by Pirate Irwin
“No, maybe they wouldn’t. So this Gaston is my bill for what you did in Limoges. If it succeeds then I will deem it that we are even, if it doesn’t then I guess it won’t matter for both of us will be dead. Sweet no?” she said with a seductive smile.
Lafarge smiled grimly and settled back in the seat opposite his ‘wife’ and reflected that he had made one of the worst decisions in his life in deciding to return to Paris.
Not only did he no longer enjoy support from his father but he was now lumbered with a fugitive from both Vichy and the Nazis as well as he still probably had the Jewish couple living in his apartment.
He thought probably because obviously contact had been cut once he left Paris. He hoped they were still there because if they had been arrested he already had a serious charge awaiting him once he set foot back in the ‘City of Light’.
God what an inapposite name for the place as it was now, he thought. He wished that it was in total darkness when the train pulled in at Gare de Lyon so he could lose Aimee and slink back home unnoticed.
Also what on earth was he going to tell the Rosenbergs? He suddenly turns up and informs them that he has reluctantly agreed to host an undesirable and that having three of them was too many!
Not that he was far off being registered in the same category given his relentless pursuit of Bousquet. At least he and Aimee had done things that had made them personae non gratae in the eyes of the government, whereas the mistake the Rosenbergs had made was to be born Jewish!
Well he was damned if he or Aimee for that matter were going to be the cause of their death. So the Rosenbergs would have to return to their flat and pray that the worst was over, which if he took care of Bousquet might prove to be the case.
Whoever came after him would, Lafarge hoped, be less supine with the Nazis especially as their hold everywhere apart from France seemed to be weakening.
That was the positive side to things, but it nevertheless didn’t solve his major headache, how to retrieve something out of the ashes of his investigation once he resumed his job.
He had had several brief conversations with Massu, the latter always courteous but clearly uneasy about his younger colleague’s desire to return and stir things up again.
However, the chief of the Brigade Criminelle was now so well practiced in the arts of turning a blind eye without overtly collaborating that he couldn’t actually come out and give a firm opinion about anything, save if it involved a case and a suspect, in which he remained a master.
Lafarge could at least console himself with the fact that Massu would act as a layer of protection so long as he didn’t overreach himself.
That was the problem, though. Would he be able to restrain himself and also what incontrovertible proof could he obtain to implicate Bousquet, in either the burglary or the murder, and avoid being drummed out of the police force for a second time?
For he accepted that this was the end game, one of the two of them would fall, and he was determined that it would not be him.
After that well he would also go but on his own terms, and if it needed him to betray Aimee again then he would do it, for she might be sitting there looking all content and smug but she forgot one thing.
She did not have anything on him that could pose a threat so she remained expendable. He certainly wasn’t going to ruin her moment of triumph but he would bide his time.
CHAPTER TWENTY–SEVEN
As luck would have it there was a power cut when they arrived at the Gare de Lyon, but they were fortunate that with Lafarge flashing his badge they were allowed to go to the head of the long line of people queuing for taxis.
After a surreal drive through pitch black streets where they were checked by one grumpy looking gendarme, they arrived safely back at Pere Lachaise. The walls to the famous cemetery looked even more sinister without any light on them, and Lafarge shivered at the possibility that he could be checking in there permanently sooner rather than later.
Well if he was lucky he would end up alongside several Napoleonic generals, people of the arts and other luminaries of past generations. The normal burial ground for those who were victims of the state were far less salubrious, unmarked graves usually, so the crimes committed by Vichy or the Nazis could not be unearthed.
They were met at the doorway by the ever alert concierge Madame Grondon, who had a lit candle, and she looked very surprised when she saw that Lafarge was accompanied by a woman, who was not his wife.
However, having been well looked after by the policeman through the years she was not going to comment. Besides what she had witnessed just in the past year was enough to make her discretion personified. So she bade him hello, nodded at Aimee, and escorted them up the stairs as she possessed the only means of lighting their way.
Lafarge held his breath as he turned the key in his door awaiting the shrieks of surprise or fear or both from the Rosenbergs, but instead he and his two female companions were met by utter silence, and the whiff of fresh polish.
“The lady down the corridor and then me, after she and her husband left, looked after the apartment for you Mister Lafarge just in case you did come back with your wife and family,” said the concierge, casting a quizzical look at Aimee.
Lafarge smiled and patted the elderly lady on the shoulder, his way of thanking her for her not mentioning the Rosenbergs.
She smiled, relieved also her remark about Lafarge’s family had passed off lightly, and then shuffled over to a drawer in the kitchen and pulled out a candle which she lit and handed to him.
She said goodnight and Lafarge thanked her profusely and said they would talk in the morning for he was desperate to find out if the Rosenbergs had been arrested or if they had left of their own accord.
Once left on their own Lafarge did the best he could to show Aimee what was what in the apartment and where she could put her clothes. To his astonishment she had not just come with her handbag but had stowed a huge trunk in the luggage compartment of the train.
This joy still awaited him downstairs but having ascertained to his relief that his ‘wife’ had all she needed for the night he put that task off till the morning when at least he would be able to see his way up the stairs.
He could also get someone to help him for Madame Grondon, helpful as she was with the housework, was not physically capable of helping with a piece of luggage as heavy as that.
Aimee had been unusually, but thankfully, quiet but she appeared to be impressed by her new home.
“Ah Gaston this is perfect for my first matrimonial home! The only pity is that you didn’t carry me over the threshold, and I thought you were a dyed in the wool romantic,” she cooed.
“May I remind you Aimee this is role playing, and just in case you were entertaining doubts about that, this is your bedroom,” said Lafarge determined to impose his house rules from the start lest the boundaries between reality and fantasy became blurred on either party’s behalf.
He could sense that she was disappointed for she let out a sigh, part actress part real he couldn’t tell but he had a feeling she had hoped that they would fulfil their roles down to sharing a bedroom.
Still he was not willing to do so, not for the moment in any case. If he felt she needed reassurance then later, depending on how long this was going to take him, he would provide it but only to keep her near him should he feel that he could use her as a bargaining chip.
Even so he did play the role of the perfect host, finding other candles left in the same drawer and lighting them in her bedroom, the bathroom and the drawing room.
He waited for her to freshen up and then offered her a drink which she accepted gladly, asking for a glass of champagne.
This Lafarge thought would be impossible until he looked in his fridge and saw there were three bottles, the year was still good for drinking and they were still cold enough despite the power cut. There was a note pressed in between them, which he took out and read before opening one of the bottles.
“Thank you Inspector Lafarge
for your kind gesture which cannot really be repaid, certainly not with three bottles of champagne, but they will have to do unless we should meet again under happier circumstances. With our undying gratitude, Hal and Lotte Rosenberg.”
Lafarge gulped, genuinely touched and also marked by the irony of the term undying gratitude. He hoped it would be the case so long as they eluded the grasp of his colleagues and the Nazis.
He wiped away a tear, for their gratitude for a single and perhaps fruitless gesture said it all about the low expectations of the hunted and harassed, and served them both a glass, though, quite what there was to celebrate escaped him.
So he left it to his uninvited guest to make the toast.
“Here Gaston is to the end of tyranny and to the rebirth of French democracy and following along that line of thought to a blossoming acting career starting with my finest role to date as your wife!” she said giggling.
Lafarge laughed too and shook his head, wondering how this woman could maintain her permanent air of optimism and gaiety when things were so dark and gloomy.
He got swept up by her positive attitude and they chatted for about an hour about endless subjects until Lafarge, his eyelids drooping, apologized and said their discussion would have to be held over till the morning.
He escorted her to her bedroom, albeit it was adjacent to his so he had to pass by there anyway, and kissed her on the cheek. She moved her lips towards his, but he adeptly removed his face from pressing on hers, so as to avoid an embarrassing moment.
“Ah well, can’t blame me for trying! Still we have time on our side so watch out!
“However, seeing the manner in which you even have old ladies like your concierge swooning around you I think I may be way down the queue.
“One thing I can say for you Gaston is that you have a very loyal female following no matter how cruelly you treat them. Good night dear husband,” and with that she smiled sweetly and closed the door on Lafarge.
He shrugged his shoulders and tried to distract himself from thinking about her by reading another chapter of the ‘Man in the Iron Mask’ but it proved a losing battle. He reflected on what she had said and while she had made sense she was wrong about one thing.
The most important one in fact, that they had time on their side.
No Aimee, you idealistic dreamer, we do not have time on our side thought Lafarge. It is very much against us and I have to hurry if I am to try and wrap this up before the clock runs down otherwise we will both be doomed.
The following morning he let her sleep in as he washed, dressed and with the aid of one of the other tenants, who he knew well enough that he wouldn’t ask questions, brought the trunk up to his apartment.
She stumbled out of her room, wiping the sleep from her eyes, but even in her half asleep state she looked stunning, her hair ruffled but shining.
He was amazed at how well she had managed to look after herself throughout the months of being on the run. Not even the fear she must have felt at being found or betrayed at any moment had not left a mark on her face.
“Your former husband has been delivered safely to you madam,” Lafarge said drily.
She laughed and thanked him for bringing it up before she made it clear she wanted a coffee before anything else was said.
Lafarge obediently performed this task and watched her as she settled cosily into one of his battered armchairs, sipped the coffee, and lit a cigarette, all seemingly in the same seamless movement.
He was anxious to get going, but nevertheless had a cup of coffee himself, surprisingly good quality, another present from the Rosenbergs’ he ventured, and outlined to Aimee his plans for the day.
He had to remind himself at one point that he was not talking to Isabella but to some woman that was not close to being his wife.
Well ok they had slept together and he was also on probation because he had set her up, but all the same the less they behaved in private like a married couple the easier it would be for him.
As for what she was going to do he preferred not to know. The less he knew the better and the thought of her being arrested, carrying papers saying she was his wife, frightened him.
He didn’t even want to think about how he could explain that a woman he had known down in Limoges, and who was part of a terrorist cell, had by happy coincidence turned up with papers pretending that she was his wife. She saw the concerned look on his face and smiled.
“Look Gaston, I’m going to be a good girl I promise you. I am here to carry out a few tasks which will be simpler to complete now the Germans are starting to lose their grip on the city.
“Other than that I’m going to try and see Guitry discreetly, and friends who share my political goals as well. Don’t worry I will remain faithful to you hubby. If I’m bold you can spank me,” she said her eyes twinkling.
Lafarge laughed nervously, not sure whether it was because she swore she wouldn’t be doing anything too risqué or about the spanking bit. He bade her farewell, after telling her the spare keys were hanging up in a cupboard by the entrance to the flat.
She obviously still didn’t trust him as she checked the keys were there before he left, though, she also took advantage of the moment to give him an affectionate peck on the cheek.
On his way out he paused to speak to Madame Grondon to find out about under what circumstances the Rosenbergs’ had left.
She stopped sweeping the courtyard and ushered him inside her tiny quarters, which was always so neat and tidy and put him to shame.
She offered him a cup of revolting thick coffee, the sort where the spoon couldn’t break through the surface and he sipped at it politely as she recounted the Rosenbergs’ tale.
“You needn’t be worried sir because they left under their own steam.
“It was perhaps six months after you had left when he came to the door and told me that he and his wife had had enough of taking advantage of your generosity.
“Knowing they could not realistically return to their apartment, in case the police came back again, they were going to leave Paris altogether and try and reach Switzerland. Apparently Madame Rosenberg has family living there.
“They asked me to look after the apartment for them just in case they were able to return one day and left me the keys,” said Madame Grondon.
Lafarge was relieved and once again thanked Madame Grondon for not divulging their presence to his colleagues. She said they had been around on several occasions asking questions about the Rosenbergs, as they had realised they had missed them the first time.
“I told them of course that they had left a long time ago and that their apartment was in the hands of a proper French person, now, and that was me.
“Though, of course taking pride in my job I preferred to spend my time in my more modest abode so I could keep an eye on the comings and goings of this block.
“They believed me of course because they stopped coming here and also never insisted on going up to the apartment,” she said proudly.
Lafarge grinned and thought what a wonderful example for many of our fellow citizens who have allowed cowardice and bigotry to overwhelm them, thinking mainly of those denunciations he had read in the newspapers.
Maybe Madame Grondon will get the apartment in the end anyway should the Rosenbergs fail to return. She would certainly be entitled to it thought Lafarge. He told her so too to which she smiled warmly.
“Well sir you and I are on the right side aren’t we, so hopefully for both of us there will be a reward at the end. I just hope that it comes soon. You coming back suggests that might be the case,” she said.
Lafarge laughed, he hoped it didn’t come across as patronising, and shook his head.
“No, Madame I am not the advance party of some heavenly body set to sweep through and wash away the evil spirits. I’m here for business, an unresolved issue that I won’t allow slink away quietly into the night,” he said.
She smiled faintly, a slight look of alarm on her face.
“Good Lord no! She is an actress who is alive, I am here because of one who is not.
“On that note Madame Grondon, I have to rush but would you erm keep an eye out on the lady upstairs, discreetly of course, and let me know if you see anything suspicious?
“It would be a shame if as you say we don’t get our just rewards when the real heroes sweep into town,” he said with a conspiratorial wink.
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
Lafarge was actually looking forward to his resumption of duties – well that was slightly false as he only had one case and then it would be all over, so he regarded it as up to him how he went about business.
He hoped many of his colleagues were beginning to think in the same way as him and starting to become more relaxed in their treatment of alleged terrorists, Jews, homosexuals, communists and gypsies, to name but a few sections of society that didn’t gel with the Nazis sense of order or racial purity.
Whatever next might the loonies in Berlin and their acolytes in Paris come up with, people with dark hair?
For of course they were not archetypal ideals of the Aryan race.
If they wanted to be then from the top man down the Nazi regime would have to start dying their hair or shave it off entirely. For apart from the now thankfully very much dead Heydrich none of them had the slightest hint of blond hair.
Oh well he thought leave it to them what they decide on next, I will just go humbly along and revisit some of the characters I came across in the first part of the investigation.
He didn’t feel like dropping in at Quai des Orfevres, but then reflected that he would be best advised to, at least to recover his gun, for he didn’t possess another one and he felt he may have recourse to use it.
He didn’t see him and Bousquet having a duel but there were plenty of others who would feel less reluctant to settle a score with him. He was principally thinking of Bonny and he didn’t envisage his sister protesting too much at his being targeted. Wealth and its trappings came before the family as always with her.
