‘Noelle Jourdan,’ the whisper came. ‘Sergeant Jourdan of the Fifty-Sixth Chasseurs a pied, and from one old soldier to another.’
To compound their troubles, beneath the desk’s green blotting pad there was a list, in pencil, of names with lines through some to indicate that they had already been executed at the Fort du Mont-Valerien or sent east to camps. Beside these, and still others, though, there were also ticks. M. Flavien Garnier had been busy nailing resistants at one hundred thousand francs apiece, the going rate as advertised by the Occupier, but was there still more?
Ignoring the lights, the girls and the action, Bob laid his chin on the table’s edge, his mournful gaze on this Kripo as the wedding ring spun itself to silence. ‘ “Louis-Maurice Artur, Colonel and Elene Nadine Lemaire.” ’ Two hearts cut in gold to overlap till death do us part. ‘ “Paris, 27 September 1939.” ’
Kohler had found her. There was even the mist of sentiment in his eyes, or was that merely the effects of too much Benzedrine? wondered Delaroche. Too little sleep in any case, or simply those beers from home and a clap-sized dose of nostalgia.
‘She would have been sixteen,’ Kohler went on as if lost to it. ‘Probably didn’t know her mind or heart-a shop girl most likely, and feeling damned desperate, wouldn’t you say; the boy eighteen, who knows? Off to war in a hurry anyway and maybe glad to be avoiding the financial responsibilities of a pregnant wife, but as one old soldier to another, Colonel, it wouldn’t have been the first time for that to have happened, would it? Must have lied about his age, though, since twenty-one was usual for France then and now two metres down or in one of the POW camps. Which is it?’
The mist was gone. There was nothing but an emptiness in that gaze, but why hadn’t St-Cyr shown up? Why hadn’t Jeannot or one of the others sent someone to the table to warn him? Were they all after St-Cyr? ‘I know nothing of this, Kohler.’
‘Then how is it you knew of the ring?’
‘I didn’t. Not really. I only assumed.’
‘A connection with the other killings and rapes? The beatings and handbag snatches-the mugging of men like Gaston Morel?’
‘Now look here …’
‘No, you look. You’re a regular at the Lido. You’ve seen that girl with Judge Rouget plenty of times, have sat at his table, had him to this one. A beauty, wasn’t she? Tres charmante and with all that it takes, eh? Places like this don’t hire girls unless they have it.’
But were Kohler and St-Cyr looking for veterans of that other war?
‘A pillar of the establishment runs around with a racially tainted chorus girl, Colonel, when everyone these days had better be more careful, but mein Gott, you don’t even notice? The lonely wife of a POW-wasn’t that what she was?-and there’s Judge Rouget going on and on about how Vichy has toughened the adultery laws and that such women … Ach, let me find it for you.’
The Gestapo’s little black notebook was hauled out, its pages thumbed.
‘Ah, here we are. That those errant POW wives “need a damned good lesson in morals and should have their heads shorn and their breasts bared in public.” ’
Hercule … how could he have said such a thing in front of Kohler?
‘And this from a man who has definitely been breaking those laws.’ Kohler found another page. ‘ “Time and again it’s the POW wives who are conducting themselves in such a shameful and disgustingly unclean manner.” ’
Vivienne had said that. Kohler had been to the house. Merde, why had Hercule not stopped him? ‘Kohler, where did you find …’
‘The judge. Let’s stick to him for a moment, eh? A fellow member of the Cercle Europeen that meets here at least once a week over dinner …’
‘I’m not a member. That’s only for …’
‘Of course you aren’t. You don’t need to be. It’s for businessmen, bankers and others of the establishment whose private lives you and that agency are paid to pry into and they know it, too, some of them, probably. Hey, it’s good for business to sit here, especially over the cinq a sept. Don’t try to tell me it isn’t. While you’ve been keeping an eye on me and another on Bob, you’ve been nodding to friends and acquaintances, male or female, and worrying over what they might be thinking or might have overheard. You’ve been taking in the whole of this place, especially its entrance and coat check. Who’s with who, who’s leaving a little early or hasn’t yet shown up, who’s staying a little longer than usual and not with you-know-who. That’s an art, my friend, and as a detective of long standing, I have to admire it. Now give. I want some answers.’
Had Gestapo Boemelburg not warned Kohler to leave the Agence Vidocq out of things even if he and that partner of his did happen to stumble on to something-had they?
‘You live with two women, Kohler. Surely you are concerned about them?’
‘Is that a threat?’
‘Not at all. It’s merely a statement of fact.’
Giselle … Delaroche hadn’t touched his aperitif. One of the girls came with cigars and automatically he started to make a selection only to think better of it.
‘You and Judge Rouget are members of the Cercle de l’Union Interaliee, Colonel.’ This wasn’t known for certain but …
‘That’s no concern of yours. Surely you’re not so stupid as to suspect anyone who belongs to the Interaliee?’
‘We’ll get to it, won’t we? Vivienne Rouget hired you to watch over her Hercule. If you ask me, I think that woman knew all about his philandering but things had gotten out of hand. He was spending far too many evenings and nights away from home and not just with Elene Artur. The Folies-Bergere, the Casino de Paris, the Apollo, the Naturiste and Chez Eve-it’s interesting that bare breasts keep cropping up, isn’t it? Especially at La Source de Joie in Pigalle.’
The bordel of Regine Trudel. How had Kohler found out so much in such a short time? ‘Hercule is under a great deal of stress.’
‘President du Tribunal special …’
‘Resistants, Terroristen. Their sentencing. Vivienne …’
‘Was it that Elene reminded him of a petite amie he’d once had?’
The framed poster above the mantelpiece, the constant reminder of a stunning conquest and possession: Une nuit a Chang-Rai, 7 March 1926, at the Magic City. Kohler had definitely been to the flat.
‘Hercule is at that age,’ said Delaroche. ‘The libido doesn’t fade, n’est-ce pas, but as one grows older, one can no longer command that same stiffness nor does the erection last. A remedy is needed. That’s all that girl ever was. A reminder of how things once were.’
‘That other showgirl. The one in that poster.’
‘Oui, oui. What has happened to Madame Artur, Kohler? Come, come, don’t be so free with the insinuations and the veiled threats. Karl Oberg is a member of the Interaliee, Walter Boemelburg not quite yet, but on the list and likely to be voted in at …’
‘Ja. Ja, mein lieber franzosischer Privatdetektiv, the avenue Foch and the rue des Saussaies are using that agency of yours and Louis and me have been told to go carefully. Point is, you’d best help us out, or is it that you want us to go right back to Boemelburg and dump the lot of what we now know into his lap?’
Kohler would do it too. Boemelburg would then have to go to Oberg and hadn’t that one insisted that Hercule be totally above all such extramarital activities and hadn’t Vivienne, foolish as her little outburst had been in front of this one, been only too aware of what the Hoherer SS und Polizeifuhrer expected of Hercule and desperately afraid of what must happen should he not see the error of his ways and fall from favour?