and loved putting one over on the pompous stuffed shirts, as she’d have called them. Madame Dupuis was most upset to learn of her death, as were others, myself included, and especially Madame. Lefebvre and Mademoiselle Trudel. Four doves, I used to call them. Birds, wanting only to fly in these harsh times of ours, and now they’ve all been murdered. A tragedy.’