Spook's Gold (3 page)

To his right, the upper end of Avenue Foch was crowned by the Arc de Triomphe.  Instead he turned left and began to work his way across the damp lawns, empty now, too early for the legion of prostitutes that infested the neighbouring streets to be out sunning themselves and gossiping.  As he crossed the central thoroughfare he had to dodge numerous piles of horse manure deposited by the Waffen SS cavalry who paraded daily up and down the avenue, visible evidence of the presence and might of the German Reich, despite the daily news of losses of territory on all fronts. 

The various sections of the RHSA – the Reich Main Security Office –occupied fully twelve buildings here on Foch.  The Gestapo was only one sub-group of the RHSA, being Department IV and charged specifically with activities relating to counter-terrorism, communism and, of course, the Jewish ‘issue’.  However, the adhesion of all RHSA departments to the SS, together with the far-reaching powers and fear generated by the Gestapo meant that this latter name was erroneously applied to all and any of the various other sub-divisions of the SS.  Whilst the Gestapo had installed themselves in four buildings on Avenue Foch, from 78 to 84, the latter having become the most feared address in Paris, the Kripo shared number 74 with one other department. 

Marner often wondered what Maréchal Ferdinand Foch, the Supreme Commander of the Allied Armies during the Great War, the warrior who had accepted the formal surrender of Germany in the train carriage in Compiègne in 1918, would think of Paris now and of the goings-on in this grand avenue that had been named in his honour.  The man who was credited with the phrase "I will fight in front of Paris, I will fight in Paris, I will fight behind Paris," was long dead and would probably be grateful for not having lived to see this day. 

Once through the main door of number 74 Marner became immediately aware of the noise of voices – both the number and the volume – highly unusual for a Sunday morning.  He carried on along the ground floor corridor under the main stairway towards the despatch room to talk to the officer who had called him from his hotel earlier.  In the noisy operations room, which fielded calls and enquiries, Marner learned the shocking news: Rome had fallen.  When he finally found someone who would concentrate long enough to talk directly to him, he learned that it had not so much fallen but had been declared an open city by the retreating German army. 

“Abandoned without a fight!  Disgusting, the Fuhrer will have someone’s blood for such cowardice!” opined a young radio operator. 

“Don’t be so hasty,” counselled Joachim Vorner, the man for whom Marner had been searching, “You cannot successfully defend a big city like that against an enemy who has surrounded you and who has both artillery and air superiority.”

“The Russians held us at Stalingrad and Moscow!” retorted the boy. 

“Yes.  Yes, you’re right in that, but....”  But Vorner was not sure where to take his argument.  “To attempt a defence of Rome would mean the destruction of that great city and the loss of life of huge numbers of civilians, who were our allies don’t forget.”

“And who capitulated!” squeaked the lad. 

Marner gestured to Vorner, who seemed grateful for an excuse to escape from his militant colleague.  Vorner verified that it had indeed been the militia who had called in the discovery of the bodies and that no other similar calls had been received.  Satisfied, Marner moved upstairs to his office and spent an hour checking files for recent reports of any similar attacks on German personnel, but found nothing that was obviously linked to his case.  After tracking down some coffee and stale croissants in the mess room, which also entailed having to listen to varying and exceedingly fanciful theories about what the German strategy should be now in Italy, he called Kriegsmarine headquarters.  They could not or would not tell him anything about Schull. 

Satisfied that nothing further could be gleaned from the files available, he felt the need to escape from the building.  He exited via the rear of the building into the Square de l’Avenue Foch, a somewhat erroneous name for what was actually a triangular-shaped space formed between the buildings of Foch and the neighbouring avenues to the north and east.  Here, arrayed around the small garden in the centre of the ‘Square’ was a pool of staff cars that were shared between the various services, Marner having obtained the necessary authorisation from Vorner to secure the use of one and its driver.  It being Sunday, and those few officers who were working being reluctant to leave the radios and chatter, Vorner had been happy to give him one of the open-topped Opels that Marner would not normally have gotten a sniff at. 

Due to fuel shortages the use of cars was becoming more and more restricted, with the use of staff chauffeurs now compulsory.  Opinion differed within the department on the reasons why the use of drivers had been imposed; some held that it was due to personnel borrowing cars to use for personal jaunts and thus wasting fuel, others that it had been prompted by recent accidents involving alcohol.  Whatever, Marner was entirely unfamiliar with driving motor vehicles and had no objection to being a passenger, leaving him free during the journey to the Île to work out exactly what it was he hoped to discover from the intriguing Inspector Lemele.

Chapter Three

The main building of the Prefecture of Police had been in use for over a hundred years, a grimy granite slab that towered over the south west edge of the Île in the centre of the River Seine, at the opposite end to the Notre Dame cathedral.  Marner entered through the huge portal on the Quai des Orfèvres and asked for directions to Inspector Lemele’s office.  The presence of German officers in this building, especially SS, was common and he attracted no attention.  The open collaboration of the Vichy-controlled police and milice with the German forces was well known, these sections of the French civilian forces being responsible for organising and executing
les rafles
– the round-ups of Jews and others on the Gestapo’s deportation lists. 

He was directed to the basement level; once there he had the distinct feeling that the ‘offices’, which were actually tiny windowless cubicles, might once have served as storage rooms or even cells.  This impression was further reinforced by the outward-opening doors, although this could equally have been to economise on the tiny interior volume of the cubicles.  When he reached the open door to Lemele’s office her back was to him and she was putting on her coat.  Although he had approached silently, she detected his arrival by the fact that his bulk in the doorway suddenly obscured the light from the corridor, which offered far more illumination than the meagre bare bulb in the ceiling of the room. 

She turned and several emotions flickered briefly across her face when she saw him.  “What do you want?” she asked suspiciously. 

Again he noted her impeccable German.  He removed his cap and concentrated on offering his best smile, hoping that it would relax her and defrost the glacial chill that was emanating from her.  She did not react to this attempt at charm, just looked blankly at him, so he tried in French, “I am Lieutenant Dieter Marner, from Kripo.  We met briefly this morning at the murder scene.  I would like to discuss the case with you.”

“It is not my case.  It will be reassigned to one of my more capable colleagues tomorrow.  So why don’t you just come back in the morning and talk to him.”  She snatched up her bag from the chair and moved to leave the office, making it clear that for her the conversation was concluded.  Marner remained propped in the doorway, effectively blocking her exit whilst continuing his lazy perusal of the tiny room, taking far more time than its cramped volume and few objects justified. 

“‘Capable’?  You are an Inspector of Police, are you not?  I would also add that you seemed perfectly capable at the crime scene this morning.”

Ignoring his compliment she carried on in the same flat, emotionless tone, “I am an inspector in name only, and the word ‘inspector’ has many meanings.  Let me re-phrase: the case will be reassigned to one of my
male
colleagues.  I was on call over the weekend, therefore I was the one sent out.”  When she made a new advance towards him intending that he step aside and allow her to leave, he continued to look at her and she returned and matched his stare with such hostility that he involuntarily stepped back.  He noted her distinctive height; she was almost as tall as him in her medium-heeled shoes and, despite being uncomfortable in his presence, she radiated a confidence and inner assurance.  Guessing that she must be about thirty years old, he found her pretty but with a hint of sadness in the lines around her sensuous bow of a mouth; it would be her best feature if she ever smiled.  His eyes automatically flicked down to her hand – was that a man thing? – and saw a gold band; perhaps a story there that might explain the sadness. 

Forcing his mind to re-focus, he swept his hand theatrically towards the corridor offering her the chance to leave, but casting his hook nonetheless, “However, until tomorrow, you
are
the inspector covering this murder, yes?”

Her eyes roamed from his face, sensing the trap in his words, to the exit and her escape.  When she finally ceded with a reluctant nod, he smiled again, “So.  I want to examine the bodies now, today.  At this moment you are still the current assigned officer.  In particular, I would appreciate your professional forensic opinion.”

Lemele flashed her eyes at him, looking for the sign of mocking that she was sure must be there, but saw none.  Resignedly she removed her coat and dropped it back onto the chair.  “Very well Herr Lieutenant, let’s go and take a look.”

She led him up to the ground floor level and they weaved through a maze of corridors in silence.  Passing through a central courtyard they emerged momentarily into bright sunlight and then plunged again into the gloom of another annex.  Immediately the stench hit him, like a slap in the face.  “Sorry for the smell,” she said, although her tone offered no hint of apology.  “We don’t have refrigeration for the bodies here, so we have to work quickly on them and then get them out to proper morgues as soon as we’ve finished.”

“No problem,” he assured her, although it was obvious that he was breathing carefully through his mouth. 

They entered the morgue proper, a stark white-tiled room that was ten metres square.  In the centre were three tables, two bearing bodies covered in sheets.  Around the walls of the room were glass-panelled cabinets and shelves bearing brutal steel instruments, the uses for which Marner did not care to consider.  In the floor in the centre of the room was a meshed grating.  The floor surface sloped very slightly from all sides towards this to facilitate drainage.  Many of the floor tiles were cracked and the gaps between them held a residue of black slime. 

The smell had ramped up a notch and he searched for the origin but could not locate it.  There were no storage drawers for bodies and the two on the tables were sufficiently ‘fresh’ that they could not be the source of the appalling odour.  Lemele interpreted his strained expression, “We had a badly decomposed body in here last week that was pulled from the river.  It takes a while for the smell to dissipate since there is no ventilation for the room.  I think that the room had another role originally; it was just selected for this purpose due to the drain in the floor, but no one thought through the other practicalities,” she shrugged. 

“Well, never mind.  Let’s take a look at the Frenchman first, our alleged assassin,” instructed Marner, eager to get on and get out.  Lemele suddenly went rigid and opened her mouth to speak, wanting to take issue with his assumption that a French civilian was automatically the perpetrator of a crime against the German officer.  Instead she shook her head, moved to the table furthest from the door and without ceremony whipped the sheet covering the body down to the knees. 

Rather than the violence of the bullet wound in the pale white flesh of the chest, it was the stark nakedness that seemed obscene to Marner, here in the presence of a female.  He had to consciously flatten his palms against his thighs in order to resist the urge to pull the sheet back up to waist level.  Lemele seemed quite oblivious to any lack of propriety and just looked fixedly at Marner, waiting for him to reveal his objective. 

Approaching closer, he asked, “So what do you conclude from your examination of this one?”

“Cause of death is this single bullet wound.  The angle to the entry wound is straight and level, not oblique, see?” Lemele poked her forefinger fully into the hole, keeping her finger straight to indicate how she knew this.  Marner nodded and she continued, “So we can state that it was fired from approximately face-on and level height.  No powder burns on the flesh or clothing, so the shot was fired from at least a metre away.  The single bullet went through the heart, probably the lower right ventricle, but certainly fatal.”

“Anything else, anything unusual?”

“Only that he has some bruising around the upper arms, back and neck; here you can see the discoloration on the neck.”

Marner dipped to look.  “Any idea what caused it?”

“No, there is no particular pattern or shape to the bruising.  Possibly he was a manual worker, carrying heavy goods.  Maybe he fell.  I can only state for certain that it happened fairly recently before he died because there’s no colour degradation of the bruising, the yellowing that you see in an old bruise as it fades.  This bruise is recent, within approximately twenty four hours of death.”

“Okay.  What about Captain Schull?”

The Kriegsmarine officer was in a worse state than his opponent.  Only two bullet wounds, but the larger calibre weapon had done more damage.  “This is the wound that killed him,” indicated Lemele, pointing to the gaping mess in the centre of the sternum.  “Regardless of what the bullet hit or where it finished, the fragments of bone will have gone in multiple directions internally and so caused major trauma, maybe even to the heart.”

“Would it have been instantly fatal?” asked Marner.