St-Cyr finished the coffee so as not to waste it. ‘Of course, he didn’t return until after the war but even then his stays with the Rom extended into months. He had learned the language. He fitted right in, Hermann. They will have imparted to him everything he needs to know in order to survive in times like this, and to take advantage of them.’
Oh-oh.
Though persecuted terribly and classed with others by the Nazis as Rassenverfolgte (racially undesirable), the life style tended to make the gypsies much harder to locate and arrest. They were scattered widely into small groups and nearly always had been on the move from country to country. Evading capture better than most, they had, centuries before this lousy war, learned how to disperse at a moment’s notice. Even so, countless tens of thousands had already been deported, a tragedy.
But the war had increasingly brought changes to them. No longer did their women thieve a few chickens and geese for the pot from hard-labouring peasants, thus engendering further hatred and reprisals from the local gendarmes. No longer were potatoes or laundry lifted to be carried hidden in voluminous skirts or fortunes told and coins begged.
Instead, the men hid their women and children, travelled much less and, in a cruel winter like this, would have sought refuge in far corners.
‘Some have even turned to working with the Resistance, Hermann, with Gaje* and unheard of before. In the south, they almost totally control the supply of forged ration cards. IDs are a sideline and they’re good, among the best.’
‘Then he’ll head south and join up with a kumpania.’
An alliance of caravans, a ‘family’ which could be broken down and scattered at a moment’s notice. ‘Perhaps.’
Louis tossed off the last of his coffee, filled his cup with good German brandy to deny the Occupier that portion – one had to do little things like that – and, relighting the cigarette for the same reason, no doubt, drifted off to single out the victim and engage him in a quiet word the Generalmajor wanted no part of.
Kohler looked about the room, wondering what it all must mean for them, wondering, too, just where the Gypsy would hole up and if this would be his only target. The industrial diamonds were nothing to a man who travelled light but he had taken them anyway which hinted at a Resistance motive. Sabotage the enemy where it would hurt the most, get him right in the balls.
The gem diamonds were, of course, another matter, so, too, the gold coins and the stamps – the Resistance were always short of funds – but had the Gypsy suddenly got religion or something? And had the woman really been a part of it?
She threw him a brief glance that left only the impression of wariness. He knew he’d have to get her alone and he hoped Herr Max wouldn’t insist on arresting her. Such things were always a bind once started. If a reinforced interrogation was required, she’d be beaten to a pulp. Louis and himself would try to stop it from happening. They weren’t torturers, weren’t sadists, but because of this and their never failing to point the finger where deserved, they were not welcome in certain circles, and were under a constant cloud of suspicion even from Berlin.
Those other types would make her talk. Few could resist them and hadn’t Herr Max said a mouton had informed on the Gypsy and that a conductor had passed the word along?
‘Generalmajor, where were you last Monday evening?’
The eleventh, the dinner party in Saint-Cloud. ‘Not with Nana, if that’s what you’re thinking.’
When no comment was made by St-Cyr, Wehrle fussed and finally passed a worried hand over a deeply furrowed brow. ‘Look, I was here in Paris. I can’t be seen with her, can I, even at a function like that? How could I be? Word would soon get around and the clients would only become suspicious of the SS or the Gestapo, or those of the rue Lauriston interfering. The people I have to deal with are nervous enough as it is.’
The rue Lauriston, the French Gestapo … ‘How long has your association with her been going on?’
‘Two years. She …’ Wehrle threw Mademoiselle Thélème a look of anguish the woman could not fail to notice. This caused her to pause in her response to Max Engelmann and the Berliner turned swiftly to glare suspiciously at them.
‘She …?’ asked St-Cyr, dragging the victim back to things.
‘She’d had word at last from a source she had been trying to secure for some time. Nana’s not just a singer. She and her mother run a very successful school of popular dance. You’d be surprised how many lonely men want to learn to dance or to just be with someone for an hour or two. These days more than ever.’
And so much for her working six nights a week at two clubs and spending all the rest of her time with her son.
‘Nana’s patient and yes, because of the villa in Saint-Cloud and her life in Paris before the war, she knows a great many people. Even prospectors want to learn to dance and listen to gypsy music when on infrequent visits.’
‘Prospectors?’
‘A former prospector of the Congo, South Africa and the Niger. Illegal stones then, in the thirties, illegal now. Nearly a full kilo of crushing boart – superb in itself. Samples from a prospect he still remains excited about. But …’ Wehrle took a moment to nervously run a finger through the dust on the coffee table. ‘But 1800 carats of mixed stones, mostly industrials suitable for cutting tools but among them, 657 carats of Jagers, Top Capes and Capes. The first of these are good, clear white stones with a bluish tinge due to fluorescence; the latter two are also flawless, but with faint yellowish tints. It was an exceptional haul and well worth the trip.’
The truth at last. ‘And when was this trip made?’ hazarded the Sûreté.
‘Nana can’t have been involved. Damn you, how many times must I say it?’
‘The trip, please?’
‘Last Tuesday. To Tours.’
‘Pardon?’
‘To Tours, damn it!’
‘Name and address?’
Wehrle sighed. ‘Émile Jacqmain, a Belgian, a Walloon who has lived in France since 1930 when not abroad in Africa.’
The brandy and the cigarette were savoured, the Sûreté waiting expectantly like a bullfrog for its dragonfly.
‘The house is on place Plumereau. The flat is right above a butcher shop. Jacqmain can’t have had anything to do with this. It’s ridiculous you should think he could. I checked him out thoroughly. I don’t as a rule walk into any of these arrangements carrying a million or so francs and not examine the credentials well beforehand and, I might add, discreetly.’
‘Good.’
‘Good? Is that all you have to say?’
Cigarette ash was tipped into an empty coffee cup. ‘Did Mademoiselle Thélème travel to Tours on Tuesday so as to pave the way for you?’
‘She’d have needed a laissez-passer. I’d have had to sign for her.’
‘And did you?’
‘Yes but … but we couldn’t celebrate until this evening.’
‘But I thought you said you couldn’t be seen together?’
‘We can’t, but he insisted nothing would go through unless she spoke to him first on that Tuesday. My hands were tied.’
‘Did you travel together?’
Wehrle was frantic. ‘How could we have? We didn’t even see each other except briefly at the station. She went into his flat at about 2 p.m., I didn’t meet with him until seven that evening. As it was, I had to stay over.’
‘And keep everything in your hotel room, not in the safe?’
‘Yes! Now are you satisfied?’
‘Generalmajor, forgive a poor detective. One questions everything but is never satisfied. Always there are so many things to remember.’
‘Such as?’
‘That this deal was not only a big one, n’est-ce pas? but also apparently quite different.’
St-Cyr took a moment. Longing for another cigarette, he borrowed two. ‘That safe was full but how full, please, in terms of your usual collections?’
Ah Gott im Himmel, the bastard! ‘Very. It … it was a superb shi
pment. One of the best, if not the best so far.’
The truth again. ‘And eagerly anticipated in Berlin?’
‘That is correct.’
‘And you had paid Jacqmain how much, please?’
Would this infernal idiot from the Sûreté look for dirt under everything? ‘850,000 francs. About a tenth of their value. Usually I offer a little more but one always starts low.’
‘Yet Jacqmain accepted this?’
It was not a question. A faint smile would therefore be best. ‘Could he really have argued, since his name was known to me? He was afraid for his life, Inspector. The diamonds had become a liability.’
Soon after the Defeat of 1940, all items of personal property in excess of a value of 100,000 francs had had to be declared and lists submitted to the authorities. Failure to report such valuables carried an automatic penalty of confiscation and, if serious enough, a lengthy jail sentence or forced labour in the Reich.
No doubt Nana Thélème had reminded Jacqmain of this but, still, for him to have been afraid for his life could well imply something more serious.
‘Louis …?’
Hermann was looking like death. ‘Well, what is it?’
‘The son of a bitch knocked off Cartier’s in the rue de la Paix.’
* dried fish and rye bread.
* all those other than gypsies.
2
Shadows fell on bejewelled finches in locked little cages of gilded wire. When torchlight found them, their encrusted emeralds, topazes and other precious and semiprecious stones suddenly lit up as if, now awakened, the birds would begin to sing. It was curious.
The cages were a window-dressing, their padlocks of gold perhaps a statement to the Occupier that some things would not be sold. And to be fair, the shop would have been lost had it not been kept open. Yet business had been extremely good, the temple of haute joaillerie booming, as were all the exclusive shops of the rue de la Paix.
‘The Reichsmarschall Goering purchased an 8,000,000 franc necklace here,’ said St-Cyr, letting the black-out curtain fall back in place. ‘Diamonds and thumb-sized sapphires perhaps, and for his wife, his Emmy.’
The conquering hero. Head of the Luftwaffe. ‘Louis …’
‘Hermann, I am merely trying to get a fix on things. Unlike our Generalmajor’s suite, this place has locks upon locks and the best of burglar alarms.’
An iron grille guarded the door during off-hours; steel shutters the display windows. ‘Every two hours, and at random, a patrol goes along the street and, as is his custom, the Feldwebel in charge checks every door to see that it is locked just in case the flics should miss such a thing.’
‘Impregnable,’ offered Kohler lamely.
Black, velvet-lined boxes littered the floor. At the far end of the shop, every one of the floor-to-counter individual safes had been opened and their trays pulled out for perusal. The little dressing-tables at which only the wealthy would sit looked decidedly lonely.
‘The bastard’s moving too fast for us,’ said Kohler grimly. ‘What’s next, eh?’
‘He must have got in somehow.’
Cartier’s were famous for their art deco approach and the mingling of precious and semiprecious stones. The style was simple, the lines straight, the pieces often one of a kind, exquisitely worked and fabulously priced.
‘He can certainly pick his places,’ offered the Sûreté, hands jammed into the deep pockets of the decidedly shabby overcoat the Occupation and frugality had allowed, the brown fedora much damaged. ‘Please tell the boys in blue to wait outside in the cold.’
Herr Max was grumpy – the lack of sleep perhaps, or still smarting from the Ritz, thought Kohler. ‘So, what is missing, ja?’ asked the visitor from Berlin, distastefully taking it all in.
There were travel cases, combs to fix the hair in place, beaded handbags and watches, and all had that decidedly bright, sharp, angular look. Frivolity in wartime, was that what was bothering Herr Max?
‘The sous-directeur and his assistants are trying to tally things,’ said Kohler.
‘Und who reported the break-in?’
‘A flic found the front door open at 0127 hours.’
‘Did he help himself before notifying others?’
‘I’ll check.’
‘You do that. He’s blown a hole in things, hasn’t he, our Gypsy? Here we were believing the woman had let him into the Generalmajor’s suite and had told him where the combination of that safe was kept, and now this. What are we to think?’
Brushing the dribbled sparklers from a chair, Engelmann sat down to moodily soak up what had happened and to relight the stub of the cheroot that had steadfastly clung to his lips ever since leaving the Ritz at a run. Hell, the shop was just down the street anyway.
‘Sonderbehandlung, Kohler. That is what my superiors have insisted, and since they are also your superiors, you and that French fart will take note of it.’
Special treatment … Verdammt! ‘I knew there had to be something to bring the IKPK out of hibernation. What’s he done then, our Gypsy? Decided on an agenda of his own?’
‘This we do not know. We only know that he was sighted in Tours on the fourteenth, boarding the train to Paris. He “surfaced”, Kohler, and my superiors want to know why he did so, how he got there, and what he has in mind.’
‘And you can’t tell us who reported seeing him?’
Must Kohler always be such a nuisance? ‘The same as notified us of the Ritz but failed entirely to warn us of this.’
The mouton then, the informer. A woman the Gypsy obviously must know.
The office was spacious, the desk immaculate. The cigarette case was of platinum, with an oblong, octagonally shaped plaque of Baltic amber raised at its centre and from which incised rays sparkled as if the amber was some sort of strange sun and the entrapped fly its prisoner.
‘“Tshaya”,’ said St-Cyr softly of the inscription. ‘“Vadni ratsa”. The first is a woman’s name; the second means the gift is from the wild goose of Romani legend.’
Agitated, the clerk blurted, ‘The client came in on Saturday, Inspector. He insisted it be ready for today – ah! for Monday, yes? It is now Tuesday. It’s not easy to acquire amber like that. We worked all day Sunday and half of Monday. Enslaved, that’s what we are. Enslaved.’
‘Yes, yes, of course. A Hauptmann – you’re certain of this?’
‘Herr Oberlammers. He … he has signed for it, yes? Everyone has to these days. It’s the rule.’
‘And he was to pick it up yesterday afternoon?’
‘That is correct.’
‘At what time, please, did he come into the shop on Saturday?’
The salesman’s expression grew pained. ‘At just before closing.’
‘And were there any other customers?’
‘Seven. We’re short-handed. I …’
A breath was taken and held in anticipation of further questions not long in coming.
‘Do you mean to say you left him alone while you served others? You took your eyes from him?’ demanded the Sûreté accusingly.
‘Inspector, how was I to know he was looking the place over? He was in uniform. He asked if he might use the telephone so as to get the inscription correct.’
Kohler gave his partner a nudge. ‘The burglar alarm, Louis. The bastard recircuited the wires so that the alarm remained off but the light came on when the switch was thrown.’
The control box was in the office, on a wall. ‘Entry?’ asked St-Cyr of his partner.
‘A rear door. A tradesman’s entrance – grilled, but no problem. Forced with an iron bar, muffled with a horse blanket.’
‘And the safes out front?’
‘All drilled and punched. Bang on each time, Louis. First the hole to locate and expose the cam of the locking bolt, then the hammer and chisel.’
‘He came equipped but did he come alone?’
‘Apparently, but he couldn’t have carried the tools in that attaché case he walked into the
Ritz with.’
‘Then did he knock this place off first, Hermann, before leaving his little surprise at the Ritz, or vice versa?’
‘He would have had to come back here to open the front door for the flics to find.’
There was a nod. ‘Then he did the Ritz job first, and while we were brushing the dust off ourselves, he took his time with this, having prepared the way well beforehand.’
Clément Laviolette was sous-directeur, a far different person from his sales clerk. Clearly he didn’t want the Kripo and the Sûreté asking too many questions. ‘Inspectors, it’s nothing – nothing, I assure you. Those little safes we have out front are merely for show. Our vault in the cellars is inviolable. Please … a few trinkets are missing. Mere baubles.’
He was positively beaming, and when he sat down in an Empire fauteuil to benevolently fold his hands in his lap, he said, ‘Two millions at most when he could have had thirty. The rectangular, chain-linked diamond necklace with matching bracelets. Two rings with step-cut, rectangular, blanc exceptionnel stones of 31.98 and 19.53 carats respectively. A wider diamond bracelet than the others – stronger, yes. More distinctive, more of a statement. The latent pugiliste in the female perhaps? A pair of ear-rings – single droplets those – he could have had the proper ones to go with the chain-links but passed them up. A ruby pendant, a diamond brooch, an epidote-and-diamond necklace which was exquisite for the delicacy of its platinum lacework and for the warm and enticing combination of its soft green and pale yellow tints.’
He sucked in a breath, never letting his eyes leave them. ‘But it is as if this perceur de coffre-fort was searching for something he had had in mind for a long time yet couldn’t quite make up his mind when presented with the confiserie of our establishment.’
The bonbon shop, ah yes. ‘Seven years between sheet metal in Oslo, Louis, the sentence commuted by our friends in Berlin for all we know, but time enough to dream. Then one empty safe and a fortune left behind.’
Sandman Page 31
