The Cyclist (23 page)

‘But you can’t go now.’

‘We could perhaps manage another bottle?’

‘No. I don’t think so. Maybe you are right, the day is waning.’

Brunner tried to raise his right arm in a salute, but his left failed to support him and for a moment, he fell across the desk. He recovered with speed but it was clear to Auguste now was the time to go. He had learned enough. In court, he would be solid and truthful. Brunner would go to the guillotine.

He stood, saluted and said, ‘Auf wiedersehen Major.’

Brunner looked up.

‘Yes,’ he said.

As Auguste made for the door, he glanced over his shoulder. Brunner sat with his head in his hands, his shoulders rose and fell and Auguste felt satisfaction at last. The beast was weeping.

He smiled as he descended the stairs. Germans. They can engineer, they can build armies, but they cannot tolerate good French wine.

3

The rain ceased when Auguste parked outside the Prefecture. He looked back at his car then realised one wheel was on the pavement and one of the windows was still open. He descended the stairs and corrected his inebriate parking, shut the window and thanked his lucky stars there was no one to challenge his drunken driving. It would have looked bad, though of course there were no other consequences for a policeman of his rank.

Once ensconced at his desk he stared straight ahead and despite his lack of sobriety, he began to think things through. Brunner had admitted the murder. It was a triumph but he needed to be cautious. If Judge Dubois were an accessory, then Auguste would have to be secretive too. He needed to commit the entire conversation to paper. He had no wish to involve Édith; it was a safety issue. He could not afford for her to be a target of the SD.

He wondered what Claude might do if he found out about the hangings. Most likely, he would never find out the hanged men were not the ones Brunner expected. If Claude was in league with Brunner then he would have to be excluded, but he was an unknown quantity now.

Édith knocked and entered.

‘Auguste, there is a small silly matter...’

‘Oh?’ he said.

‘Have you been drinking?’

‘Well I had a few glasses of excellent Bordeaux and I don’t care.’

‘Auguste, do you need to go home?’

‘Yes, yes, but later. I have some things to write.’

‘Dictate them then and I will type them up.’

‘No, it is a private matter. How can I help you?’

‘Help me?’

‘You said there was a matter...’

‘Yes. It’s that poacher, François Dufy again.’

‘Dufy?’

‘He has been arrested again.’

‘What for now?’

‘He was doing almost the same thing as last time.’

‘Which was?’

She held an index finger to her mouth.

‘Which was?’

‘I... I...’

‘You can speak freely.’

‘He was in the market place again selling game. He was shouting things.’

‘Well?’

‘Fat trout, not as fat as Göring.’

‘What?’

Auguste smiled and he saw the glimmer of a smile on his secretary’s lips.

‘One of your constables picked him up. Claude questioned him and cautioned him.’

‘Send him up. I will have to reprimand him myself. He takes no notice of Claude.’

Auguste sat alone. He tapped an index finger on the desk. He knew the SD were listening. He knew he had to make it good but he had doubts about his ability to be subtle after a bottle and a half of beautiful Bordeaux. He had to concentrate. He poured a glass of water from the jug on his desk and glugged it down, hoping it might sober him up.

The old poacher’s knock came before he was ready, but he put down the glass and looked up.

François said, ‘Now what? I hoped you would let me rest in the cells.’

‘Dufy, you are a fool. This is the second time you have been spouting insulting remarks about the German High Command. What have you to say for yourself?’

He raised his index finger to his lips, indicating silence.

Dufy said, ‘But you arrested me because I said my rabbits were as fat as Göring. Now you do the same when I say it is not true.’

‘You think you are funny? See if you think this is funny.’

Auguste smacked his closed fist on his palm. He hoped it made the right sound but it seemed limp.

‘Get up Dufy, you reprobate. I don’t ever want to see you here again. Wait. On second thoughts, I will escort you out. I don’t trust you not to steal something on the way down.’

He got up and took Dufy by the arm. He walked him down the stairs. Close to the door, he whispered, ‘well?’

‘I delivered the message. The five men are safe and their families know what to say.’

‘Good. Tell Pierre I have proof of Brunner’s guilt and I will need to see him in a couple of days.’

‘He won’t come. It is too dangerous. He came to you once and that was enough risk. You can’t ask him to do it again.’

‘Just tell him the old tree stump, ten o’clock at night tomorrow. I will have news.’

‘He won’t come.’

Auguste smiled. ‘He will come.’

‘Here, have you been drinking?’

‘Shut up François, go now.’

Auguste was still smiling as he climbed the stairs back to his office. He wiped his hand on his jacket as if the old man might have contaminated him. It was the first time things had gone right for a long time. He felt confident he had enough on Brunner to prosecute and nothing would stop him now.

Chapter 19

1

Auguste slipped in the dark on his doorstep when he came home. The evening frost had begun its shiny, white encroachment onto the porch. He saved himself from the fall by grabbing at the clematis adorning the wall next to him. The plant, an ancient remnant of years gone by, ripped from its wires. It hung dejected in his hand. He giggled. His head spun and he realised his back pained but the discomfort was not as severe as he expected. Wine, it was clear, dulls pain. He repeated it to himself as he took off his shoes.

Entering the kitchen, he bumped into the doorframe and cursed. Odette, eating with the two girls looked at him and smiled.

‘You’ve had an argument with a bottle I see, you naughty man. You know you shouldn’t use such words in front of the children, you of all people.’

‘Sorry. Yes, I did have a few bottles of an excellent ’23, an ethereal pleasure, but a formidable one.’

‘I’m glad. It is the first time I’ve seen you smiling when you come home for a long time.’

‘Not much in my day to smile about but some hope has come. I will tell you later.’

‘Papa,’ Zara said as she hugged him.

Monique too, left her plate and he drew her in as well.

‘My little girls. How have you been today?’

‘Well...’ Zara began and she launched into a blow-by-blow account of her school day, pausing only to breathe.

Auguste sat down and looked at his wife as Zara continued her tale of events.

‘Papa, you aren’t listening,’ she said.

Auguste propped his chin on his hand but his elbow slipped from the table edge so he sat back and tried to pay attention. It was as if he had managed to remain attentive to events until now but the relaxation of homecoming had released the alcohol in his veins, trapped there through tension and fear.

He felt good. True, he had much to do, but he thought he could see an end to his problems. Brunner would pay, somehow Brunner would pay.

‘Uncle Auguste,’ Monique said.

Her voice seemed to jolt him. He opened his eyes wider and tried, despite his inebriation, to concentrate upon the little beings who now occupied all the attention he could muster.

‘Yes, my little one?’

‘I saw a black car outside today. I hid myself in the attic like you told me.’

‘Good, good,’ he said.

‘I’m sorry I looked out. I heard it and I’m sure no one saw me. I didn’t know whether to hide in the attic or not.’

‘You are a good girl.’

‘Papa, you told her not to look out. I told her too. Tell her off.’

‘Now, now,’ Odette said, ‘you must stop telling tales on Monique and causing trouble. How many times do I have to tell you?’

‘You never listen to me,’ she said.

‘Dear Zara,’ Auguste said, ‘I always listen to you. What a lovely day you have had.’

‘No it wasn’t. See. You didn’t listen.’

‘I love you anyway. Never forget it.’

‘No you don’t. You love her.’

Zara pointed at Monique.

‘I love you both but in different ways because you are different people. One can love many children. Now eat your supper and don’t fight.’

The girls finished their food in silence.

Odette said, ‘You girls go upstairs now and don’t forget to brush your teeth. I will come and tuck you both up in half an hour.’

‘Not yet Maman, please. I want daddy to put us to bed.’

‘I will come up too. Now run along my children. The day is nearly done and a new one will dawn just for you, before you know it.’

Monique looked at him with curiosity.

‘What do you mean, Uncle Auguste?’

‘Well, just... just that it... Oh never mind. Off you go.’

His momentary confusion cleared and he realised he was talking rubbish. He knew he was still drunk and since he had taken less of the wine than Brunner had, he hoped the German would not recall the whole conversation.

‘Odette,’ he said, once he could hear the girls’ footsteps upstairs, ‘I saved five men’s lives today.’

‘The reprisals? There were no hangings?’

‘Well there was a public hanging but the men who were hanged were not our local farmers.’

‘Who then?’

‘You remember Duboef the prison Governor in Lyon? He has been a good friend ever since I left the prison service. He helped; he understands. I had five condemned criminals from Lyon transferred here for execution but told Brunner they were local men.’

‘But Auguste, Brunner will find out as soon one of his informers spots even one of them.’

‘No, that’s the beauty of it. I passed a message to Pierre to get the five men away and they will be safe. No one but me and a handful of partisans will ever know.’

‘But...’

‘Really, it will work. It has only to work long enough for me to arrange Brunner’s arrest.’

‘Arrest?’

‘Yes. He confessed to the murder of Bernadette Leclerc. He drank a lot of wine and told me.’

‘Do you think the Judge will listen to you? He refused before. What has changed?’

‘I can give evidence in court. It is worth a try.’

‘Brunner will have you arrested, Auguste. You will disappear and we will never see you again. Dubois was right; you are obsessed to the point of now risking your own life.’

‘He is a sadist and a murderer. He must face justice.’

Odette stood up. She leaned towards him, her mouth set. Their faces close, she said, ‘I have married a fool. You risk everything. Do you hear? Me, Zara, Monique. We will all be interned and killed. You cannot do this.’

‘I must.’

‘What was she to you? That girl, Bernadette, you hardly knew her.’

‘She was a young woman, as Zara one day will be. Brunner tortured her for sexual pleasure and then killed her. If it was our daughter, how would you feel about it?’

‘She wasn’t our daughter. Our daughter is the one whose life you are risking by pursuing this.’

‘A man must have some principles.’

‘Men. You and your principles. You are all the same. You and your wars, your killing. I’s all right to die for a principle even though you take everything from your family in doing so. And always the women are left behind to suffer, to manage. What is the saying? In peace, men bury their fathers; in war, men bury their sons. Who thinks about the women in the middle? You men? I think not. You don’t grow up from the age of seven when you play at soldiers in the woods.’

‘Odette, what kind of world would we have if such crimes were allowed to go unpunished? We have a duty to God to protect the innocent and punish evil.’

‘There is no teaching in our church which says you need to give your life needlessly for a principle.’

‘But God watches us all, all the time. To allow a sin like Brunner committed to go unpunished is a sin in itself.’

‘Maybe you should ask Père Bernard. He will tell you. You are becoming obsessed and ill with all this.’

‘No. I am drunk, tomorrow I will be sober, but Brunner’s evil will still be here. It is like a stain on my conscience. Bernadette must have justice.’

‘Auguste,’ Odette said, her voice softening, ‘please consider the danger. I could not bear it if anything happened to you.’

She reached out a trembling hand and touched him on the shoulder, across the table. He turned his head and kissed the proffered hand and he saw tears in her eyes.

He understood it all. He knew she was right from a woman’s perspective but he was like a terrier gripping a rabbit in its teeth. He could not let go for any threat, for any personal danger. Yet here Odette needed the security of an endurable everyday life. He was threatening her security. She needed him to desist, yet despite his love for her realised he could not. It was as if a maelstrom gripped him and it dragged him in, defenceless and powerless against the force of the whirling currents of his wish for justice.

2

The old stairs creaked as they ascended hand-in-hand to put the two little girls to bed. Auguste sat on Zara’s bed and Odette upon Monique’s. A single nightlight burned on a table in the opposite corner of the room and Auguste squinted at the flickering illumination. He stroked his daughter’s forehead and hair; a gentle repetitive motion. The caress always sent her into the familiar presleep state all parents recognise in their offspring with such expert ease.

He glanced over his shoulder and saw Odette held Monique’s hand and the child’s eyelids were drooping already. When he glanced back at Zara, her eyes were wide open.

‘Off to sleep now ma fleur. Tomorrow is another day, just for you. Let it come. Today is finished.’

‘Papa?’ she said.

‘Yes, my little one.’

‘Who is Bernadette?’