End Games in Bordeaux

by Allan Massie

  ‘Fabien has been shot,’ Lannes said. ‘Dead.’

  ‘Fabien? I’m sorry, Jean, I don’t know who you’re talking about.’

  ‘The spook, the senior spook I first met here, in your office, two years ago when that other spook who went by the name of Félix was killed.’

  The Alsatian frowned. He drew on his cigar and turned the signet ring he wore on the little finger of his left hand.

  ‘I remember,’ he said. ‘Lean fellow, served in Indo-China, didn’t he? Friends at Court, as I recall. And you say he’s been shot? I don’t like that. Bound to be political, wheels within wheels. The Resistance, I suppose. Not for us, Jean. As I said, we steer well away from anything political.’

  ‘You think so?’

  ‘Indeed. Yes, certainly. We don’t want to get involved in this sort of thing. That’s why I asked you to come in, to tell you that for the coming months we must walk warily, like that king we spoke of in the Bible, Agag, wasn’t it? There, I’ve remembered his name this time. So it’s the Resistance, and there will be other Resistance killings, and they are no concern of ours. You understand? Things will settle in a few months, but meanwhile, we do nothing to attract attention till we see how things pan out.’

  ‘I understand, sir, but I think I should say that the judge – Bracal – may have different ideas. I have the impression that Fabien was by way of being a friend of his.’

  ‘No,’ the Alsatian said, ‘he’s a careful man. He’ll see the wisdom of turning a blind eye to Resistance activities. The trouble with you, Jean, is that you’re a Romantic at heart. I’m a Realist.’

  ***

  Lannes had long thought the Alsatian was a coward. That didn’t mean he wasn’t capable of good sense, following a prudent course. Cowards being alert to danger sometimes see things clearly, and if the Resistance had indeed been responsible for Fabien’s murder, turning a blind eye would indeed have been sensible, and he would have obeyed reluctantly. But Pomathios’ evidence couldn’t – and shouldn’t – be set aside.

  Bracal sighed.

  ‘So do I do as the commissaire has ordered, and let it go?’

  ‘You didn’t mention your little salesman to him?’

  Lannes made no reply, kept his gaze fixed on the judge, and waited.

  ‘You’re obsessed with Labiche, Jean.’

  ‘So was Fabien. And he does keep cropping up.’

  ‘So what do you want?’

  ‘Your authority to bring him in for questioning, and hold him pending further enquiries. That’s all.’

  ‘And the other man?’

  ‘If he is who I think he is, he’s a gun for hire, a hardened killer. There are two other deaths I would pin on him.’

  ‘Very well, Jean. If you had come with this request even a week or ten days ago, I’d have told you to hold your fire. But, as it is, Labiche is finished, one way or another. And you said some time ago, as I recall, that you had reason to believe he had made plans to escape to Spain. I confess my first inclination would be to let him go, good riddance to bad rubbish, as they say. But I had some respect for Fabien. As you surmise we go back quite a long way. So you have my authority. Here, take this, it’ll serve as a warrant. But be careful.’

  ***

  At five o’clock, punctual as he had promised, Monsieur Pomathios presented himself at the desk. He was shown up to Lannes’ office where a selection of photographs was spread before him on the desk. He examined them carefully, taking his time, then put his finger on one of Sigi, and said, ‘That’s the man in the trench coat, no doubt about it at all.’

  ‘You’re absolutely certain.’

  ‘I’d swear to it on my mother’s name. Like I told you, I’m a noticing man.’

  ‘Thank you. You understand that if it comes to a trial you’ll be summoned as a witness.’

  ‘I’m prepared for that. You can trust me.’

  When he had gone, Lannes went through to the inspectors’ room.

  ‘We’ve got permission to pick up Labiche. Moncerre, my old bull-terrier, I think that’s a job for you. Better you do it than me. Take two men with you and bring him in. Don’t rough him up, please. I don’t want him to have any cause for complaint. He’s being summoned only for questioning, not charged with anything. Not yet. Put him in a cell to cool his heels. René, you’ll come with me to pick up Sigi. I don’t think he’ll try anything, but bring your revolver and be on your guard in case he does. But I think he’ll come quietly – he’s the most conceited man I know.’

  XIX

  ‘Paris liberated, liberated by its own people.’ The General’s words resoundingly pronounced as he stood on the balcony of the Hôtel de Ville, arms held aloft as if to embrace the crowd surging below him, echoed in Léon’s mind as he woke in the room over the Place Contrescarpe. He had at last done his bit, presenting himself with Anne at a post manned by irregulars only tenuously attached to the FFI – like so many others. He had been given a rifle. He had fired at a German soldier and might have hit him, and he had heard a bullet strike the wall above his head. It had been a sort of battle and it expunged the shame of the months spent with Chardy.

  Anne stirred, turned towards him, pressed her lips against his, searched for his tongue, then rolled back and pulled him over on top of her.

  Later she said, ‘I’m so happy, so happy we found each other again. At the right moment. Here, in Paris, liberated, isn’t it wonderful? We’re free. I do love you, Léon. Whatever happens we’ll never forget these days.’

  ‘I love you too.’

  I really mean it, he thought, it’s a miracle, and then, but for Priscilla, the Englishwoman, would I ever have?

  ‘Kiss me again.’

  Later she said, ‘In a little we’ll go out and join the crowd. Listen, they’re singing the Marseillaise in the square. Aren’t we lucky to be so happy?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘we’re among the lucky ones.’

  He wondered where Alain was. Hadn’t they promised to meet under the Arc de Triomphe?

  ***

  ‘Of course your story’s a horrible one,’ François said. ‘But I warned you, Dominique, the first days and weeks of Liberation weren’t going to be a picnic. Too much has happened. Too many acts of betrayal have been committed. Too much blood has been spilled. For many it’s a time for revenge. And that’s understandable. Vichy was always a mess. I knew that from the start, even though I served the regime diligently while it retained authority. Vichy was necessary. I’ll never deny that – except in public. But now there’s work to be done. De Gaulle has promised me a post even if he doesn’t trust me. I don’t deceive myself about that. “Oh, it’s you again” – that’s what he said when I presented myself at the War Ministry. You know that’s where he went first, just to show he was in charge, and that it was Free France, Fighting France as he calls it, not the Resistance, that was, as he would put it, the true France. But he can’t write off the Resistance, he can’t sideline us altogether, and he knows that. Which is why there is a job for me – and for you, Dominique, on my staff. What do you say?’

  Dominique hesitated. He thought of that ruined boy compelled to watch his father being tortured and murdered. By Communists, but Communists who would call themselves patriots. But here he was …

  ‘Of course,’ he said, ‘I’m honoured. But if the telephones are still connected to Bordeaux, I must call my mother.’

  ***

  ‘It’s only a flesh wound. You’ll be right as rain in a couple of weeks.’

  ‘That’s good,’ Alain said. ‘There’s more fighting to be done.’

  ‘Well, don’t get yourself killed,’ the doctor said. ‘My own father was shot advancing on the ninth of November, 1918, two days before the Armistice. I don’t believe my mother ever forgave him. Why couldn’t he have stayed safe in a trench like a sensible man, she used to say.’

  ‘The war’s not won yet,’ Alain said, ‘and in any case if France is to be recognised as one of the victorious nations we have to tak
e part in the invasion of Germany. I’ve already managed to get myself transferred to a Hussar regiment. So I’m glad to hear you say I’ll be fine in a couple of weeks.’

  ***

  ‘Paris liberated!’ Corporal Jean de Flambard put his arm round Michel’s shoulder and hugged him. ‘What do you say to that, kid? We’ve certainly backed the wrong horse.’

  ‘Liberated? Or in the hands of the Bolsheviks? Or the American money power? Either way, with the Ivans advancing, it’s only Germany that is defending European civilisation.’

  ‘If you say so, kid. Meanwhile I’m thinking of those bodies we saw swinging from the trees.’

  ‘Traitors, deserters … ’

  ‘Well, that’s something we can’t do – desert, I mean. We wouldn’t get five miles. I’ve made a mess of my life, I’ve known that for years. But you had yours before you.’

  ‘I still have.’

  He ran his hand over his bristly chin and wondered if Clothilde would recognise him.

  ‘I’d be fine if it wasn’t for these fucking lice,’ he said.

  A shell howled overhead.

  ‘Missed us again,’ the Corporal said. ‘I tell you, my luck’s right out.’

  ‘That’s pathetic,’ Michel said. ‘But I know you don’t mean it.’

  ***

  ‘So you are off to Paris,’ Sir Edwin said. ‘I’ll miss you, dear boy.’

  ‘Duty calls,’ Jérôme said. ‘Not that I know exactly why they’re sending me there, or what I’m supposed to do.’

  ‘You’re excited?’

  ‘Of course. But I’ll miss London.’

  ‘London will miss you. I’ll miss you.’

  ‘You’ll find another boy.’

  ‘Undoubtedly. Though actually I’m thinking of getting married.’

  ‘You?’

  ‘Why not? It’s a time of change, and anyway the war has taught us all the importance of camouflage. I’m not exactly popular with my party, you know. Now lift your glass, dear boy, and let’s drink to happy days in Paris. I hope to have some there myself again before long. But now, alas, I must get back to the House to listen to Winston, boasting as usual I suppose … ’

  Left alone in the downstairs American Bar of the Ritz, Jérôme looked at his watch. Half an hour before he was due to meet Freddie. Goodbye or au revoir? Freddie too was speaking of marriage.

  ‘The old woman’s changed her tune,’ he had said. ‘She wants a grandchild, silly old thing. Help you to settle down, she said. Not till I’m out of the Navy, I said. And anyway, Froggie, you promised me Gay Paree, I’ll hold you to that.’

  He probably would. Fine. But Sir Pringle was right. It was a time of change.

  He picked up the bottle. Still a glass left. One thing to be said for Sir Pringle, he always ordered the best champagne. Krug ’28 …

  XX

  The Germans were still in Bordeaux, even if pulled back into barracks they were no longer seen in the streets. Yet you couldn’t but be aware of their presence, and the thought that Paris was liberated while Bordeaux was still formally an occupied city was disturbing. You could be certain of nothing. Even the Resistance groups were on edge. And it was still August, holiday time, though as in every year since 1939 almost nobody had left the city, except, Lannes thought, for the rich who had withdrawn to their properties in the country. So schoolchildren roamed the streets, on the loose, nervous and excited, as the sun continued to beat down.

  Moncerre had brought Labiche in, slipping cuffs on him when he protested, but when Lannes and René presented themselves at the house in the rue d’Aviau, old Marthe scowled and told them they were too late.

  ‘Monsieur Edmond found petrol for the car, and the pair of them left in a hurry.’

  ‘In which direction?’

  ‘How should I know? They don’t tell me the likes of that. If you’d done as I told you and arrested him for the murder of his father … the only people here besides me are the poor sot in his father’s chair, and Madame in her bed saying she’s dying, which she isn’t, the stupid cow. I told you before, this house is a place of wickedness, but you didn’t listen to me.’

  ‘And young Maurice?’

  ‘Lord knows. He left, after words with his father. Now be off with you.’

  ‘They’ll be heading for Spain,’ René said, when the door was closed behind them.

  ‘Probably. At all events, we’ll alert the Border guards, though whose orders they’ll follow is anyone’s guess. Meanwhile, will you pick up that clerk of Labiche’s and bring him in. He may be of some use.’

  It was unlikely. The young man almost certainly knew nothing. But his arrest might puzzle Labiche.

  ***

  He had passed a bad night. Marguerite was on edge. If Paris had been liberated, surely they should have heard from the boys. Weren’t the telephones working? It wasn’t like Dominique – he would know how anxious she was. And Alain might be dead for all they knew. Sometimes she was certain he was. It was hard to hold on to hope when they heard nothing. Surely there was something Lannes could do as a policeman to find out? There were days when she thought he didn’t care, that he was concerned only with his beastly work and neglected his family. Then she dissolved into tears, cried that she had spoken harshly to him only because she was miserable and afraid. He tried to comfort her, without success. They both slept badly. Now arriving in the office in the morning, he passed his hand over his brow. He was sweating freely and there was a stabbing pain in his head. He felt terrible.

  Moncerre was in the inspectors’ room with his feet up on the desk.

  ‘I enjoyed that,’ he said. ‘You should have seen his face when I put the cuffs on him. One of these “this can’t be happening to me, I’m a distinguished member of the Bordeaux bar” moments. “Oh yes, it can and it is, matey,” I said. It was as good as a play. Mind you, if you hadn’t told me not to rough him up, I’d have been happy to have some fun with him. I can’t stand these types as you know. Anyway, he’s cooling his heels in the cells, just as you instructed. Did you get your chap?’

  ‘No, it seems as if he’s left town.’

  ‘Pity.’

  ‘Yes.’

  The smile on the bull-terrier’s face suggested he was more amused than displeased by Lannes’ failure.

  ‘Have him brought up to me in ten minutes,’ he said. ‘We’ll have a go at him together.’

  In his own room he took two aspirin, and followed them with a nip of Armagnac. He sat behind his desk, staring at the ceiling and listening to children’s voices from the street below.

  Labiche was unshaven after a night in the cells, but they had given him back his braces to prevent his trousers from falling down as he climbed the stairs to Lannes’ office. He stood there thickset and glowering between the two policemen who were guarding him.

  ‘You can take the cuffs off,’ Lannes said, ‘and return to your other duties. I’ll send a messenger to fetch you when you’re needed again. Sit down, Monsieur Labiche, and make yourself comfortable. We’ve a lot to talk about.’

  ‘I’ve nothing to say, except to the judge who signed the warrant your man here produced.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. It’s unworthy of you, as an intelligent man. Sit down. Besides, when Marie-Adelaide called on me – at your request, as I understood – she said you wanted to talk with me. So here we are, let’s talk. Sit down.’

  ‘Very well, but I do so under protest. I should like that recorded.’

  ‘I’ll remember that,’ Lannes said, ‘but we’re not at the stage of recording anything, are we, Moncerre? I hope they gave you some breakfast, even if the coffee’s terrible. You’ve had a busy war, Monsieur Labiche, but that doesn’t concern me. It’ll be for another sort of court some day to investigate your role in the deportation of Bordeaux’s Jews. That’s none of my business. And I’m not concerned with your attempt to destroy me – these anonymous letters, you know. Nor with your role in the assault on the boy Karim, to persuade him to sign a paper implicatin
g me. That’s all in the past, and, as far as criminality goes, it doesn’t amount to much. It’s small beer, as they say. It’s true your clerk – Jacques Bernard, isn’t it – is being questioned now, but I doubt if we’ll get much of interest from him. And then the last time you were brought here … ’

  ‘When I came of my own free will, on account of my respect for the police and the authority they derive from the State.’

  ‘Quite so. I remember you saying that then. And I remember too that when I showed you that photograph of you sitting beside that naked young girl, you tore it up, and told me it signified nothing.’

  ‘Which it didn’t.’

  ‘Which of course it doesn’t unless I find the girl, and I admit I have failed to do so, though I’m still looking. And the other girl who hanged herself, well, there’s no evidence that you were responsible for the degradation that drove her to that. Likewise, your niece, Mademoiselle Jauzion, is certainly not going to testify against you, not only on account of her career in the theatre, but because she is too proud to speak publicly of how you abused her as a child. So, although I personally find your behaviour repulsive as well as criminal, I have to say that as far as your abuse of young girls is concerned, there’s no evidence that would allow me to charge you.’

  He paused to light a cigarette.

  ‘Nothing to say, Monsieur Labiche?’

  The advocate made no reply, kept his gaze watchful as the squatting toad Madame Smitt had compared him to.

  ‘Of course there’s that wretched priest,’ Lannes said. ‘He’s afraid of you, so he may tell us something when he knows you’re under arrest, but that’s not my concern. In any case it’s the Vice Squad who will examine him, and I’m ready to admit that till things have settled down nobody will be much interested in the sort of crimes the Vice Squad deal with. So you’ve no immediate worry in that respect.’

  Labiche sighed, heavily, like an actor displaying boredom. ‘This is all foolishness, superintendent. You’re wasting your time and mine. Foolishness and hypocrisy, when I think of your whore in the Pension Bernadotte, that Jew-boy in the bookshop and that slimy Arab pervert. Your own sheet isn’t so clean. Don’t forget that the Arab signed that paper, and I have two witnesses who would say he did so willingly. As for Father Paul, he holds you responsible for the murder of his brother. Don’t forget that.’