Dollmaker (28 page)

‘Only Hélène, my son and his friends, and … and perhaps Paulette – that girl, Jean-Louis. What am I to do, eh? Run while I can? Hélène, did you not think of the consequences? Did you not consider my family, myself, the others … others whom I must protect?'

He had said too much and apologized. ‘Paulette and … perhaps her mother, Jean-Louis. I … I really do not know. It was a dilemma for me. So much money was required. A fortune. I could not let my son and his comrades be taken. As it was, things were difficult enough. That cave in which they hid. The Côte Sauvage … Few knew of it but …' He shrugged to indicate the futility of it all. ‘… but I could never be certain they would not be discovered. I had to feed them and keep them quiet. They could not show their faces – strangers still stand out in little places like Quiberon. All through the summer I sweated and the only thing that kept me going, apart from the hope of seeing my son safely away, was you, Hélène, and the walks we had, the friendship of two lost souls from such totally different backgrounds.'

There was little they could do and oh for sure it really was one hell of a dilemma. Hélène Charbonneau reached out to the Préfet and, startled by her gesture, Kerjean gently took her bandaged hand in his. ‘I am sorry,' he said. ‘I had hoped and prayed you and your little family would be safe and that someday soon, Yvon and you … well, madame, you know how I felt. I … I hated seeing Herr Kaestner take advantage of you but …' He shrugged again. ‘… neither of us could object.'

‘But did Herr Kaestner realize this?' asked St-Cyr. ‘Please, I must slip right into his mind so as to think like him. He knew of the telescope, Victor – Angélique would have shown it to him. He'd have looked through it on several occasions.'

‘He knew of my visits, Jean-Louis. He … he misinterpreted them as did others, the local gossips.'

‘Ah, yes, but did he not use those visits and then the real reason for them to force Madame Charbonneau to continue in his company? Did he
know
, Victor, and in knowing, keep that knowledge to himself and use it for his own ends? When he finally learned of the missing money, he was not overly concerned, yet it had supposedly been missing for at least eight weeks, though the loss was not revealed to him until the 5th of November when U-297 returned from duty.'

‘One of the
sardiniers
did not return on the 3rd of November,' said Hélène Charbonneau. ‘Johann would have learned of this on the 5th – everyone knew by then. Victor, you yourself had to investigate. The German authorities wanted arrests. You had to pacify them as best you could.'

‘And Kaestner simply put two and two together,' breathed St-Cyr, ‘and added your little
tête-à-têtes
on the beach or at the house. But,' he paused to search her out, ‘did he know of it right from the start? Your stepdaughter, madame. Please, I realize it is very difficult for you to answer, but would she have told Herr Kaestner of Préfet Kerjean's interest in that telescope?'

‘If she did, I … I cannot hold it against her.'

‘What will he do, Jean-Louis?' asked Kerjean, aghast at what lay before them.

‘He will take everything in, Victor. He will coolly analyse the situation and then he will make his move but, please, the sardines migrate north and the season here is late. In summer there would have been a few fishing boats – yes, of course – but not the fleet of twenty-six you wanted to watch so closely. You were worried about Herr Kaestner and his relationship to Madame Charbonneau. Too much was at stake and you could not afford to have anything go wrong. You called, you walked, you talked and finally you realized you had best take her into your confidence since she was already indebted to you and could be trusted.'

‘I needed to watch the patrol boats and how they checked the fishing boats. I could not depend on others. There were also the comings and goings of the submarines. Their routine was constantly being altered. They were always met and guided in but I could never find exactly where it would happen or how many boats would go out to them. If he knew of the security leak then Herr Kaestner is as guilty as myself of its breach, though I doubt very much he realized the full extent of things until after the 5th of November. Now, please, a moment yourself.'

Kerjean took out the Lebel Model 1873 six-shot revolver the Germans had allowed him with only six cartridges. ‘One for me,' he said. ‘For you the cyanide, Hélène. It … it is the only thing left.'

‘Then let it keep for a little, eh?' said St-Cyr.

Sadly the Préfet shook his head. ‘Others depend on me not to tell the Germans what I know, Jean-Louis. As a section head in the Resistance, I must take this final responsibility.'

‘Victor, don't,
please
,' begged the woman.

The beam of the torch faltered. The gun wavered, now towards the floor, now towards them but to one side and then … ‘A moment, Victor,' said St-Cyr. ‘Let her step outside. I'll tell the Germans she and I went along the tracks to the alignment to look for her husband – perhaps he called out to us. Yes… yes, that will suit. You were checking the shed. We heard a shot …'

‘People will think I killed le Trocquer,' said Kerjean sadly. ‘They will not understand that the Dollmaker has simply won another victory. He has chosen to sacrifice security so as to trap me into revealing everything I know to their SS and Gestapo.'

‘A moment! Let her step outside.'

‘Yes … yes, of course. Forgive me.'

She turned and stopped and bowed her head in grief and said, ‘Victor, bless you for trying to help us. May you be with God.'

The sound of the hammer as it was placed on the half-cock came to St-Cyr. ‘The torch, Victor.'

‘The torch …?'

St-Cyr took a step. The gun went up, a fist came in and up hard … hard under the chin. The shot shattered the confines of the shed. The woman shrieked and ducked her head.

Out cold and flat on his back, Kerjean lay on the straw. ‘I must not make a habit of this,' said St-Cyr ruefully. ‘Please, I am really very sorry, but I simply could not let him kill himself.'

‘
I did not want him dead
.'

She was frantic. ‘But you must admit his death would have helped you greatly.'

‘I … I don't know what you mean?'

‘Madame, I think you do. Now let us find my partner and get this business settled before someone really gets hurt. There still may be a chance, slim though that is.'

Just beyond the turn-off to the house, the standing stones of Kerzerho were close, grey-green and drenched, tall and damned unfriendly. No more than two or three metres apart, and some just as high, they had been set out in awesome rows perhaps four thousand years ago. The stones cut across the main road to Plouharnel – there were 1,129 of them – and the noise roared up from among them like the chant of ancient savages.

‘
Turmluk ist frei. Boot ist raus!
' Hatch is free. Boat is up! ‘
Ich hatt' einen Kämmeraden
.' I once had a comrade.

The shouting and the singing fell off at last and the two lorries stared at each other through the rainswept darkness of the lonely road where history watched and engines throbbed.

‘Ah
merde
,' breathed Kohler. It was Death's-head and the others, and for all he knew, the tarpaulined back of the lorry held the rest of the crew.

‘It must,' he said to himself. ‘The noise was too loud to have been coming just from those four in the cab.'

Without taking his eyes from the driver, he reached across the seat to drag towards himself the string bag of skulls he had gathered from the pianist's study. He had searched the house for Louis, for a sign of anyone, and finding none, had taken the skulls but was now not so sure it had been a good idea. ‘The stones won't like it,' he said. He was not superstitious, not really but …

‘All right, you bastard,' he said, finding the cook grinning at him from behind the other windscreen, ‘I'll defy the gods and their druids and give you my little present. I'll see what you do.'

Perhaps three metres separated the two lorries. A door opened and one of them got out into the rain to hang on and steady himself. Dishevelled, and doubtlessly stinking of puke, piss and beer, the boy Erich Fromm wavered, then drew himself up and took a step towards the other lights. He paused to wipe the rain from his face and to stare myopically at the Gestapo who had come to arrest him for his part in the rape and murder of Paulette le Trocquer, to say nothing of her invalided mother.

Taking another step, he threw a hand forward to steady himself. ‘
I didn't want to do it!
' he cried out, or something like that, and, fountaining up his guts, clutched his stomach and bowed his head in shame.

The rain parted the pale, short-cropped blond hair and coursed down the raw-boned, pimpled face. ‘You're just a kid,' swore Kohler. ‘Hey, you're not the one I want.'

Getting out into the rain, he went to the boy. ‘Look, I understand how it must have been. They held you. They brought you up to her and put it in, so okay. What's done is done. Now go and get into the back of my lorry. Try to get some sleep while I sort this out.'

He had to help the boy. The bed of the lorry was too high and the kid, though he tried, couldn't possibly climb up.

When he had finally pushed him in and had tied the tarpaulin down, Kohler heard the others coming forward. They met between the headlamps. Thirty to one … were the odds that high?
Ach!
Did he really have to take on the whole crew?

Shoulder to shoulder and crowded, they formed a phalanx behind their cook and Otto Baumann and the Second Engineer.

Though pissed to the gills and still clutching bottles, they were rapidly sobering.

‘You're blocking the road,' said Death's-head.

Kohler wanted to wipe that stupid grin from the lark-eyed bastard and saw again in memory that poor girl's head face down in a toilet.

Rain soaked the Kaiser moustache, causing it to droop, and poured from the black peak of Otto Baumann's forage cap.

‘Why aren't you fellows sleeping it off in Quiberon?'

Was Herr Kohler serious? ‘Duty calls,' said Baumann. ‘U-297 has to be stuffed, Inspector. She wants it in her. She's greedy for it. All hands are to help. Our C.-in-C, Herr Freisen, waits for nothing and no one.'

So be it. ‘Then what about Paulette Trocquer, eh, and what about her mother?'

The rain stung his face but did not seem to bother them at all.

It was Death's-head who, the grin vanishing, said, ‘She went home, I suppose. Our loss is her gain, perhaps. Who's to say?'

‘As for the mother, Herr Kohler,' said the Second Engineer, ‘why do you ask us? An old hag in a wheelchair?'

‘Fine. I'm arresting the three of you and the boy for the murders of Paulette le Trocquer and her mother.'

He was really serious about it. ‘And that of the shopkeeper?' asked the cook. The others stared at the Gestapo's loneliest detective.

‘You boys let the Captain out of jail. I saw him in his car at the shop after I found the mother.'

The surprise was genuine – or was it? The lark's touch of insanity leapt into Schultz's dark eyes. ‘But Vati is in the lock-up. Otto, here, has the key.'

‘Then why isn't he with him?'

‘Because our Dollmaker sleeps and whoever takes the lorry back will be bringing him his breakfast.'

‘You're lying.'

An angry murmur went through the crew. They pressed closer. Baumann held them back with outstretched arms. ‘Where is your partner?' he asked.

Was the party about to get rough? ‘Not at the pianist's house. I've been trying to find him.'

‘What about the woman?' asked Death's-head. The grin became a leer.

‘What about her?' asked Kohler evenly.

‘Nothing. We only wondered how she was getting on without our Vati's cock.'

The bastard. Hadn't they had enough?

‘The child,' asked Baumann, ‘and the father, please, Herr Kohler. Where are they?'

‘With the Préfet, I think. The woman, too, and my partner.' He damn well didn't know where they were, but what the hell, there was no harm in trying, or was there? ‘Kerjean did say something about looking for the husband in one of the tumuli.'

One of the passage graves. ‘Which one?'

This had come from the Second Engineer. ‘Look, I don't know, do I? I sent Kerjean home to Vannes but he must have gone to the house instead. Oh, that reminds me. Hang on a minute. I've brought your cook a little present.'

‘Don't think of leaving,' cautioned Baumann. ‘Not now. Not when you've just accused us of murder.'

‘I won't. I'm only going to the cab. It's on the seat.'

‘And this, my friend, is pointing right at your guts. It's loaded,' said Baumann. ‘Please don't make me guilty of murder.'

At 7.30 a.m. Berlin Time, it was very dark and cold in the rain, and the hammering of the droplets on the backs of St-Cyr's bare hands stung so much, the uneasiness within him only increased.

For some time now Victor Kerjean had remained silent. That he wanted his gun back and felt betrayed was all too clear. Now he poured gasoline into the Renault's fuel tank while the Sûreté, who had his gun in a pocket, cupped hands about the nozzle and the opening so as to keep out the rain if possible.

There had been three jerry cans crammed into the tiny boot and only one of them had been full.

‘Jean-Louis, Hélène will only tell the Nazis about my son – they'll make her. She's done for anyway, isn't that so? Let us take her back to the house. She can write a farewell to her husband and the child. Please, I beg it of you. The lives of too many others are at stake. Our work … The Germans won't be staying long. The invasion will come.'

The refuelling came to an end. Hélène Charbonneau heard St-Cyr desperately trying to fit the gas cap on. At last he succeeded, then the two of them stood out there while she sat alone inside straining to hear what they were saying about her.