The Bouliers’ next door neighbor who had been arrested on the night Kallsen went missing had been useless. The man had been afraid of his shadow, but even threats against his wife yielded no information. The two had observed no unusual activity, seen no unknown visitors, or witnessed anything to indicate that the Bouliers had been involved in Kallsen’s disappearance. And yet the Bouliers and their extended family and some close friends had deserted their homes, apparently within an hour of Bergmann’s visit on that street less than two days ago.
An hour after leaving the morgue, Bergmann walked down the wide, second-tier corridor of the jail. Keys jangled and metal doors clanged as he entered the cell where Ferrand’s neighbor was held. On seeing the German captain, the prisoner cowered in a corner, holding an arm over his battered face.
Bergmann mocked him. “Your time with us is coming to an end. I have your confession.”
The man peered at him through bruised eyes. “But I didn’t confess to anything. I don’t know anything.”
“Ah, but you did. I have three witnesses who will swear that you admitted to seeing Ferrand Boulier attack and beat Kallsen to death with some sort of instrument, and you aided his escape by failing to report immediately and then by delaying your confession. Come along. Your friends and family are waiting to see you.”
Two guards grabbed the hapless prisoner under his armpits and manhandled him along the walkway behind Bergmann, down a flight of stairs, and into a courtyard. Assembled in a fearful group at the other end were his neighbors and wife. She burst into tears on seeing him and tried to run to him, but she was restrained by the guards.
Halfway between the trembling cluster of neighbors at one end of the courtyard and the cringing prisoner at the other end, a squad of soldiers had spread out in a line. They held their rifles at their sides.
The two guards who had dragged out the prisoner stood him against the wall and tied his hands behind him. His body shook and he sobbed uncontrollably, looking alternately between his wife and the captain.
Bergmann strode to a position in front of the huddled neighbors. “I told you that you must respect my soldiers. This man confessed to witnessing your neighbor, Ferrand Boulier, deliberately beat and kill the one who went missing in your neighborhood two nights ago. We cannot and will not tolerate such violent criminal acts.”
With a quick nod of Bergmann’s head, a sergeant took charge. The two guards holding up the prisoner retreated behind the firing squad, leaving him weeping and wobbling.
After three quick commands, the courtyard erupted in gunfire that echoed from the walls. Children screamed and covered their ears. Women shrieked, turned their eyes, and buried them in kerchiefs. Their husbands stood, their faces devoid of expression, emasculated.
A thin cloud of smoke lifted into the air, spreading the smell of gunpowder. The prisoner lay in a heap on the ground. Behind him, a thick spray of blood ran in rivulets from the wall to the ground.
Bergmann spoke again. “Go back to your homes. Take care of your children. We want only peace between us. And remember, we will keep order, one way or the other.”
When Bergmann returned to headquarters, the orderly at the security desk told him that his commander wished to see him immediately. Surprised at the apparent urgency, he navigated the corridors of the office building that had housed the local school administration building. That function had been moved to an empty warehouse, the superintendent and staff told to make do.
On arrival at the office of Oberstleutnant Meier, the battalion commander, a corporal announced Bergmann and showed him in. Meier looked less than pleased. He was a tall man, slender, with thinning hair, a narrow face that dropped into a strong jaw, and piercing eyes.
He left the captain standing at attention. “I’ve been informed of your initiative,” he said. “You executed a man without clearing or even informing me of what you intended to do.”
“Sir—”
“I’m not done. I’ll tell you when you may speak.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Your action will inflame the population to take more extreme measures against us. Our job here is to secure this objective, and we don’t do that by generating more enemies where they did not exist.”
“They were in place already, sir.”
“You interrupted me.” Meier shot the captain a stern look. “We have the feldgendarmerie to carry out investigations. They’ve been doing their jobs. You know, and I know, that we had trouble with Kallsen. He’s assaulted women before. You might be interested to know that his comrades were questioned, and that around noon on the day he disappeared, he followed a young girl home from a bakery. He had leered at her when she walked by, and he told his patrol members that he intended to get her.”
Bergmann looked momentarily nonplussed. Then he regained his composure. “Sir, may I speak.”
Obviously still angry, the commander nodded.
“I was not aware of the information you just told me.”
“Did you miss that report? I’m told by the commander that you’ve taken a keen interest in the investigation.”
“That is correct, sir, but apparently I missed that detail for pursuing my normal duties. I am sure that the young girl was Chantal Boulier. She and her entire family and their extended family are gone. Meanwhile, as you know, we’re hearing rumors of resistance groups forming and of bombings farther south in France.”
“You missed that detail? Seriously?” Meier’s tone was slightly mocking. “Your zeal for action seems to outweigh your duty to be thorough. As for events farther south, you’re wading into matters far above your rank, Herr Hauptman.” Exasperated, Meier waved a hand in the air. “What did you expect? This country fought ours in a bloody war that lasted four years and ended
