She started by asking the prisoner which language he preferred. She asked this in French, German and finally English. Receiving no response, she spoke to him thereafter in French. Sybilla then introduced herself as Agent Skadi of the Intelligence Service—she didn’t mention which—and proceeded to ask a series of mundane questions:
“What is your name?”
“Where do you live?”
“How old are you?”
“What nationality do you claim?”
“What was your deceased friend’s name?”
“What were you doing in the pottery?”
“Who did you expect to meet?”
And so on … she received no answer to any of the questions.
Having exhausted all her questions, she stared up at him, trying to make eye contact. Whenever their eyes met, he would look away immediately. Sybilla sat silently, staring for a full five minutes. The prisoner was clearly tired and, she sensed, a little fearful. He frequently fidgeted in his seat. Unhappy and uncomfortable, Sybilla thought. Good!
After the pause, she looked down at her notes and started asking exactly the same questions again, this time in German. As before, she received no answers. Having exhausted her questions a second time, she stood up.
“I’m going for something to eat now,” she said, turning towards the door. “I’ll see you again after lunch.”
“What about my lunch?” the prisoner asked. He spoke in German and sounded aggrieved and angry. “I haven’t eaten since midday yesterday!”
She turned back towards him. A breakthrough, contact, progress!
Sybilla assumed her unhappy, concerned face and body language, shaking her head as she spoke. “I’m sorry, ‘The Wolf’ has ordered that you are not to be fed.”
“Who or what is ‘The Wolf’?” he responded angrily. “I have the right to receive my meals!”
“You remember ‘The Wolf’? He was the one who captured you in the pottery.”
Oh yes! She could tell by the look on his face that he remembered ‘The Wolf’: the wild white mane, glowering eyes, long livid scar, mouth wide with the lips curled back in a snarl of fury. Yes! He remembered ‘The Wolf’, and probably would for a long time to come.
In a more subdued tone he asked, “Why can’t I eat, why doesn’t he want me to have a meal?”
Sybilla dropped her eyes and hesitated before she spoke, at one point half turning towards the door before turning back towards him. She spoke quietly, barely audible. “It’s just that … well, he may have to interview you himself this afternoon.”
“So?”
Sybilla was working her hands together. “The people he interviews usually end up vomiting, and he wants to try to avoid that.” Without another word she turned to the door and walked out of the cell, but not before glimpsing the look of naked fear that crossed the prisoner’s face!
When she entered the squad room, she found Fournier at his desk with Rahn sat opposite, conversing.
Pointing to the still empty desk she had used earlier, she asked, “Alright if I use this, Paul?”
“Of course, Agent Skadi, or may I call you Sybilla?”
“‘Billa’ will do, Paul. ‘Agent Skadi’ is so formal.”
“Well?” insisted Rahn, unable to control his impatience.
“Well, what?” asked Sybilla, looking puzzled.
“You know very well what! How goes the interview?”
“Quite good,” Sybilla responded. “I’ve scored three hits. I don’t think it will take much more.”
“By the way, Wolf,” she added as an afterthought, “you certainly make an impression on the people you meet.”
“Why, thank you,” said Rahn looking smug and brushing and imaginary speck of dust from his lapel.
“I didn’t mean it that way!” retorted Sybilla while Fournier tried to stifle a snigger.
“I have good news for you, Billa,” said Fournier, composing himself. “Agent Rahn has been cleared of any wrongdoing in the shooting of the gunman at the Sarreguemines pottery factory. The magistrate has returned a finding of lawful homicide, so …” Fishing in his drawer, Fournier produced the Browning pistol. “I can now return this to its rightful owner,” he finished, and started walking towards Sybilla. Stopping suddenly, he threw his hand over his mouth and spun about. “Oh! I nearly forgot, this is your pistol, isn’t it, Wolf?”
“You know very well it is, Paul,” said Rahn, arching an eyebrow and wagging a finger at the detective.
Suppressing a smile as best she could, Sybilla rose. “Would either of you gallants be prepared to face the arctic blasts and escort a defenceless maiden to the nearest café for coffee and croissants?”
“Defenceless my—” Rahn began to say.
Smiling sadly, Fournier excused himself because of the backlog of paperwork. “It would help me greatly if you would take this creature opposite me with you,” he complained. “He’s a constant distraction.”
Rahn rose to his feet, placing one hand on his hip and the back of the other hand on his forehead, his head held high. “Very well, I go! I can no longer endure the taunts and abuse!” he said in a heroic voice, then half turning towards Fournier he held up a hand. “No! Do not try to stop me, Paul. I must go and face whatever is out there. Come, child!” he said, linking Sybilla’s arm. “We go!”
The two walked out of the door arm in arm, leaving Fournier at his desk smiling and shaking his head.
Sybilla was already sat at the table when the prisoner was escorted into the interview room a little after 2.30 p.m. She had left instruction that the prisoner should not be allowed to sleep during the midday break. He looked ghastly; tired, hungry and afraid.
As he had done earlier, the escorting gendarme closed but did not lock the door, taking up a position just outside. Sybilla glanced behind as if checking it was closed, reached across the table and placed her hand on the prisoner’s. He flinched slightly but did not draw it away.
“You’ve got to talk to me! ‘He’ wants to interview you,” she said earnestly.
“He?”
“‘The Wolf’—and I don’t want that to happen. I don’t like his methods. If I can’t walk out of this room with something, he will
