Spook's Gold (6 page)

Formed from a diverse group of individuals, led by Pierre Bonny and Henri Lafont, the sole common denominator in their membership was their criminal histories.  Bonny had been a senior police officer who had been sacked due to charges of corruption.  Lafont was an overt career criminal who had been in and escaped from prison at least once.  He was being hunted by the police at the time of the fall of France and had immediately ingratiated himself into the protection of the occupying Gestapo by spying for them.  He was permitted to recruit and form the Carlingue and thus established as the formal head of this auxiliary to the Gestapo, even becoming a naturalised German in 1943, followed by formal appointment to the rank of SS Captain. 

The Carlingue had increased their level of activity in the last few months following the replacement of René Bousquet as chief of the French police by Joseph Darnand.  Bousquet had cooperated with the German occupiers in
les rafles
against the Jews, but was still seen as being somewhat too soft.  Darnand was a French veteran of the Great War, decorated for bravery against the Germans, yet had aligned himself and his militia to Petain and the collaborationist Vichy government.  Following his appointment as Bousquet’s successor, Darnand had pledged the full allegiance and support of his combined force of police and militia to the Gestapo, which had earned him an honorary SS Sturmbahnfuhrer rank.  Once in place he had not hesitated in using his dual powers as police chief and secretary of state to accelerate the activities of deportation of Jews and suppression of the Resistance. 

If the Carlingue were involved, then Marner was going to need some help from Boris. 

Chapter Six

Marner returned directly from Schull’s hotel to his office and spent some time looking for files on the Carlingue, hoping to find any information on their members.  His primary interest was to find photos that he would be able to show to Pichon to enable identification of whoever had searched Schull’s room.  When his request to a filing clerk for assistance was met with a look of incredulity, he quickly interpreted this to mean that it was indeed a stupid question.  The Carlingue enjoyed patronage from the very highest level within the SS and therefore it was absurd to assume that there would be any files. 

He ascended to the top level of number 74, which housed Department II, responsible for relations with and overview of the French civilian forces, including the police and gendarmes.  This situation was muddied by the fact that Darnand’s militia were directly aligned with the Gestapo and thus emboldened to ignore any attempt at control or management by Department II of the RHSA.  One of the French domestic law enforcement services would have control of the older pre-war criminal records, files that might still contain photos of Carlingue members.  However, the particular individual in the office who Marner trusted and was seeking was absent and he was reluctant to share his interest with anyone else. 

There was considerable noise and excitement in the offices at the latest news.  Not only was Rome now totally in the hands of the US Army, but there was also outrage that the Americans had not respected the ‘open city’ policy and had fired on units of the German army who were trying to leave peacefully. 

The other news circulating was that there was significant and wide scale Allied bombardment of the coastal defences from Belgium to Brittany, together with a massive escalation in unidentified radio traffic from inside and outside France.  Some speculation talked of preparation for an invasion by the Allies in the Pas de Calais, the most likely and closest point from England for them to put their troops ashore.  Others proposed that since the Allies had naval dominance of the North Sea, the invasion would be in the Low Countries, maybe even as far east as Denmark, which would allow them to strike quickly and directly into Germany itself. 

Setting aside this ‘static’, Marner returned to his desk intent on concentrating on what he could do something about – his case.  He had only been there a few minutes when his phone rang.  It was Lemele; she wanted to meet with him to update on what she had discovered.  They agreed to meet at the same café as the previous day. 

Again he managed to obtain a car, but this time only a Kubelwagen that dealt badly with the potholed streets and slid alarmingly on the damp roads as the driver threw it around the turns.  It had now started to drizzle, with a stiff breeze gusting and driving the sparse rain drops under the canvas roof cover of the car. 

Lemele was already there when he arrived, sitting at the same table and sheltered from the weather under the awning.  She did not smile and seemed only marginally happier to see him than yesterday, even though it had been her proposal that they meet.  Marner took encouragement from the fact that she at least shook his hand this time.  He ordered a coffee and they sat in silence until it arrived.  This time, ignoring the Parisian etiquette, he immediately turned his chair to face her, although she felt no compunction to do the same.  So whilst she watched the falling raindrops sparkle and dash in the chinks of sunlight breaking through the black thunderclouds overhead, he made a teetering stack from the dirty coffee cups and saucers left on the table, using this childlike amusement as cover to complete his appraisal of her.  Her face had a long aquiline nose, slightly too strong in side-profile but saved by its fine narrowness and that distracting, incredible mouth.  Green eyes that glittered emerald in the light reflecting in them, hair that he had taken for auburn but in natural light was a dark shade of russet, confirmed as natural by her eyebrows.  So a hint of redhead; he should beware of that, he though wryly. 

The waiter who delivered the coffee removed Marner’s precarious tower of china with a contemptuous “tut” and shake of his head.  His departure was Lemele’s prompt.  Her first news was that she had been replaced immediately that morning, as predicted.  The new inspector, Franck Thioly, had shown little interest in Lemele’s basic report of details and no interest in sharing his own thoughts with her. 

“So what other cases are you working on?” asked Marner. 

“The usual.  Reports of missing persons.  Most of which are entirely pointless because we all know why they’ve gone missing and where they’ve gone.”

Marner met her hostile, challenging gaze straight on for a moment and then looked down to his coffee, not wanting to alienate her, needing to know what she might be able to add to his rather dismal lack of hard information or progress of his own. 

After a silence in which Lemele clearly felt she had won the point, she continued, “I only really put in the effort to investigate the genuine cases of missing women and children.”

“Genuine?”

“Yes.  Those where there is no apparent reason for their disappearance, where the trail isn’t obviously going to end up at Drancy,” she snapped, referring to the internment camp in the northeast suburb of Paris that was being used to hold those who had been rounded up, pending deportation. 

Marner nodded and looked away again, not really knowing what more to say on this subject.  “So did you have any success in identifying our Frenchman?”

“Yes.  That’s what I really wanted to tell you about.  I checked with reports of missing persons.  Didier Lemarchand; he was reported missing by his wife to the local commissariat in Sevres.  The description matched so I went to visit his wife at their apartment this afternoon and confirmed the identity from a photo that she showed to me.  She assured me that he had no links or activity to any type of crime or organisation.  Lemarchand was just a baker’s assistant who worked hard and drank little.  He didn’t do any heavy or manual work either, just helping to run a boulangerie, no lifting heavy sacks of flour or anything like that.”

“So no explanation of why he stank like someone who had fallen into a vat of liquor, had heavy bruising, and apparently died firing a gun at a German officer.”

“Precisely.”

Lemele confirmed that talking to residents around the crime scene had gleaned no further information.  No one could recall seeing a man matching the description of Lemarchand, or anyone else of note.  A few confirmed having heard the shots, but there was no agreement even on how many shots.  “So Monsieur Lemarchand appears to be a dead end.  But a very neat and tidy one for Inspector Thioly to close the case on,” finished Lemele.  Seeing no response forthcoming from Marner, seeing confusion and distraction in his face, she interpreted this as the end of their case.  “So I will return to my missing persons, and you can go back to whoever it is that you were chasing before Schull and Lemarchand died.”

Still seeing no further reaction from him, she tossed a few centimes onto the metal-topped table in payment for her coffee and made to leave.  The clatter of the coins snapped Marner from his reverie.  “Wait!” Keeping his voice low and his eyes on whatever had his attention to her left, he instructed her to go and get another cup of coffee from within the shop and, on her return, to take a quick look at the individual loitering in the doorway of the closed and shuttered shop thirty metres along the street.  Lemele did as instructed; the sudden note of urgency and concern in his voice overcame her impulse to turn and look immediately, waiting instead until she emerged from the shop, requiring only a sideways glance to see the man waiting there.  She sat back down and confirmed that she had not seen him before in her life.  When Lemele enquired if he was certain that it was them who were the object of this stranger’s attention, Marner confirmed that he was fairly sure. 

“I wonder who he is following and watching, me or you?” mused Marner, his standard sardonic humour creeping back into his voice and face now that he had adjusted to the shock.  Yes, he admitted to himself, shock; his nationality, uniform and status in this long-occupied city had never given him pause to think that he was anything but safe.  Lemele sat looking at him blankly, not sure what action or next move was expected of her now.  She would also be concerned, maybe frightened by this new development.  Marner considered for a moment, not sure whether to tell her of what he had learned regarding the visitors to Schull’s hotel room.  The awareness flared momentarily in his mind that he wanted to tell her, wanted to keep her in the game, primarily because he enjoyed her company.  Not because she was warm and friendly – anything but! Nevertheless, she did have a spark that he had rarely encountered, even more so in the civilians of this city who either flinched and turned from him and his uniform or fawned over him.  He had found few that he desired to spend time with or seek the companionship of amongst the morons and thugs in his organisation, and none were female.  But he forced himself to immediately lock that thought away, not wanting to examine it, especially not at this moment when he needed to be focussed. 

So Marner spent the next few minutes bringing Lemele up to date with what he had learned from Schull’s hotel, although he did not feel it was necessary to tell her the reason for Schull being in Paris.  Lemele clearly knew plenty about the Carlingue.  “The worst scum, even worse than you Nazis.  At least you can hide behind the façade that you are patriots to your country, but these
gestapists
are simply traitors to their own people.”

Marner rocked backed, jolted from the moment of what – protectiveness? – that he had felt towards Lemele, to this slap in the face.  “Look.  I’m a policeman, first and only.  I was before the war and that is what I remain true to.  This uniform and the rank and organisation were simply the obvious choice for the army to put me into, to best utilise my training and experience.  I’m ‘Kripo’ – Kriminalpolizei.”

Again she responded with that flash and fire that he had observed when he had teased her here in this very spot the day before.  “It doesn’t matter what label you claim,” she hissed, leaning forward in her seat, the better to hurl the words at him.  “You wear the Nazi uniform and you are the occupier and oppressor of this city and country.” Leaving him with the clear impression that, if she were a cat and he a rodent, he would already be fatally wounded and twitching his residual heartbeats away under her claws, dead before the realisation that he had been struck had even reached his brain. 

Aware that he was losing control of the situation, conscious of the eyes still watching them, the unknown motives and intentions of their owner, Marner raised a placatory palm.  “Put that aside for now.  For the moment we have a common purpose: find the true murderer of one of your countrymen, and one of mine.  We also have another common issue: our safety.”

He saw Lemele tremble visibly for a moment, but this was not fear; it was her quenching, mastering the adrenalin and anger that had flared and been only for him.  But she subsided docilely back into her seat, crossed her arms and affected a nonchalant examination of her fingernails, displaying no awareness or concern for the watcher along the street. 

Marner continued, “I want you to get up and walk slowly away.  Don’t go directly back to the Prefecture, just wander for a few blocks, take random turns but keep to the busier streets.  I’m going to follow you and I’ll be only thirty metres behind you, maximum.  I want to work out which of us is the object of his attention, and to see if there is anyone else that we haven’t spotted yet.  If I’m the subject of his interest, I’ll lead him elsewhere.  When you’ve walked around a couple of blocks, go back to your office and carry on as normal.”

“And then what happens?”

“I’ll contact you in a few days to let you know how I’ve progressed.  You can still help. We need photos of Carlingue members, they are the primary lead that we have.  These are people who have mostly been in prison or at least arrested at some point in their lives, so there must be photos in the police system somewhere.  But only do it if you are sure that it is safe to do so.  Remember that they have informers everywhere and open cooperation with your police colleagues.  If you feel even the slightest danger, if you’re concerned about your safety, then contact me via my office.  I’m living at the Hotel Aurore on Rue Delacre in the 16
^th
, you can call me there too in an emergency.”