They sat in the Roxburghe's lounge, Levy pouring coffee. An elderly couple in the far corner, beside the window, pored over sections of newspaper. David Levy was elderly, too. He wore black-rimmed glasses and had a small silver beard. His hair was a silver halo around a scalp the colour of tanned leather. His eyes seemed constantly moist, as if he'd just chewed on an onion. He sported a dun-coloured safari suit with blue shirt and tie beneath. His walking-stick rested against his chair. Now retired, he'd worked in Oxford, New York State, Tel Aviv itself, and several other locations around the globe.
`I never came into contact with Joseph Lintz, however. No reason why I should, our interests being different.’
`So why does Mr Mayerlink think you can help me?’
Levy put the coffee pot back on its tray. `Milk? Sugar?’
Rebus shook his head to both, then repeated his question.
`Well, Inspector,' Levy said, tipping two spoonfuls of sugar into his own cup, `it's more a matter of moral support.’
`Moral support?’
`You see, many people before you have been in the same position in which you now find yourself. I'm talking about objective people, professionals with no axe to grind, and no real stake in the investigation.’
Rebus bristled. `If you're suggesting I'm not doing my job…’
A pained look crossed Levy's face. `Please, Inspector, I'm not making a very good job of this, am I? What I mean is that there will be times when you will doubt the validity of what you are doing. You'll doubt its worth.’
His eyes gleamed. `Perhaps you've already had doubts?’
Rebus said nothing. He had a drawerful of doubts, especially now that he had a real, living, breathing case – Candice. Candice, who might lead to Tommy Telford.
`You could say I'm here as your conscience, Inspector.’
Levy winced again. `No, I didn't put that right, either. You already have a conscience, that's not under debate.’
He sighed. `The question you've no doubt been pondering is the same one I've asked myself on occasions: can time wash away responsibility? For me, the answer would have to be no. The thing is this, Inspector.’
Levy leaned forward. `You are not investigating the crimes of an old man, but those of a young man who now happens to be old. Focus your mind on that. There have been investigations before, halfhearted affairs. Governments wait for these men to die rather than have to try them. But each investigation is an act of remembrance, and remembrance is never wasted. Remembrance is the only way we learn.’
`Like we've learned with Bosnia?’
`You're right, Inspector, as a race we've always been slow to take in lessons. Sometimes they have to be hammered home.’
`And you think I'm your carpenter? Were there Jews in Villefranche?’
Rebus couldn't remember reading of any.
`Does it matter?’
`I'm just wondering, why the interest?’
`To be honest, Inspector, there is a slight ulterior motive.’
Levy sipped coffee, considering his words. `The Rat Line. We'd like to show that it existed, that it operated to save Nazis from possible tormentors.’
He paused. `That it worked with the tacit approval the more than tacit approval – of several western governments and even the Vatican. It's a question of general complicity.’
`What you want is for everyone to feel guilty?’
`We want recognition, Inspector. We want the truth. Isn't that what you want? Matthew Vanderhyde would have me believe it is your guiding principle.’
`He doesn't know me very well.’
`I wouldn't be so sure of that. Meantime, there are people out there who want the truth to stay hidden.’
`The truth being…?’
'That known war criminals were brought back to Britain – and elsewhere – and offered new lives, new identities.’
`In exchange for what?’
`The Cold War was starting, Inspector. You know the old saying: My enemy's enemy is my friend. These murderers were protected by the secret services. Military Intelligence offered them jobs. There are people who would rather this did not become general knowledge.’
`So?’
`So a trial, an open trial, would expose them.’
`You're warning me about spooks?’
Levy put his hands together, almost in an attitude of prayer. `Look, I'm not sure this has been a completely satisfactory meeting, and for that I apologise. I'll be staying here for a few days, maybe longer if necessary. Could we try this again?’
`I don't know.’
`Well, think about it, won't you?’
Levy extended his right hand. Rebus took it. `I'll be right here, Inspector. Thank you for seeing me.’
`Take care, Mr Levy.’
`Shalom, Inspector.’
At his desk, Rebus could still feel Levy's handshake. Surrounded by the Villefranche files, he felt like the curator of some museum visited only by specialists and cranks. Evil had been done in Villefranche, but had Joseph Lintz been responsible? And even if he had, had he perhaps atoned during the past half-century? Rebus phoned the ProcuratorFiscal's office to let them know how little progress he was making. They thanked him for calling. Then he went to see the Farmer.
`Come in, John, what can I do for you?’
`Sir, did you know the Crime Squad had set up a surveillance on our patch?’
`You mean Flint Street?’
`So you know about it?’
`They keep me informed.’
`Who's acting as liaison?’
The Farmer frowned. `As I say, John, they keep me informed.’
`So there's no liaison at street level?’
The Farmer stayed silent. `By rights there should be, sir.’
`What are you getting at, John?’
`I want the job.’
The Farmer stared at his desk. `You're busy on Villefranche.’
`I want the job, sir.’
`John, liaison means diplomacy. It's never been your strongest suit.’
So Rebus explained about Candice, and how he was already tied into the case. `And since I'm already in, sir,' he concluded, `I might as well act as liaison.’
`What about Villefranche?’
`That remains a priority, sir.’
The Farmer looked into his eyes. Rebus didn't blink. `All right then,' he said at last.
`You'll let Fettes know?’
`I'll let them know.’
`Thank you, sir.’
Rebus turned to leave.
`John…?’
The Farmer was standing behind his desk. `You know what I'm going to say.’
`You're going to tell me not to tread on too many toes, not to go off on my own little crusade, to keep in regular contact with you, and not betray your trust in me. Does that just about do it, sir?’
