The Cyclist (14 page)

‘I… er… Odette isn’t dressed and I was just…’

‘Is there something you don’t want me to see?’

‘See? Of course not. Come in. Don’t stand there in the cold. How foolish of me. Please come in.’

Auguste gestured for Brunner to enter, which he did, his black boots leaving mud trails on the polished wood floor. Oblivious to the mess, Brunner said, ‘And who is this young lady? I heard you had a beautiful daughter.’

Auguste looked. He looked back at Brunner. He wanted to vomit. Monique stood at the foot of the stairs. She had come back down.

‘This is Zara. She is nine. Zara, go back upstairs and get your Maman.’

‘Not so fast, Auguste,’ Brunner said.

Auguste wondered if he might be able to kill Brunner where he stood but he had not donned his firearm and it was six feet to the hall-table where it lay in its holster, ready for him to go. He still imagined Brunner had a gun behind his back.

‘No?’ Auguste said.

Brunner stepped forward towards Monique. He bowed slightly at the hips and his heels clicked together.

‘You father has not introduced me young lady. I am Helmut Brunner. I am a policeman like your father. I am pleased to make your acquaintance.’

Monique drew away, she said, ‘My Papa isn’t a …’

Brunner drew his hands from behind his back. His hands held no firearm but a doll. It was a life-like doll, the face of white smooth wood and the body covered in a frilly gown. It looked antique. He reached forward with the toy and Monique accepted it with a curtsey. The German took off a black leather glove and extended his hand.

‘A man who lets me talk to strangers, she should have said,’ Auguste said, ‘Zara is a little shy of people she doesn’t know. I have taught her to be careful.’

Brunner turned to Auguste and smiled.

‘A very wise thing to do. This doll is a traditional Kammer & Reinhardt. It belonged to my mother. I am honoured to present it to your daughter.’

‘You are very kind, Helmut,’ Auguste said. He had a feeling he wished to throw the doll on the floor and stamp on it.

‘Your daughter, Zara was it? Looks quite different from you. Her hair is darker. One would scarcely know you were related.’

‘Her mother’s father had black hair. We sometimes joke she is a throwback.’

‘The long nose is… Oh well, no matter. Now where were we?’

‘Lyon.’

‘Yes, Auguste, you will enjoy the talk. It is called “the final solution” and is of great relevance to you and your people.’

‘Solution to what?’

‘Well, I won’t spoil it for you. If I tell you all about it there would be no point in you going.’

‘But if you know all about it why are you going?’

‘Ha. Very clever, you have caught me out. Me and my silly mouth. I will have to be careful what I say around you Auguste.’ Brunner wagged a finger at Auguste. He said, ‘I confess.’

‘You … you do?’

‘Yes Auguste,’ Brunner said as their eyes met for one moment in a serious almost combative stare. ‘I have an ulterior motive. The speaker is Heinrich Himmler himself. You will have heard of him?’

‘Naturally.’

‘He is very successful in his work. The Führer trusts him and so does Goebbels. I had hoped to meet him. He may be helpful in my career.’

‘Oh? Just meeting him won’t get you far, will it? Don’t you have to do something to impress him?’

‘Ah, Auguste, I am about to do many things to impress him. Last night we apprehended a member of the terrorist group calling themselves “the Maquis”. You know about them? I’ll tell you all about what we learned on the way to Lyon. Come, we must not be late.’

Auguste turned to Monique. The girl stood staring up at Brunner and he had to turn her around and guide her to the stairs. ‘Now you go and find Maman and get her to do your hair so you won’t be late for school.’

He patted her back as she ascended. Satisfied she was going, he grabbed his pistol and fastened it around his shoulder and waist. Coat in hand, he tramped down the stairs, shutting the door behind him.

Auguste wondered now what possible way there was to prevent Brunner from finding out the truth. As he got into the black Mercedes he realised if he and Odette went to church without their daughter, everyone in the town would realise. He felt sweat on his brow despite the cold and his heart beat a military tattoo on the inside of his ribs. How to survive? How to run? When to get away? These questions burned in his mind but with them was the question of Bernadette’s tortured body. He had to stay long enough to settle the matter. Tomorrow was Sunday. He would have to hope Brunner was not going to become a regular churchgoer. Auguste was relieved Brunner was no Catholic. If he had been, the Ran family’s days would have been numbered.

Chapter 11

1

It seemed to Auguste, Lyon was a huge city. Having ridden past the beautiful wine country, past chateaux and fields, he felt impatient to arrive. The morning cloud cleared and a cheerful sun at last, peeped out, casting shadows behind the black car. He could never understand why people would want to live on top of each other in the way they did in big cities. The main city thoroughfares extended from north to south and several bridges crossed both the rivers Rhône and Saône, which met forming a sort of island where the medical college stood with many other grand buildings.

‘Make sure your daughter looks after that doll. It is very old. I don’t know why my mother packed it in my things.’

‘It was your mother’s?’

‘Yes. She packed my suitcase. Poor Mutti, she was distraught at the thought of me being so far away.’

‘Oh. You are married?’

‘No. There was someone once, but no matter. Mutti means mother in German. She is a dear soul, my Mutti.’

‘You live alone then?’

‘My mother lives with me. She keeps house since I am away a lot.’

‘It was very kind of you to give Mon... Zara the doll. I will ensure she gives it all the care it deserves.’

They were silent then. Auguste stared out of the window thinking that a bonfire would be the best treatment for the German doll.

They crossed the Saone Bridge close to the confluence of the rivers and the sleek, black Mercedes glided to a halt outside an old, grey stone-built building. Auguste looked up feeling bored. He wondered how he would be able to sit through some tedious lecture and he had no illusions about the importance of it. Whatever this final solution might be it would not involve police work, it would be political and therefore of no interest to him.

‘So, we are here at last,’ Brunner said.

‘Yes. You still haven’t told me what all the fuss is about.’

‘Fuss? No fuss my French policeman. It is simply the answer to the Jewish problem.’

He had emphasised the word ‘problem’ and Auguste knew from what had gone before how the Nazi Major felt about it.

‘I am not a political policeman you know. I have not been trained for these things. Bernadette’s murder is the kind of thing I can pursue, not interning a lot of innocent Jews.’

‘Innocent? I don’t know what you mean. They are not strictly human you know. Goebbels has shown they are a sub-human order and not worthy of co-existing with us.’

‘Sub-human?’

‘Yes, of course. You will understand when Himmler has spoken. I will not spoil it for you. We are expecting great things from you, Auguste.’

‘I will do my duty to France.’

‘No, not France. The Fatherland, the new Third Reich. You are part of it now.’

‘Of course, how silly of me Helmut. There is so much politics to consider these days. How can a simple policeman be expected to remember?’

The look in Brunner’s eyes was as if he was a man who had come home to something familiar, a place of comfort and Auguste knew what it was. Brunner was returning to the fold of his own philosophy, his stamping ground in policy terms. The whole thing was a way to control Auguste, a way to make him believe in their cause and a way of convincing him. The foreknowledge protected him. Knowing about evil prepared him, but it added to the flames of his hatred as well and he knew he had to get the warning out to the Jewish families in his catchment area. He made up his mind he could no longer do the job the Nazis inflicted on him. Meanwhile, he smiled sweetly. Brunner did not reply.

The Medical College was a part of the history of the city and its architecture emphasised the fact. A grand entrance hall revealed itself as soon as they entered through the Renaissance archway. Beyond it, a generous stone staircase climbed to a galleried landing. Auguste had visited Lyon before but not since his first interview for his current job. He had never visited the College. It was a place revered for its teaching of fresh new doctors and they had learned their trade here for centuries. Auguste wondered if all of them had now been reeducated and become vassals of the Third Reich.

A red carpet decorated the stairs as if royalty were about to arrive. He walked up the stairs without misgivings. He knew whatever he heard today would make no difference to him. He envisaged Monique’s face, Zara’s face and he knew. He was certain, in the eyes of his Lord, everyone was equal and if he chose to protect Monique his God would be with him.

The lecture hall loomed across the landing from the stairwell and Auguste noted the threadbare floor-covering stretched across the long stone-floored landing, crossed by the crimson, new-laid carpet. He glanced to his right and the paintings of past professors and surgeons lining the walls confirmed his impression of the grandiosity of the medical profession. He wondered why the Germans had picked a medical college. It seemed as if it was because they fed the medical hunger for blood and body parts. Apart from Dubois, the pathologist, he trusted none of them.

 The lecture room was vast. It seated perhaps two hundred without difficulty and it was semicircular in shape. Tiered seats surrounded a table and a lectern and he could hear even whispers from the front row without straining, although he was at the back and highest up in the room.

Brunner did not sit with him. The SD Major joined a group of men in uniforms like his own and they were shaking hands and slapping each other on the back. They laughed as if there was a common, shared joke and soon everyone in France would appreciate it, but for the moment, it was their secret, their singular knowledge.

A hand descended upon his shoulder and he looked up wondering if his thoughts had been overheard. Arnaud looked down at him and the old face smiled a wrinkled smile under its grey moustache.

‘So they have brought you here too?’ Arnaud said.

‘Yes, I have been instructed to hear a speech or lecture on a final solution to the Jewish problem.’

‘I think we will learn very little new.’

‘Perhaps. It may be a way to confirm what we suspect.’

‘But of course, my friend. I think...’

Auguste put his index to his lips.

‘The acoustics in here are marvellous, don’t you think? Why, one can hear everything being said.’

Arnaud sat down beside him.

He whispered, ‘You know who Himmler is?’

‘He is Hitler’s right hand man. A rising star of the Third Reich according to Brunner.’

‘Ah. We are no doubt honoured then.’

‘Yes, honoured.’

Their eyes met expressing a common understanding. Auguste had a feeling they were both rats in a trap and perhaps Brunner would denounce them both as traitors. It would make sense. Brunner would be able to escape justice and Auguste and his only ally would be removed from the scene with the Rising Star looking down upon them from some German firmament above. He noticed he was sweating as the SD, SS and uniformed Gestapo assembled in the room. They must have numbered more than a hundred men. Arnaud and he were the only Frenchmen in the place. Auguste wished he had a bomb. It was the only final solution he desired.

A short man entered, wearing a Senior SD uniform. Auguste did not know what rank he proclaimed; he had always found the German system confusing.

Arnaud whispered in his ear, ‘Klaus Barbie. He became the SD leader here in Lyon last November. Even his own men are afraid of him.’

Auguste studied the man’s face. He felt disappointment; he had expected a more impressive figure. Barbie was short and singular because he was ordinary looking; one would have walked past him without noticing him at all. His back hair rose to a spiral above his squarejawed face and it made him look to Auguste, like a black-topped turnip. Barbie glanced towards Auguste as he surveyed the room. It was then Auguste understood who and what this man was. The dark eyes burned with a cold flame. They were the cruellest, most unfeeling eyes he had ever seen. It was like looking into a coalmine. They absorbed everything and expressed nothing but disinterest.

Barbie held a gavel and he banged it on the lectern for silence.

‘Gentlemen, when the General arrives, I want you all to stand and salute. I do not want him to return to Berlin with the impression his visit is greeted with anything but the highest respect.’

The silence continued. It was as if a cold satanic presence had descended upon Auguste and he felt a faint shudder at the change of atmosphere.

2

The man who entered was short and fat. He had a round face, his nose long and aquiline. Receding fair hair swept back from a broad forehead and slit-like eyes characterised the face, which was pale and smooth. He wore round, gold-rimmed spectacles adding roundness to his already rotund features. Auguste did not feel the same about Himmler as he had about his minion, Barbie. The man possessed a charisma and an attractiveness Barbie lacked. When Himmler smiled his eyes seemed to soften. Could this be the man who had ascended the Nazi ranks? The risen star of the Third Reich?

He wore the black uniform of the SS with full General’s flashes and he clutched his peaked hat in his plump fingers as he entered. The silence continued and Barbie called the assembly to attention. Every man rose to his feet. As one, they raised their right arms.

‘Sieg Heil.’

The salute reverberated in Auguste’s ears and he was uncertain whether or not he should raise his right arm as well. He made a faint gesture and out of the corner of his eye, he could see Arnaud struggle with the same reluctance, one borne of fidelity to France. It made them both unwilling to give all to the conquerors of their home country. In truth, Auguste was frightened someone might notice his hesitation and he hid behind the man in front as best he could.