The Tortured Detective

by Pirate Irwin

  CHAPTER NINE

  Lafarge returned to the Hotel Lutetia faster than he imagined he would, for von Dirlinger had left a message for him at the office to be on hand to collect the Ausweis by 7 that evening from him personally.

  The message added that if he were not able to make it, then he would have to wait for at least a week as the colonel would be away on official business. Lafarge was delighted that von Dirlinger had been hasty in organizing the much sought after Ausweis.

  He hoped that von Dirlinger’s trip was not a premise for one of his suspects to seek an alternative posting, well out of the limited reach of the French police.

  The same decorative receptionist was at her post. A thought flitted through his mind at what she got up to in her leisure time and he half felt like asking her, then shooed it out of his head and proceeded to von Dirlinger’s office.

  The colonel was on the phone when he entered, but waved him to one of the chairs he and Massu had occupied earlier in the day. Von Dirlinger smiled warmly at him and indicated the bottle of cognac – freshly opened he noted – on the desk with two glasses as yet to be filled. Lafarge took the hint and poured for them both.

  Von Dirlinger then wrapped up his conversation, though Lafarge, skeptical as ever, pondered whether he was really talking to anybody or if it was a show.

  “Good to see you again, Chief Inspector,” said von Dirlinger before he sipped at his cognac.

  Lafarge replied in similar fashion and waited for von Dirlinger to hand over the document.

  “Let me see, where have I put the damned thing. Ah yes, here it is! Sorry, I have so much bloody paperwork, half of which I never get round to reading,” he said, delivering another of his film star smiles while handing the Ausweis to a grateful Lafarge.

  “Careful colonel, one of the documents you neglect to read may tell you when the invasion is going to be,” said Lafarge, half–in jest.

  “Ah, yes quite! Very funny Lafarge,” laughed von Dirlinger.

  “Anyway, thank you colonel, for both the drink and the Ausweis. It means I can get cracking in tracking down our fugitive and I should hope solving Marguerite’s murder. Although before I go, I would like to ask you what you might be able to tell me on résistance activity in the area round Limoges,” said Lafarge.

  Von Dirlinger shook his head vigorously and wagged his finger at Lafarge.

  “Not résistance, Chief Inspector, terrorist activity. Of course, that depends on one’s point of view, but we Germans, and those of you in the forces of law and order, can only call their activities by one term and that is terrorist,” said von Dirlinger and without his trademark smile, it meant he was being serious.

  Lafarge shrugged apologetically and made to get up and leave, but was directed to remain in his seat.

  “No matter Lafarge, don’t worry about it. I am Abwehr, not a goon from the SS or Gestapo, though, lord knows Reichsführer Himmler tried hard enough to recruit me for his ‘Aryan brotherhood’,” said von Dirlinger raising his eyes to the ceiling.

  “I prefer to belong to a gentleman’s club, albeit one that is inhabited by intellectual snobs,” he added with the smile having returned to the corners of his mouth.

  Lafarge thought it best to not comment, indeed, he remained impassive in his chair and allowed von Dirlinger free rein to carry on.

  “Anyway, enough of that.

  “I was rather running away with myself. Yes, of course I can provide you with some information on the vipers operating in that area. You should yourself know from your colleagues in the Brigade specially designed to combat such operations what the situation is,” said von Dirlinger crisply.

  Lafarge shook his head.

  “I am afraid they don’t feel the need to share such information with us, ordinary criminal police. They don’t regard us as being their equal, to them we are suspects as we lack their zeal for the cause,” said Lafarge dryly.

  Von Dirlinger laughed heartily at Lafarge’s remark, and poured them another glass.

  “Yes indeed, I see what you mean. Us Germans have certainly perfected the term “rule and divide”. When one’s collaborationist police force isn’t even united then it is indeed true.

  “Very well Lafarge, I will give you as much detail as I am allowed to, without divulging any operational details from our side, just in case you fall into the wrong hands,” said von Dirlinger.

  “However, I prefer not to do that here. Let’s go and have dinner, then perhaps we might pursue a night of genuine leisure suitable for two gentlemen,” he said amiably, winking at Lafarge.

  Gretchen, for that was the receptionist’s name, did not join them much to Lafarge’s disappointment, though he reflected afterwards it was probably just as well. For as much as he missed having someone lying naked beside him in bed, a German mistress could prove complicated.

  Nevertheless, he had to admit he had an enjoyable time with von Dirlinger, who was both cultured and amusing as well as extremely courteous to the waiters, who served them in Brasserie Lipp, on the Boulevard St Germain, just opposite the Café de Flore.

  Von Dirlinger told Lafarge that he preferred to dine there than Maxims which was the favoured restaurant for most of the German high brass, as Lipp was more relaxed and was associated with French intellectuals, writers and artists.

  It gave him a sense of being away from the war for a few hours, even if he went there most of the time, as he did that evening, dressed in his uniform.

  Lafarge allowed his dining companion to dominate the conversation – well, he was from the conquering army he mused – and learnt that he was one of four children born to a minor catholic aristocratic line.

  His father had a small estate in Bavaria, but had also enjoyed a career as a successful private banker, bucking the trend of so many who had gone bankrupt over unpaid loans and the market crashing in the late 20’s and 30’s.

  He was unmarried and it shone through to Lafarge that while he may have had a fling with Gretchen, he had been in love with Marguerite.

  However, that still did not explain why he had sent her on the risky trip across Paris to warn de Chastelain about his impending arrest. There maybe von Dirlinger’s weakness lay, greed over love, for Lafarge still suspected he was involved in the theft of the jewels.

  Lafarge didn’t divulge much about his background when it came to be his turn to talk about his past. He guessed that von Dirlinger being in intelligence gathering would have already done his homework, so there was not much more worth adding to what he already knew.

  “With a father as influential as yours, I am surprised you chose to return to being an ordinary criminal detective,” said von Dirlinger after the pudding had been cleared away and they had ordered their by now seemingly mandatory cognacs with their espressos.

  Lafarge was a bit taken aback by the sudden directness of von Dirlinger’s conversation.

  He certainly did not wish to start discussing his complex relationship with his father or indeed his mother. While he was fond of his father, he certainly did not see eye to eye with him on his politics or his devotion to the senile old Marshal in Vichy.

  Lord knows what his father would have said about his impending meeting with Bousquet who, even if he was after Pétain and Laval’s jobs, was still much admired by his father.

  “I preferred not to trouble him with such mundane matters as my career,” replied Lafarge tartly, hoping that would put an end to that topic of conversation.

  “Yes, quite. I understand. There’s enough nepotism going around as it is within your government. Still there are not many who show quite so much enthusiasm and tenacity as you. Even if it could be damaging to your future,” said von Dirlinger.

  “Ah, I see colonel, now dinner is over and you have me in a relaxed frame of mind, you feel it is time to return to veiled threats in the guise of compliments.

  “Very well, but perhaps rather like yourself, I chose to work in an environment I felt more at ease in, which is less associated with the forces of
repression imposed by an unelected government on its own people,” said Lafarge more loudly than he wished and the anger he felt brought the colour to his cheeks.

  Von Dirlinger appeared totally unruffled by his French guest’s remarks and smiled sympathetically back at him.

  “Yes, well I work for a democratically elected government, albeit one that hasn’t bothered to call a session of parliament for several years now.

  “But then it would be rather difficult to assemble all the members, as most of the dissident voices are housed in camps now, their upkeep paid for most generously by the state.

  “Not much for them to complain about, bed and board paid for, no need to spend money on secretaries, or typewriters for their endless speeches.

  “No extra cost to the taxpayer. Yes Germany is a splendid example of a democracy operating at zero cost in terms of the taxpayer paying for our representatives!” von Dirlinger said, laughing bitterly.

  Lafarge smiled and signalled his appreciation of his host for his openness and honesty with him by raising his glass and downing it in one large gulp. Von Dirlinger looked at his watch and indicated there was still time for a refill, which was welcomed by Lafarge.

  “The rate we drink cognac, they will need two harvests per year,” joked Lafarge, who had rediscovered a rare sense of comfort and relaxation that had been largely missing from his life ever since he returned from the camp.

  “I’ll drink to that,” laughed von Dirlinger, unbuttoning one of his jacket buttons.

  “So colonel, just to be serious for a moment before we become insane with drink, is there anything I should be aware of in terms of terrorist activity in the Limoges area? I think after all this was meant to be the purpose of the dinner,” Lafarge said.

  “Ah yes of course Chief Inspector. Now it is you putting your official hat on. I understand, though, for the last thing any of us suspects in this dreadful case would wish for would be for something nasty to happen to the detective in charge of the investigation,” said von Dirlinger humourously.

  “Well my dear Lafarge, there are two groups based round there, hiding out in the undergrowth. Let’s be kind, they are not quite vermin, but they are the type of animal who you would do well to avoid crossing paths with.

  “One is the Kakarian band, run by an Armenian immigrant who worked on a farm down there and is an avowed communist. The other, which is more likely to have welcomed de Chastelain, is the larger ‘Beau Temps va revenir’ group. They are, as the name suggests of course, a bunch of misguided romantic idealists but have proved to be a major pain in the ass of the Vichy security forces down there.

  “Why do I think de Chastelain will be with them? Simply because it is easier to hide among a group which is larger and made up of a vast cross section of society. I believe there are poets, painters, doctors, lawyers, the majority are Jews of course, so another legal eagle such as de Chastelain would fit in nicely,” said von Dirlinger gruffly.

  “God you make them sound more like a talking shop not a fighting force. Are they really that dangerous? Sounds to me you are more likely to be overcome by the weight of their verbosity and debating skills than by bullets and grenades,” said Lafarge dryly.

  Von Dirlinger shook his head and wagged his finger at his French companion.

  “Lawyers and doctors are never more ferocious than when they want their bills paid, and these are men with nothing to lose.

  “This is perhaps the largest bill they have ever countenanced and they want it to be paid in full, the sooner the better, and what is more the only signature they wish as confirmation of payment is the signed death certificate.

  “A high–profile detective from Paris, whose father is senior counsellor to the leader of what they perceive as their bastard state, would go some way towards paying that bill,” said von Dirlinger, a grim look clouding his handsome face.

  “Point taken, colonel. However, I am in an unenviable position as I have no option but to go there and to find de Chastelain, otherwise this case will never be resolved to either mine or your satisfaction. We owe it at the very least to Marguerite,” said Lafarge.

  “Yes, that we do Lafarge. I am most impressed by your professional engagement. I have to say that I have found it rather lacking in your colleagues in general.

  “That is apart from the Brigade Spéciales so keenly led by your chief René Bousquet, whose enthusiasm reflects the passionate fight against enemies of the state that is of course primarily the Jews and the Communists,” said von Dirlinger, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

  “Yes, well Bousquet certainly possesses leadership skills, whether they are being channelled in the right direction is a matter for some debate,” said Lafarge evenly.

  Von Dirlinger’s expression remained impassive, Lafarge noted that the Abwehr colonel might give off the impression of being a playboy who used the uniform as an aid to such pursuits. However, he also acknowledged that behind the façade was a highly intelligent man, who he did not doubt had a ruthless streak running through him.

  He would have to be watched, and Lafarge would choose his words carefully in front of him for any loose talk could be used by von Dirlinger against him, especially were the investigation to lead back to him.

  Von Dirlinger suddenly rose from his seat and attracted the waiter’s attention indicating he wanted the bill, which was duly brought to the table and despite Lafarge’s protests paid for by the colonel.

  “Tonight is for me, Lafarge. In any case, it is far from over. I am taking you to a real hotspot of Parisian nightlife, or what remains of it,” he said with a convivial smile.

  “Brothels aren’t really my type of enjoyment,” interjected Lafarge rather brusquely.

  Von Dirlinger laughed uproariously, slapping Lafarge on the back.

  “You fool Lafarge! Do you really think that I need to go to a brothel to enjoy myself! No, man I’m taking you to a cabaret owned by one of those French artistes that appeal to Goebbels, Suzy Solidor’s place on Rue St Anne. Of course there are women there but generally speaking they prefer their own sex,” said von Dirlinger.

  Lafarge felt quite honoured to be taken to Suzy Solidor’s famous cabaret ‘La Vie Parisienne’, which might geographically have been quite close to the Opéra Garnier but was worlds apart in terms of the music and entertainment offered.

  Solidor herself was quite a personality, born of modest origins, though she claimed to be the bastard daughter of a politician from St Malo in Brittany, who had become a popular singer and also the subject of many famous artists, who adored her striking looks.

  However, for many French people she was tarred with the same brush as Marguerite had been and others such as the great actress Arletty and the actor Robert Le Vigan in that she openly consorted with the Germans and benefited from their favours.

  She had indeed enshrined herself in their affections and in Vichy’s by recording a version of the song that so warmed the hearts of the German soldiers ‘Lili Marleen’ and which she never wasted an opportunity in singing, not least at her own cabaret.

  Whilst the Germans took a rather dim view of homosexuality, Lafarge noted that if you pleased them enough, they would compromise, and so it was with Solidor. She was openly bi–sexual and her cabaret certainly didn’t hide the fact that it was open to all people with whatever sexual tastes they preferred.

  Von Dirlinger was greeted with great warmth by the elegantly–attired doorman whilst the cloakroom girl, who was far from dowdily dressed herself and made up in the style of the roaring 20’s in the United States, gave the colonel an affectionate kiss on the lips.

  Lafarge received the more traditional kiss on both cheeks, though he did notice that the girl gave him an almost x–ray like examination. He wouldn’t have minded giving her a similar examination, but he was taken away by his companion and they proceeded into the main room.

  It was not very large, but Lafarge couldn’t see that clearly as not only was it dimly–lit with the tasseled lampshades clouding out
most of the light given off by the light bulbs, but also clouds of thick cigarette and cigar smoke filled the room.

  A professional and serious looking head waiter – not the type Lafarge mused to embrace even the most regular of customers – showed them to a small table in the center of the room and didn’t take their order.

  Lafarge soon realised why as another waiter – this one dressed in the usual white shirt and black waistcoat but not so usually sporting mascara and lipstick – brought two champagne glasses as well as two brandy glasses with a bottle of each and served them a glass of champagne.

  “Those poor sods who have to observe the curfew don’t know what they are missing!” grinned von Dirlinger.

  Lafarge could only agree, this was certainly a sanctuary for only those blessed with either having special passes to be out after midnight or because their jobs entitled them to be.

  Most Parisians had to be back at home by midnight when curfew fell or else have a very good reason to be still out.

  Not that there was much reason for Parisians to stay out.

  The cinema served up largely propaganda–fuelled films, although during winter time it at least guaranteed warmth.

  The opera, theatre and concerts, while of good quality, were priced out of most peoples reach. Also, they were heavily censored, no Jewish composer, playwright or film director living or dead, were to have their works performed under German and indeed Vichy laws.

  Lafarge regretted this enormously for it left the choice rather limited.

  There was only so much one man shows by the supreme egotist Sacha Guitry that one could put up with at the theatre, so he was extremely content to be able to relax and drink to his heart’s content in a relative den of iniquity, even if it was alongside some of Paris’s most despicable collaborators.

  At least thanks to the smoke, he could barely see what terrible company he was keeping. That was until von Dirlinger nudged him.

  “Ah Gaston. I may call you that? It just sounds so formal calling you Lafarge. And this is a place where formality is non–existent as you can plainly see. You obviously can call me Karl,” smiled von Dirlinger.