Sandman by J. Robert Janes Page B

concerned that …’
    Still there was no sign of anything, not even the flash of a more quizzical smile as between men who know of such things as Vernet was now about to impart.
    â€˜The girl had taken a lover, Inspector. A fellow student. She often stayed out beyond the curfew, and for her sake as well as ours, I had advised her to remain where she was. It’s normal, I understand, for people to do such things.’
    Even the clubs and bars would close and lock their doors, keeping the patrons in until the curfew ended at 5.00 a.m. It was that or have them risk arrest with all its consequences.
    â€˜A lover,’ said Kohler. The cap and wound badges in that kid’s pockets, eh? ‘Can you put a name to him?’
    â€˜Alas, I considered the matter private.’
    â€˜But she was the last to see the child alive, monsieur,’ urged Louis. ‘Surely you must realize how important it is for us to talk to her?’
    General von Schaumburg had said nothing of these two detectives, nor had Gestapo Boemelburg. Had their silence been a warning in itself? wondered Vernet, and decided that it must have been. ‘My chauffeur will have the address and perhaps the name. Deloitte occasionally dropped the girl off on the way.’
    â€˜I’ll ask him, then, shall I?’ shot Kohler.
    â€˜Yes, of course, Inspector. Now if you will excuse me a moment, I will get my hat and coat.’
    â€˜Ah, monsieur,’ interjected Louis, ‘could I ask that your driver take us to the morgue? Monsieur Deloitte can then fill me in on the way while Detective-Inspector Kohler talks to the rest of the staff.’
    â€˜Very well, if that is what you wish, but I must caution your assistant to limit his activities to the kitchens.’
    â€˜ Sein Assistent …? ’ blustered Kohler. ‘ Ah Gott im Himmel, mein Herr, Gestapo Mueller ist mein Vetter! ’ This was not true, of course.
    â€˜Herr Mueller’s cousin or not,’ said Vernet in unruffled French, ‘you will confine yourself to the kitchens and leave the bedrooms of Mademoiselle Chambert and my niece alone until such time as the Kommandant von Gross-Paris decides a search warrant is necessary.’
    Verdammt …!
    â€˜Inspectors, my only wish is for you to find the killer swiftly, but because of my position, I must insist all formalities be observed.’
    Left to himself, Kohler pointed a stiffened forefinger at the housekeeper to rivet her into silence, and went up the stairs like a rocket to open the first door on his right and catch a breath. Ah nom de Jésus-Christ , what was this? A flea market? A sorcerer’s enchantment?
    Softly he closed the door behind him. The room was spacious but seemingly cluttered. It had been done in white, with white lace throws on the bed, but there was gold, too. Gold in gilt-framed mirrors and mirrored trumeaux that threw the winter’s-night light from the windows back and forth, laying detail upon detail until the whole was repetition of shape and form and it took the breath away.
    â€˜Ah merde ,’ he said. ‘This can’t be the child’s room. It must be Liline Chambert’s.’
    Not a thing was out of place. All had been set exactly where it should be to ensure the total effect. Tall, branching, Gothic wrought-iron standards held candles on either side of a fireplace whose mantelpiece had been removed, though the curved supports remained and now held matching bronze sculptures with single candles in them. Roosters perhaps—very modern in any case, and with their beaks turned back to peck at their tails and one leg lifted straight overhead like ballet dancers.
    Ivory candelabra were draped with beads of clear crystal. A sculptress’s three-legged stand held the curly-bearded, curly-headed grey plaster bust of an ancient seer who impassively looked on so that one saw his head from four or five angles and these views were superimposed on and