‘I gave it up,’ he said. ‘One has to. The tobacco ration alone can put more on the table than the francs that china vase* of ours issues. Butter at three twenty to the kilo on the marche noir, sugar at two thousand, coffee the same. Even the potatoes here have risen to over two hundred the five kilos. A new suit of haircloth is six thousand or half a year’s hard-earned for many of our men. We refuse to deal on it, don’t we, Edith? What others, including our bishop, will sanctify, we prefer not to.’
A louis d’or was spun on to the table, the eyes of the banker flicking swiftly over them to come to rest on it. ‘In 1857 that was worth twenty francs and the same in 1869 when Napoleon III minted the second of them. I can trace back my family in Vichy to well before that.’
‘Auguste, please …’ attempted Mademoiselle Pascal, nervously fidgeting.
‘No, Edith, let them hear it. What can that all but lanterne rouge of his class at the military academy trace himself to, eh? The farm of the peasant heritage he’s so proud of that he never worked a day in the fields? The Victor of Verdun, the medecin de l’ Armee? Oh bien sur, I was there and worshipped him like so many others. That,’ he indicated the coin, ‘was worth one thousand francs in 1940 after the Defeat and now … why now it’s close to eight thousand and the price of a new bicycle if one can find one. In Lyons the St Paul prison, and even the St Joseph’s for women, are packed to overflowing. The Fortress of Montluc has been requisitioned by Obersturmfuhrer Barbie, and it, too, is jammed. Five and six to a cell with only two bunks so they sleep in shifts but that’s not allowed by the warders, is it?
‘You’re police officers. You should know all this. The Sante in Paris was built to hold a thousand and now houses between five and six thousand. One in every five men has been deprived of his liberty and all contact with his loved ones, and Secretaire General Bousquet and the others wonder why their lives are being threatened? Sacre nom de nom, do they need Laval’s clairvoyant to show them the truth?’
‘Auguste … Auguste, you’re shouting. The … the inspectors, they want to ask you about Noelle’s … Messieurs, my employer apologizes. Isolation has made him incautious.’
And yet … and yet he knows we’ll not arrest him for it, said St-Cyr to himself. Has he still contacts in Paris who can tell him how it is there for us?
‘Travail, Famille, et Patrie, Inspectors. While one-third of our farmers languish in POW camps in the Reich, our remaining peasants sell nearly half of their butter, eggs and pork to the BOFs, the butter, eggs and cheese racketeers. One-quarter of all potatoes not sent to the Reich also go to them, and one-half of all chicken. And yet … and yet, our Head of State and the Government he has created wish us to venerate the noble peasant while making those same peasants far richer and more arrogant than they’ve ever been?’
He waved a dismissive hand. ‘Seventy-five per cent of all oats grown in the country go to the Reich, eighty per cent of all pressed oils and now … now they’re no longer counting the cattle that arrive in Paris for transhipment to the Reich, only the rail trucks when full. I shouldn’t be surprised if Parisians aren’t wondering, as they did in the Franco-Prussian War, if they will not soon be reduced to eating rats!’
‘Auguste, I’m going to my room.’
‘Go if you wish, Edith. These two will listen. That one, though he’s no collabo, has his name on L’Humanite’s list, and that one … Well, if you’ll forgive me, Inspector Kohler, I have to ask, did your rebelliousness not once consign you to a Himmelfahrtskommando?’
To being one of the trip-to-heaven boys, one of a bomb-disposal unit!
‘Though I can no longer stop averting my gaze, still I’ve seen it in your eyes, Herr Kohler. Not just fear of what’s going on here in France but of what’s to come for those you love. Now toss out the jewellery and I will tell you what I can.
‘Edith,’ he said. ‘Edith, the bilberry tisane for our guests. They say it’s good for the sight, Inspectors. One has to try everything these days, so one steps carefully at night when one leaves a lighted room or else one falls on one’s ass. Ten minutes it takes me now just to adjust the eyes. Ten minutes!’
Night blindness was a terrible problem, especially in the bigger cities. During the day vision would be normal, but at dusk it would become hard to gauge distances and define objects. One would step outside into the blackout as if totally blind, and would have to wait patiently for the eyes to adjust. A lack of vitamin A and fats in the diet, the doctors said; others, the blackout itself.
Bilberries did contain vitamin A.
‘But there is only this Quatsch to sweeten them, eh, Herr Kohler, this crap?’
A bowl of saccharin was thrust their way.
‘I’m a recluse, a stroller, and yes, I’m as well informed as I possibly can be, nor do I attempt to hide this or anything else from you. Small towns, and this is still very much one, are especially hard on those of their own, Inspectors. Between 1929 and ’37 over seven hundred of our banks failed, mine too in ’33, but even though I could not in any way have been responsible, since I was no longer there, still I’m castigated for its failure. The anonymous letters dribble in and occasionally in the dark of night a stone is thrown through a window. Of course, the pane is impossible to replace and the hole must be boarded up. I knew you’d have to come to see me. I’ve had time to think about things. Four murdered women, the most recent of whom was wearing some of my dead wife’s jewellery. Since I’ve always been a target, I can only surmise that Premier Laval’s Flykiller wishes you to arrest me. Please don’t forget it was Laval who coined the name, just as it was Petain who willingly coined the word collaboration and fed it to the Nation.’
But how had Olivier known of Laval’s use of that name, wondered Kohler, and why was he being so incautious?
Louis seldom removed his overcoat or fedora during such interviews, preferring always to leave doubt in the mind as to when he’d depart, but this time he set the hat on the table with a finality that brooked no interference, and pulled off his overcoat.
As the jewellery was laid on the table, moisture quickly collected in Olivier’s eyes. A quiver passed through him as he reached out to touch the trinkets.
‘Edith, please take Herr Kohler to her room. Show him where these were always kept. Not in my safe-deposit box, Inspectors. Not registered or listed — I’ve yet to be forced into that humiliation, so you’ll just have to believe me when I tell you they must have been stolen.’
‘By whom?’ asked Louis.
‘Outside of the killer or killers, I’ve no idea. No one visits except for the postman. There are only the two of us, and when I’m out, Edith is invariably in.’
And suspect? wondered St-Cyr. Mon Dieu, this one was clever. Having decided the best course of action, and weighed up the risks, which were considerable, Olivier hadn’t wavered from that course.
Hermann departed with the housekeeper, leaving the two of them to themselves.
‘You were at Verdun, Chief Inspector. You were wounded twice. Like yourself I, too, saw the Marechal in action. Instead of deciding to attack in an all-out suicidal charge, he practised two defensive lines, the second to still the panic of the first, and, in defiance of Foch and the other generals, he alone had the courage to say materiel kills men. The noria he introduced to quickly relieve men at the front was a godsend I greatly admired. He was my hero. That’s how he met my Noelle when he came here in 1924 to stay as a guest in this very house. I, who thought I knew men, had my life taken from me. So, yes, I have good reason to want him dead.’