by Pirate Irwin
He slipped off his suit jacket and flung it onto a chair, and contemplated easing his anxiety by opening one of his fine bottles of red wine. He had a well–stocked cellar, courtesy of a wedding present from his parents and also having built it up himself in happier times.
Having opted to open one, he settled down into his comfortable reading chair. The arms were showing wear and tear with the brown leather torn, but no springs had sprung yet so he didn’t have to shift around continually to get a more comfortable position.
He sipped from the glass, swirled the liquid round his mouth and swallowed it appreciatively. He lit a cigarette and with his head back exhaled, making smoke rings like a little child would do when blowing leaves off a dandelion.
He sighed and wondered whether he was drinking too much.
However, he pushed that thought aside and shrugged, thinking ‘so what?’. That’s what most people who could afford it are doing every night, just to get through these times, whether they are collaborating or just going along with their ordinary lives and trying to ignore the beastly, inhuman acts going on around them every day.
Acts, he smiled bitterly, that he was powerless to do anything about because their Teutonic conquerors were perpetrating them brazenly and according to the laws they had imposed on first their citizens and now people all over the continent.
His thoughts returned to Bousquet. For it was people like him who were willingly acquiescing in the Germans determination to eradicate any opposition, and stamp down on those they considered beneath them.
Well, Bousquet would perhaps have to answer for that later but it bemused Lafarge that intelligent and able people such as the head of the Police should fall under the spell of the Nazis. Bousquet, for example, was no coward, for aged just 21 he had along with a friend, who died in the process, using just a canoe, saved countless lives when floods devastated the area he lived in near Montauban, in the south west of France.
He had deservedly been awarded the Légion d’Honneur for that selfless act. But now here he was on the flip side of the coin, enthusiastically aiding and abetting the Germans in their remorseless pursuit of the Jews – by all accounts even their defenseless children would not be safe.
Lafarge conceded that by performing his duties as a policeman under Vichy did not allow him to be too much of a moral judge. However, he at least had donned the French Army uniform, though that had not brought honour on the country with its abject defeat and surrender.
However, he was far from an enthusiastic supporter of Vichy.
He reasoned with his usual dark humour that better to be pre–occupied than to be occupied by the moral vicissitudes of daily life.
To this extent he would set aside the danger posed by Bousquet and he would pursue him over the death of Marguerite, for he had questions to answer and this murder as far as he could see was not state–condoned. He swallowed a healthy measure of his glass of wine and smiled at the thought of for once having the whip hand over Bousquet, whether Massu liked it or not.
*
“I could ask some delicate questions, sir, which may not be to your liking.”
“I don’t doubt that, Lafarge, you would disappoint me if you didn’t. I am only coming along as a courtesy to our German friends.”
Massu and Lafarge were seated in the back of the former’s large black sedan on their way to pay a call on Colonel von Dirlinger, who had generously spared some time in what he termed was his incredibly busy schedule.
What that probably meant was in between breakfast and lunch and probably separated by a pre–lunch drinks party. What intelligence gathering needed to be done now that France was firmly under German control, and the parts that weren’t were ruled by their puppets in Vichy, wasn’t evident to Lafarge.
From what Lafarge had been able to learn about von Dirlinger it was clear that he preferred the uniform to the work he had to carry out.
A moderate actor turned top class skier before the War, and who had also competed in several Grand Prix, von Dirlinger had declined the invitation of Heinrich Himmler to join his Aryan elite of the SS – much to the pince–nez wearing puritan’s annoyance.
Instead he had joined, by comparison, the more gentlemanly Abwehr, which was run by Admiral Wilhelm Canaris, and appeared to be more like an aristocrats club, whose members were keen to continue their pursuits of hunting, polo or shooting.
Nevertheless, Lafarge was determined not to underestimate von Dirlinger, for while he had the appearance of a daredevil playboy, the Abwehr did have a reputation for also only hiring people with agile and intelligent minds.
He also gave him a few marks out of ten for having rejected Himmler’s courting call. Von Dirlinger while not head of the Paris section of the Ast as the Abwehr were known when they were based abroad, was in charge of their counter espionage and security department.
He would therefore possess a huge fount of information regarding the Résistance and most importantly what their strength or bases were around Limoges, commonly known as the ‘Red Town’ for its tradition of producing left wing politicians.
That could at least give him a lead as to where de Chastelain might be hiding, or give an indication as to the route he might be taking to leave the country.
However, he was not certain how helpful the Colonel would be, given that he might have been the leak for the information that had precipitated Marguerite’s dash across the city to warn de Chastelain of his impending arrest.
The Ast headquarters certainly didn’t disappoint in terms of the reputation of the Abwehr being an up market intelligence agency, as it was based out of the magnificent Hotel Lutetia, on the Boulevard Raspail in the heart of the chic sixth arrondissement on the left bank.
Both Lafarge and Massu cast an admiring eye over the luxurious world they entered as they climbed the steps and entered the lobby.
Certainly the orderlies were giving the impression of a busy day, walking backwards and forwards across the well–polished floor, knocking and entering at various doors and then exiting with businesslike expressions on their faces.
Massu and Lafarge presented their credentials to a shapely female receptionist, though unlike most hotel receptionists, she was dressed in the field grey uniform of the Wehrmacht.
She looked at their identification cards, then raised her eyes to meet theirs, holding them both in a steady gaze while she ran the rule over them, probably to make her feel more important than she really was. She then flashed her grey eyes at them and with a haughty wave of her well–manicured right hand, pointed them in the direction of the hotel bar.
Massu and Lafarge looked questioningly at her, but she shrugged her shoulders dismissively and they wandered off in the direction of the bar like two naughty little schoolboys who had just been admonished by their beautiful school mistress.
The bar was half full, even though it was only 11 in the morning.
Various officers were sitting at tables, chatting to each other, with bottles of champagne beside them in their ice buckets, while others had beers in front of them.
Massu raised his eyebrows at Lafarge and suggested they both stand at the bar, the former ordering a coffee, for real coffee was difficult to come by even in Paris, while Lafarge opted for a cognac, to steady his nerves, he told himself somewhat unconvincingly.
However, instead of reproaching him, Massu accompanied him by also ordering a cognac, along with his coffee, and they chatted away amiably while they waited for von Dirlinger to come and greet them.
About fifteen minutes later, the almost impossibly good looking Colonel sauntered in. He flashed them a film star type smile, showing off his perfect white teeth, and joined them in having a cognac, provoking the two detectives to have a second one to keep him company.
Von Dirlinger chatted about inane matters. He recounted a tale of how he had had a puncture the other day on returning from Longchamp racecourse, having lost a pretty penny. However, thankfully he had enough experience from his days as a racing d
river to be able to fix it too quickly for the local résistants to get organised and claim the scalp of an Abwehr colonel.
Both Massu and Lafarge smiled at his weak joke, the latter commenting that perhaps the jockeys on his horses had been the résistants in depriving a German of his money. Von Dirlinger laughed heartily at the remark, though the timbre did not reflect any great sincerity.
“So Colonel, now we have got the small talk and the common courtesies out of the way, I was wondering whether we could go somewhere a bit more private?” asked Massu.
“Yes of course gentlemen, we can go to my office, though, I must apologise as it is in a bit of a state of disorder. Not very German is it? But I have some extremely important matters going on at the moment, and with all the information I am receiving, the papers are strewn everywhere.
“I would of course request of you not to cast a glance at them,” he said flashing what seemed to be a trademark film star smile again.
Von Dirlinger led them through the lobby, taking the time to give a warm greeting to the receptionist, who flashed a look that suggested they were more intimate than just colleagues. He ushered them into a large room which was indeed dominated by mounds of papers covering the floor.
He pointed to two elegant Louis XV chairs that were positioned on the side of a magnificent antique desk while he brought over a bottle of cognac and three glasses.
They all took a sip of the excellent quality cognac, markedly superior to the one they had drunk at the bar, and settled back in their seats.
Lafarge felt completely at ease, the drink had not had an effect on him, and for that he was mightily thankful, for there might only be one chance to ask von Dirlinger questions.
“So, Colonel, can you start by telling us the nature of your relationship with Marguerite Suchet and what happened at your last meeting with her?”
Von Dirlinger smiled warmly, took a cigarette from his gold cigarette case, Lafarge noting that it was not one from the stockpile of Ambassador Abetz’s collection, and thought for a moment.
“Well I think you are well aware of the nature of our relationship, Inspector. Thus there is no need to go into the details,” he replied in a neutral tone.
“For the record colonel, it would be good to have it written down. It’s chief inspector by the way,” said Lafarge brusquely, not willing to let von Dirlinger set the tone for the interview.
Von Dirlinger eyed Lafarge carefully, assessing whether it merited pushing the point of what was worth noting down and what wasn’t but in the end he decided he would concede on this point.
“Very well Chief Inspector. We were lovers, we had been for some time and I hoped it would continue. Unfortunately someone has intervened to make that impossible,” he said sadly.
Both Lafarge and Massu remained silent, prompting von Dirlinger to answer the more pertinent part of the question.
“As for when I last saw Marguerite, well it was on the night she died. I went round to her apartment and spent around an hour there. It wasn’t a very pleasant hour I might add,” he said bitterly.
“Ah. How so?” asked Lafarge.
“Well, she didn’t seem… how do you French say it? Ah yes, she didn’t seem to be “bien dans sa peau”. She was ill at ease and seemed very keen for me to make my visit a short one.”
“Did she hint at all at why she was not her usual self with you?” asked Lafarge, sensing von Dirlinger was not being totally open with them.
Von Dirlinger looked Lafarge straight in the eye as he reflected on his answer.
“She, erm, said that she was expecting someone else, that he was not someone she could cancel or make excuses about not being able to see him, not even a colonel in the Abwehr was important enough to gain precedence over this gentleman,” he replied with a mirthless laugh.
Lafarge could sense his excitement rising, and thought, was it the moment to bring Bousquet’s name into the game, but he decided to err on the side of caution, play dumb for as long as possible.
“Did she say who this important gentleman was, colonel?” he asked in a flat tone.
Von Dirlinger must have been expecting the question as only the stupidest detective would not have asked it, but he nevertheless didn’t look comfortable at having to answer it.
He fiddled with his lighter, deliberated over smoking another cigarette before closing his case without taking one, and instead poured himself and the two policemen another glass of cognac.
“I have, as you can tell throughout my pre–war life, been attracted to sports that carry a lot of risk and a lot of danger to them, gentlemen.
“So you might think that I treat my professional life in the same manner. However, I am sorry to disappoint you but that is not the case.
“War is rather good at waking one up and teaching one what risks are worth taking, rather like receiving a piece of intelligence, you weigh it up with the utmost caution and do not react impulsively. For this reason I would prefer not to have to answer that question,” he replied firmly.
Massu shifted uncomfortably in his seat at the reply and waited for his subordinate to come back at the colonel. However, Lafarge simply sighed and surprised his superior and von Dirlinger by moving on.
“I can vouch for that, spending time as a guest of yours taught me not to take any unnecessary risks, if one wished to return to some form of normal life,” Lafarge commented in a suitably sarcastic tone which, he was delighted to see, made von Dirlinger bristle.
Without waiting for the German to get a riposte in, Lafarge continued with his questioning.
“What exactly did you say to the victim the night of her premiere when you returned to her apartment?” asked Lafarge, keeping his tone civil.
“I don’t really see the relevance of that question, Chief Inspector,” replied von Dirlinger, whose earlier air of bonhomie had disappeared.
“Well, colonel you being an intelligence officer, I would have thought that you would realize that whilst we may be more restricted in our duties these days, we still have informants and indeed eyes and ears of our own so that we can keep ordinary crime down,” said Lafarge.
“So I would suggest colonel that you reflect on what you are going to say with regard to my question,” he added in a firm manner.
Von Dirlinger puffed out his cheeks to register his annoyance at the persistence of the detective, looked somewhat despairingly for help from Massu, who did not provide any, simply shrugging his shoulders.
“Very well, Chief Inspector. I was somewhat indiscreet, maybe it was the excellent champagne we had had at Maxim’s, or perhaps it was an offering of one lover to another, but I imparted some top secret information to Marguerite,” he said.
“This information pertained to her former lover de Chastelain, the lawyer, I take it?” asked Lafarge, leading him on.
Von Dirlinger nodded vigorously.
“It was foolish of me, but in the greater scheme of things, hardly damaging to my country’s interests, as there is little or no evidence to suggest de Chastelain is in any way involved in terrorist activities.
“I considered it a purely French matter, a personal argument between two adult men and about what, I have no idea,” he said with a resigned look on his face.
“Two adult men, perhaps, but one of them wields a lot of power, and was going to use it to arrest the other.
“It was rather gallant of you to divulge this information, and also to provide the driver for Marguerite’s voyage across Paris to deliver the message you were too afraid of doing yourself,” said Lafarge acidly.
Von Dirlinger looked furious at this remark, but refrained from making an ill judged response, preferring to take a sip from his glass.
“You appear to have all the answers, Chief Inspector. I really don’t see why you bother to even ask me the questions!” said von Dirlinger with a bitter laugh.
“Not necessarily colonel. For instance I would like to know why you wanted de Chastelain out of the way. I mean, you say he posed no
threat to German interests, so why would you make such an effort to help a man, one who was also a former lover of your mistress, to escape from his nemesis? You must see that it is a bit confusing for us,” said Lafarge.
“I can see that. But I can also see that you are entering into a discussion about something that doesn’t appear to be related to the murder of Marguerite, so therefore it is a moot point why I helped de Chastelain,” said von Dirlinger, looking smug.
“Let me take that look off your face, colonel, by saying it has everything to do with the murder of Marguerite, because de Chastelain has disappeared, but not before turning up at a friend’s apartment covered in blood on the night of her murder,” Lafarge said and noting that the smug look had disappeared as quick as it had appeared, he pressed home the point.
“Thus I don’t think it looks terribly good for you, colonel, in that the man who you aided in escaping René Bousquet’s clutches is wanted in connection with the murder of your mistress, the person you sent to give him the message. Now perhaps you see what a deep hole you are in?” Lafarge said trying to keep the satisfaction he felt out of his voice.
Von Dirlinger did indeed look as if he was starting to appreciate the seriousness of the situation he was in. He quickly lit himself another cigarette, cast his eyes around the room and waited for the heavy silence that had settled in his office to be broken.
Lafarge was in no mood to let the smooth German regain his equilibrium, and decided to press on while he had him under pressure. For it appeared to the detective that the good living in Paris had taken the edge off the sharpness and nervelessness that von Dirlinger had displayed in the sports he competed in before the war.
“I don’t believe your reason for warning de Chastelain had anything to do with not being a danger to your country, why should you be so concerned about his welfare?
“I am sure there are countless people like him who have been arrested without you batting an eyelid and questioning whether they really merit it or not,” said Lafarge acidly.
