didn’t do any heavy or manual work either, just helping to run a boulangerie, no lifting heavy sacks of flour or anything like that.”
“So no explanation of why he stank like someone who had fallen into a vat of liquor, had heavy bruising, and apparently died firing a gun at a German officer.”
“Precisely.”
Lemele confirmed that talking to residents around the crime scene had gleaned no further information. No one could recall seeing a man matching the description of Lemarchand, or anyone else of note. A few confirmed having heard the shots, but there was no agreement even on how many shots. “So Monsieur Lemarchand appears to be a dead end. But a very neat and tidy one for Inspector Thioly to close the case on,” finished Lemele. Seeing no response forthcoming from Marner, seeing confusion and distraction in his face, she interpreted this as the end of their case. “So I will return to my missing persons, and you can go back to whoever it is that you were chasing before Schull and Lemarchand died.”
Still seeing no further reaction from him, she tossed a few centimes onto the metal-topped table in payment for her coffee and made to leave. The clatter of the coins snapped Marner from his reverie. “Wait!” Keeping his voice low and his eyes on whatever had his attention to her left, he instructed her to go and get another cup of coffee from within the shop and, on her return, to take a quick look at the individual loitering in the doorway of the closed and shuttered shop thirty metres along the street. Lemele did as instructed; the sudden note of urgency and concern in his voice overcame her impulse to turn and look immediately, waiting instead until she emerged from the shop, requiring only a sideways glance to see the man waiting there. She sat back down and confirmed that she had not seen him before in her life. When Lemele enquired if he was certain that it was them who were the object of this stranger’s attention, Marner confirmed that he was fairly sure.
“I wonder who he is following and watching, me or you?” mused Marner, his standard sardonic humour creeping back into his voice and face now that he had adjusted to the shock. Yes, he admitted to himself, shock; his nationality, uniform and status in this long-occupied city had never given him pause to think that he was anything but safe. Lemele sat looking at him blankly, not sure what action or next move was expected of her now. She would also be concerned, maybe frightened by this new development. Marner considered for a moment, not sure whether to tell her of what he had learned regarding the visitors to Schull’s hotel room. The awareness flared momentarily in his mind that he wanted to tell her, wanted to keep her in the game, primarily because he enjoyed her company. Not because she was warm and friendly – anything but! Nevertheless, she did have a spark that he had rarely encountered, even more so in the civilians of this city who either flinched and turned from him and his uniform or fawned over him. He had found few that he desired to spend time with or seek the companionship of amongst the morons and thugs in his organisation, and none were female. But he forced himself to immediately lock that thought away, not wanting to examine it, especially not at this moment when he needed to be focussed.
So Marner spent the next few minutes bringing Lemele up to date with what he had learned from Schull’s hotel, although he did not feel it was necessary to tell her the reason for Schull being in Paris. Lemele clearly knew plenty about the Carlingue. “The worst scum, even worse than you Nazis. At least you can hide behind the façade that you are patriots to your country, but these gestapists are simply traitors to their own people.”
Marner rocked backed, jolted from the moment of what – protectiveness? – that he had felt towards Lemele, to this slap in the face. “Look. I’m
“So no explanation of why he stank like someone who had fallen into a vat of liquor, had heavy bruising, and apparently died firing a gun at a German officer.”
“Precisely.”
Lemele confirmed that talking to residents around the crime scene had gleaned no further information. No one could recall seeing a man matching the description of Lemarchand, or anyone else of note. A few confirmed having heard the shots, but there was no agreement even on how many shots. “So Monsieur Lemarchand appears to be a dead end. But a very neat and tidy one for Inspector Thioly to close the case on,” finished Lemele. Seeing no response forthcoming from Marner, seeing confusion and distraction in his face, she interpreted this as the end of their case. “So I will return to my missing persons, and you can go back to whoever it is that you were chasing before Schull and Lemarchand died.”
Still seeing no further reaction from him, she tossed a few centimes onto the metal-topped table in payment for her coffee and made to leave. The clatter of the coins snapped Marner from his reverie. “Wait!” Keeping his voice low and his eyes on whatever had his attention to her left, he instructed her to go and get another cup of coffee from within the shop and, on her return, to take a quick look at the individual loitering in the doorway of the closed and shuttered shop thirty metres along the street. Lemele did as instructed; the sudden note of urgency and concern in his voice overcame her impulse to turn and look immediately, waiting instead until she emerged from the shop, requiring only a sideways glance to see the man waiting there. She sat back down and confirmed that she had not seen him before in her life. When Lemele enquired if he was certain that it was them who were the object of this stranger’s attention, Marner confirmed that he was fairly sure.
“I wonder who he is following and watching, me or you?” mused Marner, his standard sardonic humour creeping back into his voice and face now that he had adjusted to the shock. Yes, he admitted to himself, shock; his nationality, uniform and status in this long-occupied city had never given him pause to think that he was anything but safe. Lemele sat looking at him blankly, not sure what action or next move was expected of her now. She would also be concerned, maybe frightened by this new development. Marner considered for a moment, not sure whether to tell her of what he had learned regarding the visitors to Schull’s hotel room. The awareness flared momentarily in his mind that he wanted to tell her, wanted to keep her in the game, primarily because he enjoyed her company. Not because she was warm and friendly – anything but! Nevertheless, she did have a spark that he had rarely encountered, even more so in the civilians of this city who either flinched and turned from him and his uniform or fawned over him. He had found few that he desired to spend time with or seek the companionship of amongst the morons and thugs in his organisation, and none were female. But he forced himself to immediately lock that thought away, not wanting to examine it, especially not at this moment when he needed to be focussed.
So Marner spent the next few minutes bringing Lemele up to date with what he had learned from Schull’s hotel, although he did not feel it was necessary to tell her the reason for Schull being in Paris. Lemele clearly knew plenty about the Carlingue. “The worst scum, even worse than you Nazis. At least you can hide behind the façade that you are patriots to your country, but these gestapists are simply traitors to their own people.”
Marner rocked backed, jolted from the moment of what – protectiveness? – that he had felt towards Lemele, to this slap in the face. “Look. I’m
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