Carnival (19 page)

It being of corrugated iron in which there were no boards, only cellulose from wood fibre. ‘Perhaps he's been transferred,' hazarded Dorsche, as a Lagerfeldwebel should.

‘You're threatening me.'

‘
Ach
, I am merely telling you that from now on all questions will be given and answered in my presence. Surely you must realize Lageroffizier Rudel will require thorough answers from me and that I must impart everything that has been said?'

‘Where is he, then, this carpenter?'

‘A moment, that is all. Herr Savard is learning the ropes, as they say.'

Dorsche had found and had the carpenter moved within the space of ten minutes, which could only mean he had a communications' network so good it could reach into every corner of the Textilfabrik in spite of superheated steam pipes. His
Werkschutz
must be everywhere, his
Spitzel
, too, his informants among the POWs, and he had just demonstrated this. An iron fist like the chairman's, only one with even far tighter control.

The chemist's suicide really couldn't have sat well with Dorsche—something like that happening right under his nose and he not knowing of it until after the fact.

When the last and most distant of the sheets had been hung in its rack, all fifty of the carriages trundled inevitably toward their respective steeping tanks where chain hoists lifted them. The men—Poles this time, noted Kohler—covered their eyes with the goggles, pulled down their helmets, suited up with the gauntlets and lowered the racks into the baths, the sound of iron wheels changing to that of rattling chains, to that of gurgling, rising caustic.

One by one the men moved on to the roller presses to prepare things there. Water hoses were uncoiled, taps checked, buckets filled in case of needed emergency medical treatment, four-wheeled dollies placed nearby so that when squeezed of their juice, the sheets could be stacked and then transported elsewhere.

‘You wished to see me, Lagerfeldwebel?'

In his late thirties and of less than medium height under a helmet that was too big, Henri Savard's watchful eyes remained obediently fixed on Dorsche. The dark brown moustache, not unlike Louis's, had yet to be shaved off, for in a place like this it could only soak up splashed caustic. The chin was blunt, the cauliflower ears big, the face drawn and pockmarked, the flattened nose encrusted with warts, the lips unsmiling, un-anything, the vegetable silence that of peasant ancestors.

‘Prisoner 220375, Herr Kohler wishes to know how you are finding your new employment.'

Eugène Thomas had been Number 220371.

‘Very satisfactory, Lagerfeldwebel.'

And from Lille near the Belgian border.

‘No complaints?' asked Dorsche.

‘None, Lagerfeldwebel.'

‘
Gut
. You may begin the interview, Herr Detektiv. Again, as before, time necessitates haste. Since others are filling in for this man, you may take'—Dorsche consulted his wristwatch—‘twelve minutes, a little longer, of course, if you do not wish to also question Prisoner 220372.'

Savard didn't blink. He simply remained zeroed in on Dorsche.

‘Number 220372?' asked Kohler.

Understandably he was puzzled since there were no windows in the shed. ‘The glazier, Gérard Léger, is at the far end of the building, so I have allowed sufficient time for us to take such a walk. You don't want to be in here, though, when they squeeze the sheets. You are not suitably attired.'

Dorsche found and lit a cigarette. Exhaling, he said, ‘It's perfectly safe to smoke in here. You may offer Prisoner 220375 one of Chairman Schrijen's small cigars if you wish.'

The pungency of motherwort returned as unexpectedly as Sophie Schrijen's sudden intrusion, and to this came the scent of
Mirage
, the bookseller having stiffened in alarm at what had just been revealed about Natzweiler-Struthof. Clearly the Fräulein Schrijen had come to a decision on how best to proceed and just as clearly, she had overheard everything that had been said in her absence.

‘The Fräulein Ekkehard was afraid of men, Chief Inspector,' she said. ‘Unfortunately I can find no other way of putting it unless I were to use the word
adrift
. Peripherally, of course. Certainly, in so far as I am aware, she didn't engage openly in such practices, given the threat of prison or worse, but when men got too close, the girl could become terribly distressed, though she hid it well during everyday circumstances, didn't she, Victoria? That little toss of her head that imparted so much, the dresses she chose, the lightness of her step. Everyone was taken in by her, myself especially.'

Still unsettled by the sudden intrusion, the bookseller could no longer find the will to look up. ‘And had you known this about her?' asked St-Cyr.

‘I would not have become associated with her at the outset, of course. There are rules—unspoken always—for people like myself, but as I came to know her better, I realized those rules were not always right, that some leeway would have to be given.'

A hard thing to admit to these days. ‘And on the
Winterhilfswerk
Committee?'

‘I had no qualms because by then I knew how carefully in control she could be. The girl also knew everyone and was, of course, the colonel's right hand and therefore extremely useful.'

Opportunistic though that must sound, but intentionally so? he wondered. Agitated, the bookseller began to knit her hands together only to realize this and press them flat against her thighs, indenting the dark brown velvet of her slacks, but was it because she understood only too well what must come next?

‘Late last August, on a Thursday, the twentieth to be precise, Inspector, Colonel Rasche took the girl out to the
Karneval
—did he inform you of this?
Ach
, I thought not. You see, in her innocence, the Fräulein Ekkehard suspected nothing. They had been out there many times before, just the two of them, and had always enjoyed themselves exploring the ruins. Why should this one occasion have been any different? They entered the wagon we now use as a field office. There were some costume dresses scattered on the floor. Like most young girls who are dependent on their employers and on men they respect—after all he was her commanding officer—she became confused when touched, felt trapped, smothered …'

‘Sophie,
please
don't.'

‘She screamed, Inspector. She tried to get away from him and had to fight back. Like all such unfortunates must, she burst into tears when cornered, was driven to distraction by guilt—the shame of what was happening to her, her failure too, her inadequacy, was in a rage at herself and at a world she could not understand, and a colonel whom she had trusted. Victoria was the first to whom she ran, of course, I only hearing of it later. I very much doubt the girl would have confessed such a thing about herself to anyone else.'

Victoria, then, and ‘confessed,' not confided, the ‘Fräulein Ekkehard and the girl' being used and not Renée as before. Once again the bookseller found she could no longer look up at her but asked, ‘And Alain, Sophie? What of him?'

Chairman Schrijen's daughter was now looking down at the bookseller but was it with deliberate contempt?

‘That little indiscretion of Colonel Rasche's would have shaken any secretary's resolve, Inspector. My brother didn't know of it, of course. He had met the Fräulein Ekkehard several times at official receptions and gatherings out at Father's country house and the one here in town. Alain is impulsive and knows what he wants just like Father, and usually he gets it.'

Or takes it? The bookseller's fingers were again knitted in her lap.

‘After the briefest of courtships, he proposed. One party is all it took. Early last December at which the girl became horribly drunk—she must have been, mustn't she, Victoria?'

There was no answer, not even a haltingly upward glance.

‘A girl, Inspector, who seldom took more than one glass of wine and usually could make it last all evening? She didn't even like schnapps, did she, Victoria?'

‘Sophie, please …'

‘Dizzy, Victoria? Sleepy? So sleepy, she woke up naked in that room Alain had rented for her at Natzweiler's ski lodge, her shoulders and arms badly scratched, you said, her forehead and left knee bruised, the right cheek and eye also? A fall on the ski slopes you told me. A fall!'

There were tears, the bookseller unable to stop them. ‘Sophie,
nobody
needed to know but us. Only us!'

‘Understandably the girl wanted out of such a marriage, Inspector, but would never have killed herself.'

The bookseller's hands were twisted, defeat registering in the look she gave. ‘Rape, Sophie. Why can't you call it that?'

Again there was that look, more fiercely given this time. ‘Because I choose not to. She would have reconciled herself to being married to my brother, Inspector, would have tried her best to live that lie, and had even agreed to return this coming weekend for another party. After all, being married to him would have avoided so much, wouldn't it, Victoria? The fear, the shame, the certainty that others would discover she was adrift. Alain would be away on duty—only Kramer is allowed to have his wife and family at Natzweiler-Struthof. Renée would be here in Kolmar. Life would go on as before but it would be safer, for Colonel Rasche would never again attempt to lay a hand on her, not a girl who was married to an SS.'

‘And what about the things she saw there, Sophie?' asked the bookseller in despair.

‘Of course she detested what she had been forced to witness, and of course, she stupidly told my brother that they would all pay for it someday, but …'

There was only sincerity in the look she gave this Sûreté.

‘Conditions are bad enough for the men at the Textilfabrik, Inspector, but at that granite quarry in such a winter? Any winter?'

‘Why not make a
Karneval
hoarding of it, Sophie?' blurted the bookseller, this time looking defiantly up at her.

Was everything now lost—wasn't that what the bookseller's expression said? wondered St-Cyr.

‘Renée Ekkehard must have let the truth about herself be known to that brother of mine, Inspector. Even though sleepy—drugged, was she, Victoria?—she fought back and others would have heard her terrified screams and then her sobbing after Alain had finished with her. That brother of mine would have become the laughingstock of the camp had he not done what he did. One of
those
as a bride, Victoria? Kramer would never have let a thing like that pass, not the Schutzhaftlagerführer Kramer!'

But had she said it to save herself? wondered St-Cyr. ‘What, then, makes you so certain she was murdered, Fräulein?'

‘I was being followed. The Fräulein Ekkehard and this one knew all about it. Everywhere I went, one or the other or both of those men would be there. At first I didn't know who they were and asked her to watch for them. She then …'

‘A moment, Fräulein. How is it that you …'

‘Didn't know them? Inspector, please don't forget that not only am I a very busy person with virtually no free time, but that Kolmar has seen its influx of new faces few of us, if any, know, not just myself.'

‘Two men …'

‘The Fräulein Ekkehard took it upon herself to find photographs of them, though I had not at any time asked her to do this.'

‘The colonel's two detectives?'

‘That is correct.'

Defeated, the bookseller found her voice. ‘Renée and I soon began to watch for them. Either one or both of us would attend the meeting and while Sophie was giving her address or presenting awards, we would look over the gathering or watch the street outside. Renée knew at once who they were, for she saw them nearly every day and they would often speak to her, particularly if they needed to see Colonel Rasche on a police matter.

‘There, Sophie. Now if you have the courage, tell him the terrible risk she took for you.'

‘Unfortunately the girl had stolen the photographs from the police files, Inspector. These were kept in an entirely different department from her own and several offices away. Had I known that she would do such a stupid thing, I would have forbidden it.'

The bookseller started to object but then fell silent.

‘Those two detectives, and I use the word loosely, Inspector, would most certainly have discovered what she had done and gone after her.'

‘Sophie, I wanted to warn you that it might not be safe for Renée,' said the bookseller reaching out to her only to have the gesture ignored. ‘When Renée told me she was going out to the
Karneval
, I tried to get Frau Oberkircher to mind the shop, only to remember that she was in France at her brother-in-law's funeral. I knew Renée might be in danger, Inspector, but also that she was terribly despondent and suicidal. I … I wanted to tell you, Sophie, but … but couldn't when you telephoned me from the Works to let me know Renée had gone out there instead of yourself. Alone, Sophie. You let her go out there alone!'

‘The lines are constantly being tapped, Inspector,' said Sophie. ‘What one says out of kindness or duty, another hears and seldom can a person put a face to that listener.'

A hard response. ‘Then why were you being followed?'

‘Do they need a reason, those people?'

‘Please just answer.'

A shrug was given. ‘I've no idea. I've tried to find out—have asked myself countless times did I unintentionally cross someone in an audience, not praise their efforts enough, insult some dignitary's wife by forgetting her contribution or making too little mention of it, but … but I still don't know.'

‘And your father, Fräulein, what has he to say of it?'

‘
Vati
? That I am to let them shadow me as much as they want, that they'll soon get tired of it.'