Olivier hadn’t even mentioned them in his one and only letter to her, but when they’d met yesterday he had revealed as a warning that he was certain they’d been in the house, certain that they had somehow forced Edith Pascal to let them in when he was absent. ‘You took that knife and the earrings from your mother’s room, didn’t you? Your brother’s footprints were found in the snow outside the Hall des Sources.’
There’d been both sadness and defeat in the sculptress’s voice, thought Kohler.
‘Those footprints were from earlier on Tuesday,’ said Blanche tightly. ‘Paul had to go to the Hotel du Parc late that afternoon. Menetrel had asked to see him again.’
Had she weighed up that answer before giving it? wondered Kohler.
‘See him about what?’ demanded Ines.
‘The STO, what else?’
And wouldn’t you know it, a little blackmail of the doctor’s, thought Kohler. The Service de Travail Obligatoire, the forcedlabour draft. All young men born between 1 January 1912 and 31 December 1921 had to register …
‘Paul’s not well,’ offered Blanche, her voice conciliatory. ‘If selected, he’d not come back. We both knew this.’
The sculptress’s sigh was heavy. ‘So you agreed to do what Menetrel asked in exchange for a letter exempting your brother?’
‘After the photos were taken at that party in October, Menetrel demanded that we tell him what had been going on at the chateau — that Celine and the others had been Herr Abetz’s key informants and that there’d been a huge breach of security. In a rage, he threatened not only Paul and me, but must have made certain that Honore de Fleury knew exactly what had been going on and that Celine would go to Petain’s room or else!’
Then Bousquet, Deschambeault and Richard must also have been told by Menetrel that their girlfriends were informants, thought Ines. Time had then been necessary in order to decide the most appropriate course of action to rid them of the problem.
‘We had to take the earrings and a sample of her perfume from Mother’s room on Monday and give them to Menetrel. We had no other choice!’ cried Blanche.
‘But why the earrings and the Shalimar?’ demanded Ines.
Why not the dress and the rest also? wondered Kohler, or did Blanche not know of them?
‘To remind the Marechal of Maman,’ said Blanche.
‘But she wore only the earrings and the perfume, didn’t she?’ said Kohler, causing them both to suck in a breath at the unexpected nearness of him and Blanche to blurt, ‘Only …? What is this, please? Was something else taken? The knife … who took the knife?’
He would not answer her, thought Kohler. Blinded by the torch beam, they blinked and tried to shield their eyes, the sculptress having gagged in panic and moved herself a good two metres from the translator.
The raptors, the birds of prey, were some distance from the others, separated by a screen of chestnut, oak and fir and long stacks of cordwood. Much larger enclosures allowed for exercise but not for soaring high on thermals or hunting over field and farm or marsh. Small openings, in the adjacent barn, allowed for shelter; each hawk or eagle kept itself to itself, with the owls more distant from them.
Still, in all, they were a sad, cold lot, thought St-Cyr, looking along the cages. Perches here and there — dead branches being used, their curled-up leaves caked with snow. Prisoners, even if royally fed on fresh guinea pig, mouse, rat or rabbit. Forbidden to migrate just as Petain had been forbidden to travel south to his beloved Ermitage, his farm near Villeneuve-Loubet, for fear the view over the Bay of Angels would tempt him to join the Allies in North Africa. And just like him from his lofty perch, they sulked over lost freedom, even while watching their master closely for the prey, the little crumbs, he might or might not release.
Blood on the snow, torn flesh, sudden little shrieks and jerking, twitching legs, the corpses carried up to be pinned to each perch by razor-sharp talons. Kites, peregrines, kestrels, hen harriers, buzzards and Montagus … A merlin.
A guinea pig was dangled by the tail and thrown — taken, killed, ripped to pieces and gulped down, each bloodied, furry lump still wet and warm. Intestines were pulled out until they snapped, the livers, heart and lungs devoured.
‘Menetrel, monsieur. I hate to interrupt your little hobby but time is of the essence. You stated earlier that the doctor had informed you he was going to have Celine Dupuis visit the Marechal?’
Just who the hell had put that dress and those beads in her room? ‘I learned of it from Honore de Fleury,’ spat Hebert, choosing a mouse from a little cage of several, his hand poised then pouncing to grasp the creature, take it out and fling it high. ‘Honore, Inspector,’ he said, not lowering his gaze this time. ‘Henri Philippe was much taken with the girl — everyone knew this. Did you find the love letters he must have written to her? Bernard was certain he had sent some.’
But you hadn’t thought of them until now — was that it, eh? wondered St-Cyr. ‘Bernard?’ he asked pleasantly.
‘Dr Menetrel.’
‘An old friend?’
‘From before, yes.’
From 1925, when Menetrel’s father had been the Marechal’s personal physician, friend and confidant, and nearly always accompanied Petain, the doctor’s family often joining them.
‘An acquaintance, Inspector, but, like Henri Philippe, the doctor keeps his distance.’
‘You don’t meet in Vichy when you go there as you must?’
And often? ‘We pass in streets that are crowded and nod deferentially to each other, that is all and as it should be.’
A wary answer. ‘And yet … and yet the lives, not only of four high-ranking Government ministers and employees but of the Marechal are threatened? Surely the doctor must have questioned you, at least about the party of 24 October last?’
‘I told him what little I knew, if that is what you’re after. Others were far better versed. Indeed, as I no longer live in the chateau but am housed in the former gamekeeper’s lodge, I slept through it all and could offer only second-hand comments.’
‘The organizer of these little escapades sleeps through them? Come, come, monsieur, we haven’t time for this. You saw, you watched — you probably even participated or at least encouraged couples to have their little moments and were as caught by surprise as the others. If Celine Dupuis was the chosen one, and she was chosen for his patient, surely he’d have had a look at her?’
A rabbit was released, the poor creature zigzagging around the enclosure until its piercing shrieks signalled it had been taken.
‘Your former bedroom, monsieur. My partner and I can, and will, rip that stuffed menagerie apart for its hidden eyes, its chambre de divertissements detaches!’ Its hidden little room.
‘Menetrel secretly watched her, yes, but some weeks later and at another party. He said he had to see what Henri Philippe was getting. Later, in town, he even confronted her and … and insisted on giving her a thorough check-up. Honore left him to it.’
‘And wouldn’t listen to her outrage?’
‘That is correct.’
‘Then you all weren’t just pimping, were you, but had, in effect, made sex slaves of those girls.’
‘She agreed to visit the Marechal.’
‘She was forced to agree. Let us not forget that!’
Trapped in the passage — pinned to the wall by the beam of Herr Kohler’s torch and realizing he’d overheard everything they’d said — Mademoiselle Blanche’s dark blue eyes were moist and filled with apprehension. ‘Paul didn’t take Celine to the Hall! I wasn’t waiting there to kill her! Please, you must believe me! All we did was take Mother’s earrings and a little of her perfume from her room for Menetrel. Menetrel!’
‘Then why the Hall des Sources?’ asked Kohler.
‘Yes, why?’ asked Ines.