Beekeeper (11 page)

Warily her eyes fled down over him and up again. ‘And what, exactly, were you looking for?'

‘A little badge, about the size of my thumbprint. He didn't lose one, did he? The letters F.M.?'

Moisture rushed into her eyes. Hurriedly she stubbed out the cigarette and, trying to still the quaver in her voice, blurted, ‘
Bitte
, how did you know?'

‘I didn't. I just guessed.'

And you're from the Gestapo, she told herself, sickened by the thought. He didn't quite have the manner but sometimes a person couldn't tell with those types. ‘Herr Himmler presented it to Herr Schlacht on 31 August 1937. Oskar, he … he has worn it ever since.'

‘He didn't accuse you of losing it, did he?'

‘Me? Why would he?' she yelped.

The urge to say, ‘when partly undressed and in the heat of the moment' was there, but it would be best to shrug and tell her something else to ease her mind. ‘Rudi told me about it.'

Everyone who was anyone knew of Chez Rudi's on the Champs-Élysées, across from the Lido. Both restaurant and centre of all gossip.

‘Oskar may still be at the smelter on the rue Montmartre. It's near a café called À La Chope du Croissant and is run by some Russians. A narrow courtyard … Lots of little ateliers. If he isn't there, he might have gone over to the Hotel Drouot to … to look things over.'

The Paris auction house. ‘And afterwards?'

‘Lunch at Maxim's, I think.'

And a bull's-eye.

As he turned to leave, she called out desperately, ‘Your name,
mein
Herr?'

‘Oh, sorry. Denke. Tell him Karl Otto was in. He'll understand.'

‘And the badge?' she asked. ‘He … he really did blame me for losing it.'

You poor thing. ‘Then tell him not to worry, eh? Rudi says it's in good hands for now. No problem.'

The two prostitutes were sisters, and it hadn't taken a moment to see this, thought St-Cyr, surprised that Father Michel had still not mentioned it. Both had implored this Sûreté to guarantee the sous-préfet and préfet wouldn't have them hauled in for questioning or worse, a licence suspension. They were really very worried and had kept coming back to the matter so much so, it was abundantly clear the priest had used the threat to get them to the table.

But why that of a licence suspension? he asked himself and sighed inwardly at the intricacies of life under the Occupation. ‘Danielle de Bonnevies trades in many items,' he said, looking from one to the other of them. ‘Toothbrushes, compacts, razor blades and carpenter's nails … Two bars of beautiful hand soap. With all of these she must have had help in acquiring them.'

‘Not us, Inspector,' swore Josiane, the elder of the two, reaching for a sip of the red.

‘Inspector, what has this to do with the murder?' demanded Father Michel, as if, in having set it all up, he could now claim innocence.

‘Only that the J-threes are very busy these days, Father.'

Everyone knew the teenagers were working the black market for all it was worth. Designated J-threes by their ration category, many were roaming around after classes flashing thick wads of fifty- and one-hundred-franc notes. Five-hundreds also.

‘Danielle deals with some of the local kids,' admitted Josiane, her auburn hair permed and piled beneath its
petite chapeau.
‘They buy and sell, and then she sells for them and splits the profit, I guess.'

‘Lipstick,' murmured Georgette, not daring to look up from her playing cards, for Père Michel was sternly watching her. ‘Cigarette lighters. I … I have bought one from her. Was it a crime, Father?' Was the Chief Inspector on to her and Josiane? she wondered.

‘You know that the Church has now advised everyone that it is perfectly within the will of God to deal on the black market,' chided Father Michel. ‘It's no longer to be considered a sin, Georgette.'

Like some? she wondered, sickened by the thought.

St-Cyr had been assigned to the pussy patrol in his early days as a policeman, recalled Father Michel, satisfied that the Chief Inspector had finally gauged the drift of things. ‘Neither Georgette nor Josiane would ever have anything to do with underage clients, Inspector. Now would you both?' he asked, and saw another moment of panic rush through them.

‘No, Father,' came Georgette's hushed answer, she still concentrating on her game of solitaire.

‘Just one,' confessed Josiane. ‘I swear I didn't realize it, Father. Madame put him out of
Le Chat
before … before anyone else had noticed him.'

‘Then the matter is settled,' said the priest, calling for another carafe of the red to soothe the sore throats of his two guests who had obviously, thought St-Cyr, been up to things with more than one of the local teenagers.

They settled down, each of the sisters no doubt silently cursing their parish priest for having exacted a promise from them by using a confrontation with a Sûreté over the unfortunate death of a former client!

Warming to the interview, for it was so much of Belleville and Charonne, St-Cyr took out his pipe and prepared to stay for as long as it took to get what he could from these two. Both were heavily made-up. Still in their fur-trimmed overcoats, thin scarves and hats, only their gloves had been removed. Both had the same broad faces, wide lips, double chins and carefully tweezed eyebrows. But whereas Josiane had dark brown, cataract-clouded eyes, Georgette's were sea-green and clear, but with a pronounced cast in the left one. Hence the cards and the endless games of solitaire, though even here one of those nuances of character had caused her to taunt the good father and tempt him into distraction, just for the fun of it and to have something to recount to the other girls!

‘Now tell the Inspector a little about Alexandre and your dealings with him,' grunted Father Michel. ‘Go on. You can speak freely. God knows everything and will understand.'

Trust a priest to say such a thing! thought Josiane. ‘God would have shut His eyes, Father. Besides, it's a private matter. The rules of the house, isn't that so?'

‘Private,' echoed her sister.

One by one the greasy, well-thumbed playing cards, each with a full-length portrait of a naked girl in an awkward pose, were placed face up.

‘He liked to take you both, didn't he?' prompted Father Michel, helping himself to more pastis and another Gauloise Bleue from the packet of cigarettes they had brought.

‘Sometimes,' said Josiane a little stiffly, ‘Alexandre would …'

‘Father, details of his sex life with these two really are of little interest. I want to question …'

‘Then they should be, my son. Please don't be so impatient.'

‘Oh
là, là
, Josiane, will you look at that!'

The younger one had lost her game.

‘He … he liked to call us names,' she confessed and began to gather the cards.

‘What sort of names?' prodded the priest, exhaling cigarette smoke and fastidiously picking a shred of tobacco from his sleeve.

‘Father, you know very well what sort of names.'

‘Angele-Marie,' whispered Georgette darkly, again concentrating on the game before her.

Merde alors
, why had he had to ask? cursed Josiane. ‘And Suzette, and Élène or Michèle.
Pouf
! Father, it meant nothing. Just a whim of the moment.'

Retreating behind his little cloud of cigarette smoke, the priest waited.

Finally the dark eyes of the older sister ducked away.

‘Angèle-Marie …?' hazarded St-Cyr. The cards had stopped.

‘Alexandre's sister, Inspector,' sighed Father Michel. ‘I rather thought you might be interested, especially since he went to see her last Thursday. Teased as a child by an older brother who loved bees and knew all about virgin queens; raped repeatedly on a summer's evening in 1912, and so violently at the age of fifteen, by some animal or animals in the Père Lachaise – we never did get the story of it in full; the custodians had forgotten about the poor child and had locked her in for the night – she has long since become a permanent resident of the Salpêtrière.'

Almost the size of a small town, the Paris asylum for women held more than six thousand inmates and had a staff of over a thousand.

‘Alexandre was very worried about her safety, Inspector,' said Father Michel. ‘Given the willingness of our German friends to destroy all such signs of mental or physical weakness, he had, I should think, cause for alarm.'

‘It was only play,' hazarded Josiane, picking at her handbag. ‘Georgette would take her name, I would watch and when … why, when his little moment was over, we would sit and talk for old times' sake.'

Jésus, merde alors
, these village quartiers and their priests! ‘And how old, please, was Georgette when Monsieur de Bonnevies first visited
Le Chat
?'

‘Fifteen,' grunted Father Michel. ‘Alexandre would have been … Now, let me see …'

‘Twenty-seven, Father,' said the older sister.

‘And two years later he went off to war and we saw him only twice in all those years,' confessed Georgette, moisture coming readily to her eyes. ‘These …' She indicated the playing cards. ‘Are the deck I gave him. You can still smell the mustard gas – I swear you can.'

Gathering the cards, she held them out, the cut-glass rings on her pudgy fingers, with their red-lacquered nails, flashing in the thin light.

‘He loved them,' she said. ‘He used to say they reminded him constantly of me.'

‘Of me, too, Georgette.'

‘Yes, of you, too,
chérie.
'

At a nod from the priest, another carafe of the red was brought – the third, or was it the fourth? wondered St-Cyr. People had come and gone. Left alone in their little cocoon, the four of them had lost all sense of time.

‘The hives,' prompted Father Michel.

‘Ah,
oui
,' said Josiane. ‘“A field lying fallow is a portion of France dying.”'

It was one of the Maréchal Pétain's many sayings, just as was
Travail, Famille et Patrie
, but not the
Liberté, Egalité et Fraternité
of prewar days.

‘I take it the field was leased from the city for the apiary,' sighed St-Cyr, ‘but the neighbours felt it would be best to grow vegetables there.'

‘And Alexandre would have no part of such a thing, Inspector. You see, to remain content and productive, bees need peace and quiet,' acknowledged the priest.

‘There was lots of room,' countered Josiane. ‘He could have freed up half the land. We … we told him this.'

‘We did,' insisted Georgette. ‘And now the hives are in ruins and what the neighbours wished will soon be possible.'

‘Who stole the honey?' asked St-Cyr.

Both of the sisters shrugged. Josiane glanced at the priest and then dropped her gaze to her wine.

‘The neighbours,' sighed Father Michel. ‘Which of them, and how many, will, I'm afraid, be all but impossible to ascertain and take much time.'

‘A
fait accompli
, is that it, Father?'

‘“Life is not neutral,” Inspector,' grunted Father Michel, giving him another of the Maréchal's sayings. ‘“It consists of taking sides boldly.” AJexandre was very much a
Pétainiste
, but not when it came to giving up his precious apiary.'

‘He could be so very stubborn,' offered Georgette. ‘
Mon Dieu
, if I didn't submit
exactly
the way he wanted, he would get angry. I was to stretch out my arms above my head so as to grasp the little black iron bars of the fence around the tombstone while … while knocking the flowers over as I smothered my cries in them. They … they tickled my nose. That stone … it was so shaky sometimes, so heavy I was afraid it would fall and … and crush my head!'

‘I had always to urge him on, Inspector,' confessed Josiane.

‘Until he would cry out his sister's name as he released his little burden?' bleated the Sûreté.

‘Ah
oui.
Then he would stroke Georgette and tell her to be calm, that she hadn't really lost her virtue, that this was of the heart, not the hymen, and I would stroke him until … until all three of us were calm.'

‘Tears … were there tears?' he heard himself asking.

‘Always,' confided Josiane with a touch. ‘Always and without fail.'

‘Father, you could have warned me. Did he rape his sister?'

They had left the café and were heading up the rue Saint-Blaise towards the church.

‘No, he did not. He was at the Jardin du Luxembourg assisting one of the Society's beekeepers. Alexandre simply blamed himself. You see, that morning he had asked his sister to pick some flowers in the cemetery but to be careful not to let the custodians see her doing so. He wanted a sampling of their pollen to compare, under the microscope, with that found in his hives.'

‘Then why play a game of rape with those two?'

‘Why not? It was harmless, a punishment – self-humiliation. And there was Georgette's sister to witness it.'

‘But she had always to urge him on?'

‘That's of little consequence. Oh
bien sûr
, he confessed this strange desire to me many times – God won't punish me for telling you; but I felt it best you should hear it from those two.'

‘You told me he went there, you thought, perhaps to humiliate Madame de Bonnevies.'

‘He
did!
But by the time of their marriage he had discovered he couldn't stop himself. Those two understood him far better than Juliette could ever have done.'

‘They said nothing of his wife.'

‘Because they had nothing to say about her.'

‘And did he tease his daughter the way he teased his sister?'

They were shouting at each other. ‘Absolutely not. Danielle was everything to him – everything that is, except his bees, but he included her among them, so it really didn't matter.'