abandoned cowshed. He threatened to tell the others if the man didn’t give him a cut.’
‘Which he did?’
‘Yes. The agent told the group that the money was lost, then he and Didier split the package. But the rest of the group found out. I think Didier began to spend his share and someone noticed. Elise said that word would have got back to London and the two of them would have been hunted down and killed.’
Claude butted in. ‘And your sister told you all this? You, a twelve-year-old girl?’
Francine nodded. ‘Why not? She told me lots of things. She taught me lots, too.’ Her eyes glittered with what could have only been secret pride, and Rocco felt a worm of disquiet as he wondered what else lay beneath that expression.
‘Go on.’ Rocco stared hard at Claude, a warning to stay quiet.
‘Didier told her everything because he wanted to impress her. All it did was increase her contempt for him. In fact, she thought he was making it up, a braggart. She still thought that at the end.’
‘What happened then?’ said Rocco.
‘A couple of nights later, the men in the group met in a deserted quarry where they had their equipment concealed in caves dug out of the rock. It was a strategy meeting called by the agent. But Elise said they were going to use the meeting to confront him and Didier about the theft. They warned Elise to stay away, that it might be dangerous. When they got to the quarry, the Germans were waiting.’ She sighed with a deep shudder that seemed to embrace her whole body. ‘That same night, the Germans raided our house and took my sister away. I never saw her again.’
‘What about Didier and the other man?’
‘They disappeared, too. Nobody saw them again. As far as anyone knew, they were taken at the same time. But now I realise that they weren’t even there, otherwise they’d be dead.’ Her face twisted with bitterness. ‘How did the Germans know about the exact time and location of the meeting? It must have been because Didier and the other man betrayed the group — it’s the only explanation.’
‘But you didn’t know that at the time.’
‘No. Of course not.’ She shrugged. ‘It was just a horrible part of the war. Then, just over a couple of years ago, I saw a face in the newspaper. I thought I was going mad, delusional. It was the same face, the same smile… older, of course, but definitely the same man, now very important and rich. That’s when it all hit me: when I realised that he must have got away… that Didier hadn’t been bragging about the money after all.’
‘So you reasoned that if the agent had got away, there was a chance Didier had, too?’
‘Why not? They were in it together — traitors both.’
‘So you came after Didier and tracked him to Poissons.’
‘It wasn’t like that. I followed the other man first, for two weeks, when he was visiting his factories. Him I knew where to find: he lived in the public eye, so rich, so important. I wanted to learn all I could about him. One of his factories is here in Amiens. It makes plastic buckets for export to Germany. Can you believe the irony of that?’
Neither man said anything.
‘Anyway, after his visit, he drove out towards Poissons and turned off the road into the marais. I followed him on foot. He met up with another man at the big lodge.’
‘How did you manage to follow him all that way?’ muttered Claude. He hadn’t said ‘you being a mere woman’, but the inference was clear.
‘I worked for the tax authorities before coming here. I had to spend time with their investigators, watching people. It was easy. If he saw me on the road behind him, he probably looked right through me. Elise also taught me how to be invisible, how not to stand out.’
Rocco thought about the description Ishmael Poudric had given of the woman who’d called on him. Plain… instantly forgettable.
‘And the man he met — that was Didier?’
‘Yes. I recognised him immediately. He’d been to our house twice, chasing Elise, so I’d seen him up close. He had a way of looking at women… and twelve-year-old girls. He was a vile little man. Repulsive. They were standing outside the lodge, arguing. Then they left. I knew where I could find one; now I wanted to find where the other lived.’
‘Which you did.’
She nodded. ‘It was simple. I followed him through the marais until I came to his house.’
‘Was it you who pinned the photo to the board in his kitchen?’
She hesitated just for a second, then nodded. ‘Yes. But that was much later.’
‘To make him run?’
‘No. To make him squirm.’
‘Did he ever realise who you were?’ He meant at any time; if Didier had taken her deliberately, it would point to motive, to planning. To recognition.
‘No. I was a kid when he last saw me.’
‘Did you ever enlighten him?’
‘No.’
‘Not even after he took you?’
‘No.’
Rocco took a turn around the room to ease the sting in his ribs. The tablets the nurse had given him were wearing off and it was hurting like hell; he hadn’t noticed it for a while, too absorbed in what he was doing. He returned to stand in front of her.
‘You could have gone to the authorities.’
‘And told them what?’ Her eyes flashed. ‘That I, as a twelve-year-old girl, remembered from all those years ago seeing a little weasel and the great industrialist and war hero stealing and cheating and betraying? Who would have believed me? Who would have cared? Would you?’
He had no answer to that. She was right: it was too old, too long ago. Best buried and forgotten, along with countless other crimes and misdemeanours. But not for him. There was one more detail he needed her to give voice to. Essential, in fact. ‘The face you saw in the newspaper; the man you followed to Poissons. The SOE agent. He has a name?’
‘You know it. Philippe Bayer-Berbier.’ The words came out flat, lacking any feeling.
Seconds ticked by before anyone spoke. Then Rocco said, ‘What were you thinking of doing when you found these two men?’
She shrugged again, this time looking him straight in the eye. There was nothing there, though: her eyes were empty. The very absence of emotion was utterly chilling.
‘I was going to kill them.’
‘How were you going to do that?’ he said finally. Another tour of the room had not eased the discomfort in his ribs. He felt as if he had nothing else left to ask. Claude had sunk into his chair, incredulity on his face.
‘Any way I could. I was going to bide my time. As to how, Elise told me. She blew up a train once, when it was in a siding. I was a good listener. I nearly did it, too.’ She gave a half-smile, eyes drifting, and Rocco felt the last vestige of sympathy fall away.
‘So Elise knew all about explosives?’
‘Enough.’
‘And guns?’
‘Naturally.’ She sounded proud of the fact, and he wondered how much of that was for her own skills, picked up at her big sister’s knee.
He glanced at the photo again, at Elise holding a dagger as if she knew how to use it. ‘And knives, too.’
This time she said nothing. Simply stared at him, a flicker of something crossing her face, then gone. She was ahead of him; knew where that question was leading. No matter. It was all he needed.
‘Did you kill Nathalie Berbier?’ He was pretty sure he knew the answer to that. He’d failed to judge Francine Thorin correctly until now. But Poudric apart, her approach to getting revenge was fairly basic: she focused on and went directly for those she held responsible for the death of her sister. Her response confirmed it.
‘Is that who the dead woman was?’
‘You didn’t know?’
