Read Online Kaleidoscope by J. Robert Janes - Free Book Online Page B

Cannes?’
    Among other places – this was all too clear in the Gestapo’s expression.
    â€˜What else are we to do, monsieur, given that our village is so remote and we lack for many things?’
    â€˜How many times a week do you run the hearse to market and how many caskets do yoù fill?’
    â€˜In summer, two; in winter, one or none. It all depends on each harvest, on the time they change the controls, on so many little things. Too many bodies, too many funerals … Always there are questions.’
    Kohler got the picture. It was fair enough and Fratani knew only too well that to even barter an old bicycle inner tube for a chunk of bread these days was illegal and subject not just to a fine and imprisonment, but to transport into forced labour or worse.
    â€˜When did the victim catch on to things?’
    â€˜Right from the start, right from when the shortages first began in Cannes. The grey bread, the sudden absence of asparagus, monsieur, a thing we used to grow in quantity in the valleys. Four, five, six crops sometimes. Ah, nothing like some others but … It was her idea that we do this, monsieur. Madame Buemondi, she was the mastermind of our little business.’
    She probably was, thought Kohler, but let it pass. ‘Tell me why she would deny the Borels the right to water but give it to the Perettis?’
    Nom de Dieu , this one had the eyes of a priest! ‘Alain Borel, he …’
    â€˜The herbalist’s son?’
    â€˜Yes, yes, damn you! He …’
    â€˜Is in the hills,’ sighed Kohler. ‘Was he the one who left this for the girl, and was it really left for her?’
    Fratani stared at the carving. Startled, he asked where the Gestapo had found it and when told, gripped his stubbled cheeks, deep in thought and despair. The others would never forgive him if he told the truth.
    â€˜Ludo Borel’s eldest son gathers the herbs for his father in the mountains, monsieur, and dries them there.’
    â€˜I asked you who left this little carving and for whom? Don’t shrug, my fine, or I’ll make you carry her corpse all by yourself, right to Cannes.’
    â€˜The grandmother, Madame Mélanie Peretti, the mother of Georges.’
    â€˜The blind woman?’
    Was it so impossible for the Gestapo to comprehend? ‘She sees with the innermost eye, monsieur, and she carves most beautifully.’
    â€˜Don’t dump on me. For her to have done this, the herbalist would have had to let her put her hands all over his face.’
    â€˜But of course.’
    â€˜But I thought you told us the Perettis and the Borels were not on speaking terms?’
    â€˜They’re not. That is why she has left it on the hillside for the herbalist. The Abbé Roussel, he has acted as the transmitter of their words.’
    The transmitter? Why not the relay, or the go-between? Why use a wireless term?
    Kohler looked away to the ruins of the citadel and from there, let his eye run to the line of the nearest mountains. Da, dit, dit, da … Merde ! An enemy transmitter in the mountains. The sap. Had he let it slip on purpose?
    â€˜Is the herbalist’s son, Alain Borel, in love with the girl?’
    â€˜Very much so.’
    â€˜And did the mother not agree?’
    â€˜Did she forbid such a thing, monsieur? Is that what you mean?’
    â€˜You know it is.’
    Fratani sighed contentedly. ‘Then you are absolutely correct, Inspector. There could be no wedding, no possibility of a union and of offspring. On this, Madame was positive.’
    â€˜Or else she’d cut off their water?’
    â€˜She had already done that long ago, from the Borels, as I have said.’
    â€˜From the Perettis, you idiot!’ Ah Nom de Dieu , this one understood the hills far better than most.
    â€˜Louis, I have to tell you something.’ Kohler drew him round to the leeward side of the hearse while Fratani waited behind the steering-wheel.