‘Where the hell have you been?’ demanded Authié.
Laval stood with his hands in front of him. ‘Interviewing Blum.’
‘All night?’
‘And then Sanchez, sir, as per your orders.’
Authié raised his head, noting Laval was back in civilian clothes. He waved his hand impatiently for him to continue.
‘Well, does Blum know where Pelletier is?’
‘I believe not, sir.’
Authié drummed his fingers on the desk. ‘Did he admit he was at the river?’
‘Eventually, yes, he did. He says he doesn’t know the girl’s name, though he admits he saw her. That could be true, but I think we’ll learn more from the Ménard girl in any case. Blum was more concerned about protecting her than anything else.’
‘What have you done with him?’
‘On the list to be deported today.’
‘Le Vernet?’
‘In the first instance, yes.’
Authié nodded again. ‘What else?’
‘After the wireless bulletins, the switchboard took a dozen calls from people claiming to have seen Pelletier – in Narbonne, in Toulouse, in Perpignan – but nothing credible. We had a permanent watch at the station and patrols checking bars, restaurants, churches and the cinema, anywhere he might have been hiding. There was a lot of trouble last night – looting, broken windows – so there were plenty of police on the streets, but no one matching Pelletier’s description. However, now the posters are ready to be put up, it will be harder for him to evade notice.’
‘If he’s still in Carcassonne,’ Authié interrupted, ‘which I doubt. What about Sanchez?’
Laval flushed at Authié’s peremptory tone, but he kept his irritation hidden.
‘Sanchez was released at midnight. He went to Pelletier’s apartment on the Quai Riquet, was there for no more than a couple of minutes, then went to Déjean’s apartment, where he spent the night. At approximately five o’clock this morning, he made his way to the sidings on the far side of the railway station. I approached him. He said he didn’t know where Pelletier was and claimed to know nothing about what – if anything – he might have found at Déjean’s apartment.’
‘Nothing about the key?’
‘No, sir.’
‘So that’s it, Laval? In twelve hours you’ve learnt precisely nothing.’
Laval didn’t answer. Authié pulled out a cigarette and tapped it on the packet, then lit it. ‘Where’s Sanchez now?’
‘No loose ends, you said.’
Authié stared at him. ‘What are you saying, Laval? Are you telling me he’s dead?’
‘Yes, sir.’
He dropped the matches back on the desk. ‘You killed him?’
‘To prevent him talking.’
‘Why the hell didn’t you say so sooner?’
‘I was answering your questions. You asked me about Blum.’
‘Sanchez’s death can’t be traced back here?’
‘It will be written up as a knife fight, communists brawling amongst themselves. There’re a lot of Spanish workers in the quartier de la Gare.’
Authié smoked half the cigarette in silence, then flicked the remainder out of the window. He watched it drop to the pavement below, then turned back to face the room.
‘For your sake, Laval, you’d better be right.’
Authié went back to his desk and opened the top drawer.
‘Is my transport into the zone occupée arranged?’
‘The car will be here at midday, sir.’
‘Good.’
‘How long will you be gone?’
Authié shot him a sharp look. ‘What business is it of yours, Laval?’
‘I only wanted to be sure of my orders in your absence.’
‘You know what I want you to do. I want to know what Pelletier found in Déjean’s apartment.’
For an instant Authié saw the dislike in Laval’s eyes, but then the shutters came down again.
‘Yes, sir,’ he said in a dead voice. ‘Do you want me to keep a watch on Bauer and operations in Tarascon as well?’
Authié hesitated. He did want to know what Bauer was doing, but over the past few days Laval had made mistakes. This situation required subtlety.
‘No,’ he said. ‘Concentrate on finding Pelletier.’
ROULLENS
Once the patrol had passed, Raoul climbed out of the deep ditch where he’d concealed himself. Every siren, every green flash of a panier à salade, set his pulse racing. By this time, he had no doubt, posters with his face slapped on them would be plastered all over Carcassonne, denouncing him as a murderer, a fugitive. His situation was desperate. If the police caught him, he knew they’d shoot on sight. He glanced along the route de Limoux in both directions. Only when he was sure the road was empty, did he emerge and carry on walking. The hope he’d felt when he was with Sandrine had gone. Now, he felt hunted.
Raoul had taken an indirect route west out of Carcassonne, doubling back on himself so if anyone did report seeing him, it would be hard for Laval to pinpoint precisely where he was heading. His destination was the village of Roullens, some seven kilometres to the south-west of the town. One of Bruno’s former comrades in the International Brigade, Ramón, had family there and Raoul was hoping they’d let him stay for a night or two. He was gambling that Laval – and Coursan – would expect him to try to get as far as possible, as quickly as possible. By staying closer to Carcassonne, Raoul hoped to buy himself a little time while he worked out what the hell he was going to do in the long run. He had no idea if the plan would work, but he couldn’t think of a better one.
The pretty country road to Roullens was deserted, but birdsong filled the air and the sun was warm on his face. Raoul passed the beautiful and imposing Château de Baudrigues, its tranquil green parkland and elegant white façade glimpsed through the trees a welcome sight after the tense grey streets of Carcassonne. For a moment, he was tempted to go into the domaine. Sleep for an hour or two in the deep shade of the woods. But he had a memory Baudrigues had been requisitioned at the beginning of the war, and he didn’t know if it was still in use or had been handed back to the owners. There was no sense taking the risk.
Raoul kept walking. He wondered if Sandrine was thinking of him as he was thinking of her. He remembered her tumbling black hair, the feel of it between his fingers, and her bright, sharp eyes. He wondered if she had spoken to her sister, and if she had, what had been said. He hated that every step was taking him one step further away from the rue du Palais. Most of all, he hated the fact that with a murder charge hanging over him, he would never be able to go back.
Behind him on the road, he heard an engine. His thoughts scattered and he immediately stepped out of sight, watching as the vehicle came into view. When it was closer, he could see it was a blue Simca truck. Local, not military, he thought. A safe bet. Hoping he was right, Raoul stepped back out on to the road and raised his arm.