by Andrew Wood
Although it was already early evening and they were weary from what had turned into a ten hour journey on the train, they took a taxi directly to the SD headquarters in Rue Maignan rather than going to their hotel. At the main entrance they were obliged to show their identity papers; Marner noted the four soldiers who were alertly watching the street behind them. Once inside the courtyard they walked to the steps leading up to the main door and were yet again required to submit their identity papers. Any temptation to complain or argue was dissuaded by yet more stony faced and alert soldiers who kept their hands firmly on their guns. Security was tight.
At the reception desk the guard demanded to know who Lemele was. Lemele proffered her police identity and Marner explained that they were working on a joint investigation. This sufficed and they were instructed on how to find the office of Sturmbahnfuhrer Hauger who was investigating the murder that they were interested in.
Arriving at Hauger’s office they entered an outer chamber that was bedlam, several telephones ringing unanswered, the four junior officers who were there already being busy on other lines. They paused, assuming that someone would take notice of them and ask what their business was, but after standing patiently and being ignored for a full minute they continued on unchallenged across the office and through the door on the far side. They emerged into a large and elegantly decorated room, with the day’s residual sunlight streaming in through the huge windows that dominated one wall. Three senior officers were looking over a map on the large ornate desk near the window, discussing and pointing animatedly. One of them finally looked up and spotted them, demanding to know who they were. “Lieutenant Marner, Sergeant Emsinger and Police Inspector Lemele from Paris. We are working jointly on a case that involves Pierre Loutrel. We were informed that he is a suspect in the murder of a German officer here in Toulouse, so we have been ordered here by Sturmbahnfuhrer Odewald of the Paris SD to investigate.”
The officer took several moments to process this, and then finally recognition dawned. “Ah yes, I was informed that you would be arriving. Although I wasn’t informed that the national police were involved. And a female inspector, no less! My goodness, whatever next? Okay, well, come on in,” he said amiably and waved them towards a desk by the window. The junior officers were dismissed and they departed, taking side-long looks at Lemele as they went.
“You seem to have very high security here,” remarked Boris, as they all sat down around the desk. “Are you expecting more attacks or attempts on German personnel?”
Hauger was short and dapper, his uniform carefully tailored. He had a bright alert face, but again that look of momentary confusion clouded his features, as when they had entered, as if struggling to recall what the subject was. “Ah, yes, indeed. Beginning about three weeks ago we have been overwhelmed with acts of treason and sabotage, rail lines and trains being disrupted, roads blocked. We even have a local partisan army of Jews; Jews! – can you believe that? Absolutely incredible! We have maquisards and resistance groups of all, ah, denominations. It is quite confusing trying to keep track of all of these factions, and all of them engaged in acts of rebellion. Bloody French!”
Marner slid smoothly into the conversation to over-ride Lemele; he had heard her sharp intake of breath and managed to interject before she was able to let rip at Hauger. “Well, we have been on a train since seven o’clock this morning and the reason for our journey is Pierre Loutrel. What can you tell us about the shooting of your officer and the possible involvement of Loutrel?”
Hauger smiled malevolently and Marner wondered what was coming next. “Why don’t you come and hear it for yourself, Herr Marner?” suggested Hauger cryptically, rising and walking to the office door before they had a chance to ask what this was about. At the doorway he turned and stated, “But only you officers please. The lady inspector,” a condescending smile was aimed at Lemele, “will have to remain here.” Despite the smile, his tone left no room for debate. “One of my aides will serve some coffee whilst we are gone.”
They followed him along a corridor that led towards the rear of the building and then plunged down a steep spiral staircase that passed through the ground level of the building, a single window briefly illuminating the steps and then onwards down to the basement level. They emerged into a long, wide and well lit corridor that must once have served as an archive; the walls were lined with racks bulging with files and boxes. They followed the corridor and as they approached the large door at the end, sounds of blows and cries of pain beyond became audible.
Two armed guards were waiting at the end, initially hidden from view by the shelves of files; they snapped to full attention as Hauger arrived. A bang on the heavy steel door resulted in a sliding flap being snapped open; the face on the other side peered at them, checking their uniforms and then the portal slid shut and the door groaned open on protesting hinges.
Marner had been aware of a heavy, fetid smell and, as he stepped into the next corridor, the odour expanded into its full spectrum: sweat, urine and worse. The sounds also amplified and coalesced into individual blows and grunts, with an occasional agonised scream. The noises were originating from the cells that Marner could see extending away along the corridor. Hauger strode to the third door on the right, apparently familiar with, or at least unperturbed by the noise and smell. The man who had admitted them, of whom Marner had thus far seen only his face, was now revealed as he half-ran alongside Hauger to open the required cell door. He was not in uniform, was dressed in simple trousers and a blue shirt that was extremely sweat-stained under the armpits, blood stains across the front.
They followed Hauger into the tiny room and once again the smell cranked up another level in intensity. The cell floor and walls were of bare concrete, filthy, with wet patches on the floor that could have been water or urine, the illumination from the single bulb in the ceiling being too poor to distinguish colour. Scattered on the floor were some thick pieces of wood, blood-stained, presumably used as instruments of torture. In the centre was a heavy wooden chair with arms, to which was tied a man who was in a pitiful shape, dressed only in underpants and a vest that might once have been white but were now grey and variously stained. His face was a bloody mess and both eyes were swollen completely shut; his ankles and wrists were tied to the stout chair, the hands and feet had been mashed to raw pulp.
“This poor wretch,” said Hauger, circling and gesturing theatrically with his arm, “is Charles Ferrin, member of the local Resistance. Charles was already known to us – No! – Precision: betrayed to us by one of his own friends. We had decided to leave Charles in place for future use because we had been advised that he is only a minor nobody, a carrier of messages and other such trivial tasks. So you can imagine how surprised we were when he was spotted in the close vicinity of where our officer was killed. Therefore, we picked him up and after a little ‘persuasion’ – actually no, let’s give him credit: he turned out to be a tough guy and took a lot of persuasion, as you can see,” Hauger gestured at the man’s head. “He has been extremely cooperative. At least on the subject of Loutrel.”
Hauger suddenly dipped and shouted in the ear of Ferrin, who came awake with a start and a cry, swivelling his head back and forth, despite the fact that he could see nothing out of his closed eyes. “What, what?”
“I have some of my colleagues here with us Charles,” cooed Hauger, softening his voice to that of a friend or confident, whispering soothingly into Ferrin’s ear. “They have travelled all the way from Paris looking for your friend, the dear Monsieur Loutrel. So why don’t you repeat to them what you told us about Crazy Pete, hmmm?” purred Hauger, still revelling in his insane show.
Ferrin licked his swollen lips, revealing bare gums and what remained of his bloody and broken teeth. He breathed deeply and his head sagged onto his chest; Marner wondered for a moment whether he had lost consciousness, but then he raised his head and began speaking slowly and raggedly. He recounted how Loutrel had arrived in a neighbouring town an
d sought out the head of the Resistance cell there. He was well informed and knew exactly who he needed to speak to. Loutrel had insisted that he had seen the light, that he now wanted to join the Resistance and to help overthrow the Germans. The group had been understandably wary due to Loutrel’s prominent position in the Carlingue, in particular their infamous zeal for assisting the Germans in tracking down and murdering Resistance members, as well as Jews. After some debate, Loutrel had been told plainly and simply that he was not trusted. Loutrel had proposed that he would kill a German to demonstrate his commitment and Ferrin had been selected to be an observer, to confirm the act.
“So there you have it,” concluded Hauger. “A crazy act for a crazy reason by a crazy individual.”
Boris’s distaste for the terrible condition of Ferrin meant that he did not want to question him directly, so he asked Hauger instead, “Did he give us any information on the whereabouts of Loutrel now, what he is planning next?”
“No. We conclude that our friend Charles here genuinely does not know. He was just there as an observer. Given the events in the north and the rising level of such acts, we are now engaged in a general round up of all of the known enemies of the Reich. By this time tomorrow these cells will be full and, without doubt, somewhere amongst the cast of vermin and scum that we drag in here we will find someone who knows where Loutrel is. So stick around for a couple of days and I am sure that we will turn over whichever rock he is hiding under.”
Marner and Boris glanced at one another, then turned and nodded in unison to Hauger that they were done here. Back in Hauger’s office they found Lemele looking slightly refreshed from the coffee and biscuits and the comfortable chair. “Thanks for your help, Herr Hauger. We’ll be at our hotel in the town. We will check back in with you tomorrow for progress on Loutrel.”
“But Herr Marner, I am informed that you only have two hotel rooms reserved,” leered Hauger with an oily smile, his eyes sliding to Lemele. “Will that be sufficient for your...team?”
“No,” snapped Boris. “It is an error by our office that will be rectified.”
----
“What a creep,” hissed Lemele as they descended the stairs to leave.
“You don’t know the half of it,” muttered Boris.
“So what did you learn? Who did he take you to see?”
“He has a.... a witness to the shooting of the officer, who states that it was Loutrel who shot him, for the simple reason of trying to prove and ingratiate himself with the local Resistance.”
“Wow,” exclaimed Lemele as they exited into the street, the deep shadows cast by the sinking sun rendering the street cool. “So we know that he is here. What do we do now, how do we find him?”
“I think that Hauger has that task well in hand.”
Chapter Seventeen
As they walked the kilometre to their hotel carrying their overnight bags, the ever-cautious Marner stopped a couple of times, hanging back in the shadows to check for tails whilst the other two walked on ahead. He did not spot anyone, but their hotel reservation was known at Rue Maignan so anyone could pick them up there.
There were plenty of people out at this early evening hour, sitting outside cafés and standing talking in groups. As the three of them walked, some of the groups fell silent and stared at them as they passed; was it Marner’s imagination, or did he see defiance and challenge in their eyes as they looked at him?
Approaching the hotel they passed a large group of men and women standing on the corner talking animatedly and these also fell silent. As they walked past the word ‘Collaboratrice!’ was hissed from one of the group, undoubtedly aimed at Lemele. This caused Boris to turn and he made to approach the group in anger. Lemele stepped agilely around and in front of him, stopping him with a hand on his chest, shifting her head from side to side to keep eye contact with him as he tried to see past her. She spoke calmly to him, “It’s okay Boris, there’s no problem. Come on, let’s get to the hotel.”
Boris continued switching his head from left to right over Lemele’s shoulders to glare at the group, who were perturbed neither by his hostility nor by the StG44 that he was mashing in his huge fists. Finally the insistent pressure of Lemele’s hand on his chest won and he reluctantly turned and continued on with them.
The hotel was almost empty and so it proved no problem to obtain an extra room for Lemele. Marner assured her that he would pay for it, knowing that he had plenty left in his illicit wad of money. Boris muttered that at least Josef had made it a decent hotel, even if the word ‘luxury’ was not applicable.
After conferring, Marner and Boris agreed to eat in the hotel restaurant, citing fatigue; in reality, neither of them was inclined to venture outside into the hostile streets. Lemele pleaded a headache and stated that she was just going to take a bath and sleep, going up to her room immediately that she received her key with just a cursory ‘good night’ as she departed. Marner and Boris looked at each other quizzically, not sure whether to believe her. Possibly she too was feeling the same fatigue as her travelling companions; or maybe she wanted to avoid being seen in their presence and thus be the subject of hostility from her fellow countrymen, with whom she undoubtedly felt more affinity than them.
----
They met an hour later in the bar, feeling refreshed from a bath and a change of clothes. Marner was shocked to see the machine gun propped against the side of the armchair in which Boris had installed himself. Boris saw his look and stated that he did not want to leave such a weapon in his hotel room. “Too many thieves,” he explained. Marner shrugged, too tired to argue and flopped into the chair opposite, peering around the bar that was currently only occupied by a couple of army officers and a bored barman reading a newspaper that was spread on the counter top. From his expression, the newspaper held no interest for the barman; most likely it gave him an excuse to avoid looking up and meeting the eye of anyone who might require him to move and work.
Marner looked at Boris and his nearly empty glass and asked what was required to obtain a beer. By way of an answer, Boris reached over the side of his chair, grabbed the StG by the end of the barrel and used it to thump the butt down twice on the hardwood floor. This succeeded in getting the barman to look up dolefully and Boris shouted, “Two beers, and make them proper sized ones, not these tiny things for women. And a question: what is the food like here?”
The barman ambled over and spoke quietly, as if the answer were a secret. “Actually it is pretty good now that the chef has departed. He took off without warning two weeks ago, reason and destination unknown. So the owner’s wife took over the cooking and it’s much better now. She’s not especially fast, but it is worth the wait. Or you have the choice of plenty of restaurants in town.”
Boris waved dismissively, “This will do just fine. Do we need to reserve a table for dinner?”
The barman looked at him, not sure if this was perhaps a joke or a trick question. He looked away from Boris and ran his gaze slowly around the room and then back again, as if his neck was stiff and could only rotate at a limited speed. The action seemed to invite them to see what he saw; a nearly empty bar. “That will not be necessary. Most of the usual clientele are the officers billeted here, but for some reason they all seem to be out working late tonight,” he finished, no trace of a smile or irony in his face. Maybe he was only as up to date as his old newspaper on the bar.
Boris waved him away and they sat silently until the barman finally returned with two large glasses of beers. These were in fact what appeared to be water jugs, based on the pouring spout at the front lip. Judging by the huge grin that lit up Boris’s face, he entirely approved of their size.
They sat quietly working on their beers, Boris draining his jug at a rapid pace. Marner finally broke the silence, asking if Boris had managed to get through to Paris on the telephone and, if so, what he had learned.
“I could not get through to any of my contacts at the Majestic, the telephone system seems to be overloade
d, but I spoke for a couple of minutes to Rudi at OKW,” this being the Oberkommando der Wehrmacht, the armed forces high command situated in the Champs-Élysées. “He says that the situation is ‘alarming’, to use his exact word. Bayeux fell today to the British.” Boris could see that this meant nothing to Marner. “Large town, with the main military garrison and command for the Normandy area, about ten kilometres inland from the coast,” he elaborated.
“It doesn’t seem that they’re making that much progress then, even assuming that one of the past two days of the offensive was just getting themselves ashore,” suggested Marner.
“Au contraire, my friend. The entire allied front has pushed that far inland, more or less, allowing for the confusion. More importantly, that front is one hundred kilometres wide, stretching from east of Caen, all of the way across to south of Cherbourg. They have secured and are unloading on the beaches all along the length of that front and also dropping elite paratroopers behind our lines. I’ve seen the scale of forces, the firepower, the support required for that size of battle. Not just to hold it, but to actually push forward even at what seems a leisurely rate of ten kilometres per day. This is no half-arsed exploratory effort such as the ones they made at Dieppe or Dunkirk. This is the real thing and they intend to stay.”
Marner considered this. Despite having seen on many occasions the newsreels of action from battles, he still could not visualise what Boris was trying to describe. “But surely, on a relative scale, their gains are negligible. They have a narrow strip of coast a hundred kilometres long, whilst we have all of the rest of France and more. Once we bring the mass of our forces to bear on that tiny piece that they possess, they must crumble and fall back into the sea. Surely?”
