Tsing-Boum (14 page)

‘Could you tell me, please, whether Colonel Voisin has his office here?' Monotonous tone; he was quite prepared to be sent to four buildings in turn, and to be told in each and every one that nobody had ever heard of Colonel Voisin: rudely into the bargain.

‘You wish to see Colonel Voisin? Nothing is easier. But it is a vile day – why not leave your coat here by the pipes where it can dry?'

‘That would be most kind.'

‘But come in – you can warm up while I get through to Colonel Voisin for you.'

It was just like a French village post office. Cacti in pots, a smell of radiators and onion soup, a wilderness of official forms and where-has-that-rubber-stamp-got-to. Ashtrays were full of cigarette-ends and paper-clips, a blackened enamel coffee-pot stood on the radiator; a musty old raincoat and a greenish beret simmered beside it. Next to the telephone switchboard stood a floor-polish tin full of bits of wire and three pairs of pliers. He stood steaming happily.

‘Now let's see; Colonel Voisin – he's expecting you, no doubt?'

‘Vaguely – I have no definite appointment.'

‘Not to worry; he's not busy today. What name?'

‘Van der Valk.'

‘Good good.' He wound at his handle. ‘Mon colonel, a monsieur Ven de Venk. No, a foreign gentleman. Yes, mon colonel. Yes, mon colonel … Colonel Voisin asks you to be good enough to give him four minutes and he will be happy to receive you. No no, truly – when he says four he means four. Not like some. A gentleman. Perhaps you'd like a cup of coffee – I'm afraid it's a bit old?'

‘Gladly; thank you.'

It was bitter and muddy, but tasted strongly of coffee and almost as strongly of rum, and it did him the world of good. The hairy old boy watched with approval.

‘You won't be offended?' with a five-franc piece in his fingers.

‘My dear monsieur – in France nobody is ever offended at being offered money. Now let me give you directions: up the stairs, second landing, turn to your left, not the first door, that's the broom cupboard, but next door, that's number twenty-nine, and I thank you wholeheartedly. Can I be of any other service?'

‘What's he like?'

‘Him? Very nice,' without hesitation. ‘Very polite and hates to give trouble.'

Greatly refreshed, he fairly bounded up the stairs and had no trouble with the broom cupboard. A sign said ‘Knock and enter': he did.

A large bare room, with nothing in it but a flat desk at an angle with the window to get the best light, and plain unpainted wooden bookshelves full of grey cardboard files lining all the walls. Behind the desk sat a heavy man with short grey hair and gold-rimmed glasses which he took off to greet his visitor. He stood up; he wore a plain grey suit. His waistline had thickened in the way of middle-aged men who have been athletes in their youth, but he would look all right in a uniform too. His right sleeve was tucked in his jacket pocket; the square shaved face was full of kindness as well as intelligence, and unsurprised; Van der Valk saw that the concierge had not exaggerated to please him. A nice man.

But a stern man: the voice was low and pleasant, but gave every syllable its exact shape and weight, with a sharp edge. Henri Matisse, cutting out paper with scissors.

‘Good morning. You are welcome. Be pleased to sit down.' The left hand was offered naturally. This man had no use for furry phrases like ‘And what can I do for you?' ‘I had a message from the general. You rang him up, as he told me. You are an officer of police, from Amsterdam – I understand? Will you believe that there is no hostility in my asking you to prove your identity?'

Van der Valk rummaged in his pockets, and produced this and that. Colonel Voisin put his glasses back on, and showed considerable deftness with his one hand. He patted the papers together, pushed them across, picked them up, and handed
them courteously to their owner. He uncapped a pen effortlessly and made a brief note in minuscule handwriting on the pad before him.

‘Monsieur le Commissaire, the general was obliged to make a rapid decision upon very slight knowledge; that is his job. Mine is to examine briefs presented to me. You have a brief; perhaps you will do me the honour of outlining it.'

‘Five days ago a young woman named Esther Marx was shot and killed in her apartment in Holland. I am the officer responsible for the inquiry. She was married to a Dutch noncommissioned officer, a marriage legalized here in France. He was serving here in a Nato force; she was a military nurse. Gathering routine information from various authorities here seemed to bring to light only one fact and that, naturally, much distorted. While something was undoubtedly known about this woman – possibly something shameful or even sinister, and perhaps criminal – there was a reluctance to talk about it. First point.

‘I had a visit from DST – or perhaps SDECE – it is not always easy to tell the difference. The woman was assassinated in a neat and tidy fashion, with a sub-machine-gun; it did look as though it might have been a political killing. The visit was to assure me that this was not so. Second point.'

The points were being briefly noted in the neat minute writing. ‘One of the persons I spoke to, realising that I would not be satisfied with the meagre information I was getting, gave me a friendly, unofficial hint – roundabout I may say. For me to make of what I could or would. Obscurely, the name of Dien Bien Phu was linked with this woman. It happens that I have a French wife. She has relatives in the south – some of whom fought in Indochina – and in Algeria. Her thoughts and reactions aroused my curiosity. The fourth point is that shortly after her marriage this woman had a child whose birth certificate states “Father unknown”. I came to Marseilles to talk to some of my wife's relatives. As the result of some good advice I met a man who told me without concealment that Esther Marx had indeed served in Indochina in 1954, and had been linked with a young officer. It seemed natural to ask the authorities for some news of this officer. However, I have
learned that aspects of these episodes – the war in Algeria – sometimes inspire reticence. It is no part of my business to comment upon this.'

Voisin nodded coolly.

‘Among the pieces of advice I received was one very good one,' went on Van der Valk in his colourless functionary's voice. ‘To apply, when one wishes to find something out, at the top. It is common knowledge that the general commanding Army Group Seven was an officer prominent in the defence of Dien Bien Phu. An officer without the slightest stain on his name. I rang him up, after some considerable thought. The result is my introduction to yourself, mon colonel, and now you know as much as I do.'

‘That is very clear. I understand better why you made that – surprising – phone call. A bold thing to do.'

‘For anyone who knows the general? It took, I agree, all the impudence of which I am capable.' Voisin didn't smile. On the other hand, he didn't exactly look furious, either.

‘The impudence – since you yourself use the word – was no doubt a grave offence to protocol.' One couldn't tell whether he was amused. ‘To anyone who knows the general,' a pause, ‘possibly an astute step to take.'

‘I don't know him,' with regret. ‘I was thinking more that things put in writing get so covered in caution – ach, mon colonel, you understand.'

‘I do indeed. Have you more to add?'

‘Perhaps that in my position it is important to avoid delay. I have a criminal inquiry to conduct. This woman – now that I can no longer protect her, it is my duty to defend her.'

Colonel Voisin turned this remark around awhile, to study it under different lights.

‘Yes,' he said at last. ‘It is certainly your duty to ask some of these questions. It will be my duty to answer some of them. Others … Well well, you have a right to probe. If I am not mistaken you wish to know more about Lieutenant Laforêt … I do not ask you how you come by this name; it is probable that you prefer not to tell me. But tell me how you come to have grounds for supposing that a man serving in the army overseas in 1954 could have any link with a woman's death in Holland five days ago.'

‘This soldier in Holland,' heavily, ‘a good man, an honest man. He offered to marry this woman, somewhat quixotically, and he – defied is too strong – he went against the official disapproval of his superiors to do so. It was the first hint that something might be known of her. He is a plodding, conformist, exact man of no very high intelligence. But once he performed an act of quixotic bravery, in Korea, and was decorated for it. I think that this was another such flash of defiance, of devil-take-the-consequence. I may be wrong. But the woman was pregnant. Knowing her to be pregnant he offered to marry her. Knowing this she accepted. The implication is clear – she could or would not marry the child's father. She even went so far as to blacken herself by claiming that the child's father was unknown to her.'

‘And might that not be the exact truth?' asked Voisin mildly. ‘Might she not have had several lovers? Do you start with Lieutenant Laforêt as the first such name with which gossip happens to have provided you?'

Not really acid. At the most sub-acid. But Van der Valk was stung.

‘I'm afraid you will find my last piece of reasoning unsatisfactory,' he said mournfully.

‘I will be the judge of that,' in the voice that no doubt he had used to many soldiers who had robbed, raped or deserted, and were now suggesting that they might have had a blackout.

‘This child – it happens that the Dutch soldier we have spoken of is poorly placed to look after her, though he is quite ready to. His family, it appears, is opposed … Be that as it may, I myself have taken the temporary responsibility of giving the child a home. My wife is looking after her. I think I said my wife was French. The child has been taught to think of herself as French, and knows herself that this man is not her father. Esther seems to have decided upon this course. The child has a military badge in her beret – that of the Thirteenth Demi-Brigade. I attached no importance to that – I told myself that a military nurse might well have several such souvenirs.'

‘Lieutenant Laforêt,' dryly, ‘did not serve in the Legion.'

‘Perhaps not,' agreed Van der Valk. ‘It is a red beret. My wife, as a joke, putting it on the child's head, tipped it forward and said – frivolously – “Now you're a paratrooper.” The
interesting thing is that the child burst abruptly into tears and said “My mother used to tell me that”.'

There was a long silence, broken at last by Voisin.

‘You are an interesting man, Commissaire. You yourself are Dutch?'

‘Nothing more Dutch.'

‘You described this soldier – this Dutch soldier – as a placid, phlegmatic man. What we think of as illustrating the Dutch, in so far as we know them. You detected two flashes – of quixotry you said – which illuminated this man's character. Does it strike you that with two such flashes of similar behaviour you have illuminated yourself – in my eyes?'

‘It hadn't,' said Van der Valk humbly, ‘though it does now. In a way. Will you be surprised then, to hear that I thought I understood something about this woman because of my wife's own character? Now that you tell me I resemble her husband?'

‘It is perhaps appropriate that you should have chosen to shelter this child, if you will pardon my replying to one question with another?' There was another long silence. ‘I will tell you about Lieutenant Laforêt,' went on Voisin at last.

He felt in his pocket and produced a packet of Craven A. He offered it, got no-thanks, shook one loose, and lit it with an old American Zippo.

‘Operational Group North-west,' he said at last. ‘Contracted, in military fashion, to “Gono”. Strangely naïve, is it not, the military mind? No one seems to have noticed that the official designation of the garrison of Dien Bien Phu was both comic in a vulgar way and also somewhat ill-omened.' He drew on the cigarette, tapped the ash, looked for a moment at the burning tip, and said in his level steely voice that clipped words, ‘The first thing to know is that there isn't any Lieutenant Laforêt. He was dismissed from the army in the year Esther Marx married. I prepared the papers. There, if you like, is the reason why the name rang a bell in the mind of your informant. She acted in a fashion that led to something of a scandal. She shot him.'

Van der Valk felt more like a bit player in the last act than ever.

‘She shot him,' repeated Voisin deliberately. ‘She was brought to trial but the tribunal, after mature consideration of the facts, was persuaded that she had acted in a condition of legitimate self-defence. You see, all the witnesses were in the army. It was,' he concluded unemotionally, ‘a fairly grave miscarriage of justice.'

‘You mean it was hushed up. That was what was hushed up.'

‘Come, Commissaire. You are using a pejorative phrase about a due process of law. A civil tribunal, and I assure you an active prosecutor as well as competent judges. I cannot allow you to imagine there was corruption: there was no such thing. But it is true that all the witnesses were perjured.'

‘What – against their own comrade?'

‘They all agreed that he was very drunk, dangerously drunk – this scene took place in a bar. That he was flourishing a pistol, that she courageously took it away from him, that he drunkenly resisted and was wounded in the course of the ensuing struggle. The proprietor of the bar was told very clearly that if he cast any doubt upon the word of French officers his bar would be plasticked – with him inside. It was the time,' precisely, ‘when a street in Algiers was popularly known as the Rue de la Bombe. You see, Commissaire, that I am opening doors upon things that do me little credit. You see further that the decision which the general was called on to make was how best to defend the honour of the army. Not, however, a decision he has made for the very first time.' The scissors-voice was more cutting than ever.