Bellringer Read online

  The shoulders were drawn back, the hands placed flatly on the table before him. ‘He is friendly with all and makes no distinction whereas I do. My sister Sonja, the light of a small boy’s life, was torn from me, Kohler. Ripped! Ended! A Friday, 23 December, 1921, at 1807 hours. Left behind the burned-out shell of the house on the Rheinstrasse where I used to play with my friends. She had been to the Liebfrauenkirche nearby to distribute soup to the destitute and had given, I tell you—given—a cup of it to one of those. . . those Neger Untermenschen. He was “cold,” he said, when arrested and beaten senseless by the men of our district. Cold, Kohler!’

  In 1921 and the Allied occupation of the Rhineland: the Americans having negotiated a separate treaty with the Germans on 2 July, which their Senate had then ratified on 18 October of that year; their troops had left, France’s moving in to take care of things in Koblenz. A Negro subhuman.

  ‘He followed her on her way home. It was getting dark. He hit her twice to silence her before. . . ’

  Even now Weber couldn’t speak of it, tears moistening his dark blue eyes. The Nazi Party pin was touched as if a talisman—the badge, too, of a party cell leader and the one for a Motorgruppe in 1937 when he must have been a navigator in the rally car of a friend, or had helped out in the repair pit, and so much for who his sister’s killer had really been.

  ‘Let me tell you, Kohler, they are paying for it now and I’m making sure they do.’

  Louis would advise backing off. ‘But does Brother Étienne bring things for them?’

  ‘The soutane has many hiding places, the clergy being the most insidious of liars, but things are going to change now that he no longer has the protection of our former Kommandant. The brother just hasn’t realized it.’

  And Weber would now have the backing of Jundt. ‘Colonel Kessler allowed him a gasoline ration?’

  ‘And complete freedom to come and go as he wished, often staying later, I tell you, Kohler, than the 1700-hour curfew for all visitors and non-camp personnel.’

  ‘Did they often have a little chat on the way in or out?’

  ‘Often. Things were handed over. I know this for a fact. A round of that cheese he makes, a kilo of butter—some of the order’s Schnapps. This I have seen.’

  ‘But did they talk about the camp and its inmates?’

  Had this Schweinebulle the snout now to the ground? ‘Brother Étienne was full of stories he then embellished for the colonel’s ears.’

  ‘An éminence grise or simply an informant?’

  ‘Both, Kohler. Both, but his usefulness has been brought into question with the change in command.’

  ‘You’ve other informants and don’t need him.’

  Would Kohler now understand how useful this head of security could be to him if approached properly? ‘I have never had any need for his services. Cigarette currency, ja? As a former prisoner of war, you will know that tobacco paves the road with gold. Those bitches will answer anything just so long as I give them a smoke. Both the British and the Americans.’

  And Kessler hadn’t entirely trusted this one’s informants and had used the brother’s word on such things. ‘Ach, my partner and I enjoyed the cigarettes and cognac. That was kind of you.’

  And no question yet, thought Weber, of where the directive was on the first killing, a document that Colonel Kessler would most certainly have left for them, especially since he had been using the whore. ‘Gut. It’s that partner of yours I want to speak to you about, but come. A little tour of our operations here will, I think, be of some use.’

  ‘Louis should be with us.’

  ‘It’s better we leave him behind. Then we can speak as countryman to countryman.’

  Sister Jane, the British nun in charge of the other nursing sisters at the hospital had seen many wars, not just this one, and when she filled the doorway to the room Hermann and he had been allotted, St-Cyr knew it.

  ‘Chief Inspector, Madame de Vernon isn’t well. If you were to place in front of her those items you took from Caroline’s pockets and have hastily gathered from your bed to keep from my eyes, she might. . . well, I hesitate to say.’

  ‘At the first sign of trouble, I’ll call you.’

  Must this sûreté be so stubborn? ‘Can you not understand there may well be no outward sign? Her state of illness isn’t physical. It’s mental. We have little enough sedative. Already we have had to use three ampoules. I really can’t afford to use any more. She cries and no one gets any peace, not our other patients, nor ourselves or the doctors. Last night was but the exception.’

  And this morning as well. ‘She knew my partner and I were in-house and just along the corridor?’

  ‘Oui, c’est correct. She’s had a hard life. First the loss of her family’s home. Her husband sold it without even telling her.’

  ‘Then ran off to spend the money with his mistress who was not only beautiful but fifteen years younger?’ It was really just a guess.

  ‘That, too, is correct, but he also had a passion for casinos, as did the girl.’

  ‘And the money was lost?’

  ‘I believe so.’

  ‘Yet still she uses her married name?’

  ‘Why, I simply do not know. Perhaps the Great War intervened as it did for so many.’

  Widows being the norm. ‘How long had Caroline Lacy been in her care?’

  ‘Three years. Four perhaps.’

  From the age of fifteen. ‘Sister, the girl’s passport and papers were not with her.’

  ‘And since the camp’s administration require us all to look after our own, this being but an internment camp and not one for prisoners of war, you are wondering if they had been stolen?’

  ‘It’s possible.’

  ‘Not with Madame. She insisted she carry Caroline’s passport and papers at all times as well as her own.’

  ‘Even in Paris?’

  ‘Inspector, I think you will find that poor unfortunate girl never went anywhere without Madame.’

  ‘Until Vittel.’

  ‘Even here she was being constantly told to stay in their room unless instructed to fetch something, but always to come straight back.’

  ‘The girl rebelled.’

  ‘Can the young not be headstrong? She desperately wanted and needed friends. I myself, when taking the air in the Parc Thermal, occasionally spoke with her. Never have I seen a child so anxious for the kind attention of another human being, someone other than. . . May God forgive me. . . than that woman. The girl couldn’t dress, bathe, eat, or sleep without Madame’s scrutiny and tongue. Caroline was never right; always there was castigation. An aspiring ballet dancer? Does one not need self-confidence in measure and to build it repeatedly?’

  ‘Was the girl afraid of her?’

  It would be best to tell him. ‘Afraid is perhaps not the word I would use. Terrified would be better.’

  And the months, the years passing her by in a place like this. ‘Why didn’t Madame see that the girl was sent home before the bottom fell out of France?’

  ‘Or before the Americans entered this war? To all requests from Caroline’s family, I am sure there were. . . ’

  ‘Please continue.’

  She crossed herself.

  ‘It is only that to all requests from them, I am sure there were delays aided and abetted by the Occupier and the regulations that swamped everyone. The post wouldn’t arrive or be lost en route, the telegram addressed incorrectly or not received, the telephone line disconnected. Perhaps Caroline was the daughter Madame never had. Perhaps she represented something Madame could never attain. One thing is certain and this you must understand. To Madame, Caroline Lacy was hers to control. Now that this duty is gone, Madame has found life bankrupt. Please be gentle. Try not to challenge her, lest we have another insane flood of tears and she does herself grave injury.’

  A nod would suffice. The room was just along the corridor. Propped up in bed, Madame Irène de Vernon had steeled herself for the interview and had no doub
t been defiantly waiting for hours. The rounded shoulders and prominent bosom were swathed in a crocheted shawl of many years, two knitted cardigans, and a white blouse. A strand of pearls, her mother’s perhaps and saved from the ravages of time, war, and camp by her tongue and spirit of will was beneath the double chin, the neck powdered. The pudgy hands and thick wrists looked capable enough of using a pitchfork. Several modestly expensive but showy rings, on the fifth, fourth, and middle finger of the left hand gave her station in life and determination to resist bartering them off out of necessity—a wristwatch also—but of tears there were none, though the grey eyes behind the wire gold frames were red, the lids puffy.

  The cheeks were pale, in spite of applied rouge saved also from those same ravages, the reddened lips thin and uncertain now that she took him in a little more.

  ‘Police’ was written in the look she gave. The short, curly dark auburn hair was hesitantly touched and then lightly primped.

  ‘Madame, a few small questions. Nothing difficult.’

  ‘Questions? Difficultés? Sister, am I to be subjected to an interrogation?’

  Ah, merde, need she be so excitable?

  The sister tried. ‘Patience, ma chère Madame. Patience. Please just listen to the Chief Inspector. He and his partner, Herr Kohler, must. . . ’

  ‘A German? A member of the Gestapo?’

  ‘A detective, madame. He and the Chief Inspector need all the help we can give them.’

  ‘He has questioned you already, has he?’

  ‘Oui, a little.’

  ‘And what, please, have you told him? That I controlled Caroline’s life with an iron fist? That she was rebelling and was terrified of me? Ah, I can see that this is what you have done. Crucified me while in your care. Well, just you wait!’

  ‘Ah, bon, madame,’ interjected St-Cyr. ‘It’s essential I establish a few simple details.’

  The look was swift. ‘Simple? An innocent in my care is violently murdered? A dear, sweet life taken and you treat the matter as simple when I am left alone? Alone, I tell you!’

  ‘Chief Inspector, please be gentle. Gentle, you understand?’ Sister Jane implored.

  ‘Certainly, Sister. Certainly. Madame, let’s go back a week ago, to the night Mary-Lynn Allan fell.’

  ‘Of her own accord, is that not correct?’

  ‘Perhaps. It’s still under consideration.’

  ‘Is it? That girl and others in her room, and in ours, encouraged my Caroline and that. . . that Jennifer Hamilton of Room 3–54, the same as that first one’s room. Holding hands in the corridors and on the staircases? Flirting? Kissing when they thought others were not watching?’

  Sister Jane gestured in despair and said, ‘Madame, you don’t know that.’

  ‘I do, I tell you! Brushing up against each other in the crowd for bread and soup. Making eyes? Writing notes? Wanting to attend one of that. . . that Chevreul woman’s séances? Wanting to talk to the dead? What dead, Inspector?’

  ‘You tell me.’

  ‘Ah, Sainte Mère, Sainte Mère, why must I be put to the fire like Jeanne d’Arc? Those others in that room of ours, that Jill Faber. They thought Caroline’s disobedience a cause for mirth and whispered asides, but wait until I tell you about them, then we will see who is laughing.

  ‘That Faber girl and the Senegalese, Inspector, that Marni Huntington and the guards; Becky Torrence, too, I tell you. It wouldn’t surprise me if they hadn’t arranged a little liaison for my Caroline just to teach the girl what sex with a man was really like to them and that she had absolutely no reason to be afraid of it, that everything I had told her was wrong, Inspector. Everything!’

  Was this one about to have a heart attack? ‘Madame, let us hold the lightning and the thunder while we let the rain wash away the clouds.’

  ‘Intransigent. Capable of deceit. . . ’

  ‘Yes, yes, but please don’t start the typhoon up again. Mademoiselle Caroline had rebelled. She had finally, after many attempts, arranged to attend last night’s séance with Madame Chevreul.’

  ‘Only to have my Caroline not present. Not present, Inspector, because of her murder!’

  ‘Yes, yes, but whom did she wish to contact and what was so important?’

  Merde, had she let her tongue run away with her? ‘I don’t know, and now never will. Never, I tell you.’

  But Jennifer Hamilton might—this was written clearly in Madame’s moistening eyes and she now realized that this sûreté had seen it.

  ‘De Vernon, madame? You were married to an American.’

  It couldn’t be avoided. ‘A man who insisted I have an American passport so that he could take me to visit the mother who had all but disowned him. Now look what that passport has done: made me, who has always been a French citizen, a prisoner in my own country.’

  ‘But what city or town was he from?’

  The head was tossed as if struck, suspicion instantly registering. ‘Why should that have any significance?’

  ‘Please just answer.’

  ‘Or you will have me arrested? A woman bereaved. Une sainte who did everything she could for that girl with little thanks, I tell you.’

  ‘Now, now, madame, please calm yourself,’ urged Sister Jane. ‘Your heart. You know what the doctors have said. You know it will only do harm if you get upset again.’

  ‘You said it, Sister. I did not!’

  They waited as they should, Sister Jane with eyes downcast, the chief inspector silent. ‘Barre, Vermont. His family had made a fortune in granite and tombstones but he. . . well, he was simply not cut out for it. He was wounded at Cierges-sous-Montfaucon on 29 September, 1918, and died in 1920 leaving me without a sou. Now I have only the pension, but it never comes.’

  And so much for his first name, the years between 1910 and 1918, and for remaining married to him. ‘Were his wounds treated here in Vittel?’

  Did this sûreté actually think he was on to something? ‘Surely, Inspector, you shouldn’t need to ask, or is it that you spent the years of that war in Paris?’

  He didn’t answer, but felt for his pipe and tobacco pouch, and seeing that the latter was indeed empty, put it away but held the pipe for comfort.

  ‘On the night of Saturday to Sunday, the thirteenth and fourteenth, madame, were you awakened by the screams and tears of the others? Mademoiselle Lacy must have been terribly upset.’

  Ah, bon, how perfect of him. ‘Awakened, yes. One of the others was with her.’

  ‘Becky Torrence, the blonde?’

  ‘Oui. They spoke rapidly. The Torrence girl said that Caroline must be mistaken, that no one would have pushed Mademoiselle Allan, but Caroline, she. . . she wouldn’t listen and said she had seen someone push the girl. A shadow, she said, and that she herself had been grabbed by the wrist and had then been pulled back from the brink by Mademoiselle Torrence.’

  This he readily swallowed as a sûreté should. ‘Inspector, that girl of mine couldn’t have seen a thing. The room light had been on. Caroline had been unable to find her cigarettes in the dark. The corridor light was off, then on, then off mostly and had been like that for days. When stepping from a lighted room into darkness it would take her a good ten minutes for the eyes to have adjusted enough for her to have seen anything. We were planning to grow more alfalfa shoots to give her the necessary Vitamin A.’

  ‘And what about you? Where were you, exactly?’

  And said like a compiler of notes but one who had written nothing down. ‘I had been asleep, had I not? Jill Faber, the one who is friendly with the Senegalese, finally found the cigarettes for her where I had left them out on that. . . that thing they call a table. Caroline went into the corridor, the Torrence girl turning off the light and closing the door after following her out. Jill. . . that Jill girl is also friendly with the guards, Inspector. She and the others put things together and she takes them to trade, though that is forbidden. She also places barter notices on the board in the empty dining room so that all in the lineups wi
ll see them. Chocolate for a needed box of matches, chewing gum. . . ’

  ‘Spearmint?’

  ‘Oui. They receive that in their parcels, but I don’t care for it. Mostly when not trying to obtain paper from the guards for the toilets, extra firewood, or more and better vegetables—an onion perhaps—she tries to pry news from them, but the guards are very hesitant with that for it, too, is verboten.’

  ‘She speaks German?’

  Why should he be so anxious? ‘A little. I really don’t know how much.’

  ‘Are extra favours then offered?’

  How polite of him to shield the sister’s ears. ‘By some perhaps.’

  ‘But not by Jill Faber?’

  One must be firm with this one. ‘That I didn’t say, Inspector. That one did, however, speak of the Senegalese in terms that would burn the ears of a saint. She doesn’t wonder what sexual intercourse with such would be like. She describes it in vivid detail for the others. Caroline and I, from behind our screen, would often hear them whispering and tittering at night, especially after someone down the corridor had cried out in ecstasy or begged for more. The things I have been forced to overhear and accidentally witness. . . ’

  ‘Yes, yes, so when Caroline took up with Jennifer Hamilton of Room 3–54 you were upset.’

  ‘Wouldn’t you have been had you the responsibility of keeping that child safe and pure? Wicked is what I think of such behaviour. Wicked, I tell you.’

  ‘But you were asleep. The light was off.’

  ‘At first, yes. Earlier the Faber girl had been flashing around in the nude with her towel, having just come from the bath. Mocking me. Warming her cul at the stove and then her nénés and her chatte. Telling the others that she was going to ask that. . . that Parker woman to request the Kommandant to have the swimming pool filled this coming summer. “Oh là, là,” she said, snapping the towel away. “No bathing suits, eh?” Their French is terrible, Inspector. Every day and night the ears are assaulted.’