Impure Blood (40 page)

He paused to take another sip of water.

‘The letter I quoted suggests that at some point, perhaps towards the end of their lives, the Groismonts told Corinne of her true heritage. They knew full well where she had emerged from – those fucking trains were going past their land on a regular basis. It must have been horrendously difficult for Corinne to hear that truth. And confusing. Suddenly, she’s not the grown-up darling of a Catholic farming family, she’s a… Jewish orphan of the storm. She doesn’t feel it but she knows she is. The repeated displaying and taking down of the mezuzah suggests uncertainty as to her religious identity, doesn’t it? There’s no copy of the Torah or any Jewish literature in her bookcase, incidentally. And Rabbi Pawel has no knowledge of her ever attending synagogue – I’ve just asked him.’

At the back of the room, Erica was staring into space.

‘Ready yet, Erica?’

‘A parent pushing a little thing like her out of the train – can you imagine? Almost like giving birth to her a second time.’ A shake of the head. ‘Sorry. A few more seconds, that’s all.’

‘Any more questions before we start looking at things?’

No takers.

‘Alright, we’ve got facts and so far we’ve got little more than informed speculations linking them. But now we come to something about which there is no speculation and it tightens up the whole chain. Adèle has unearthed case files relating to the round-up, detainment, screening and deportation of Jews from the Caserne in 1942. The first thing we’re going to see is a list of the officers who played major roles in the operation.’

‘Ready now.’

Erica flicked a switch and the projector threw the image at the screen. It landed on Darac first, trammelling him in a net made of names. He stepped quickly aside.

‘Just close that blind behind you,’ he said, parking his backside on Perand’s desk. ‘Make it easier to read.’

The list of names formed up in stark black against white:

Chief Inspector Crutte, Albert
Inspector Medenville, Jean-Francois
Sergeant Letcheberia, Pierre
Officer Dantier, Vincent
Officer Djourescu, Adam
Officer Lourthe, Simon
Officer Bertrainde, Carl

‘Dantier.’ Armani almost spat out the name. ‘Vincent the Good and Wise Dantier.’

Darac took out his notebook.

‘He, Djourescu, and Lourthe, I think it was… yes, Lourthe, all young officers, received commendations for their efforts. Djourescu was a real star, apparently. Top marks in everything. Rounding up Jews was just another opportunity to shine. They arrested over a thousand men, women and children in just two days.’

‘Makes you feel proud, doesn’t it?’ Bonbon took a sweet out of his pocket, then put it back. ‘And it happened in these very buildings.’

‘Less of the piety,
please.
’ Granot’s dissent had an unfamiliar sharpness. ‘Imagine the pressures on them. Don’t suppose they enjoyed doing it. Despite the commendations.’

The colour had drained from Frankie’s cheeks.

‘You’re right, of course. But “I was only following orders” has a certain ring to it, don’t you think?’

Granot wasn’t the most sensitive of individuals but he hadn’t the heart to press the point.

‘And,’ she went on, ‘not every officer in France toed the line. Some deliberately lost paperwork; others carried out more active acts of resistance.’

Granot couldn’t let that go.

‘And what happened to them? And to their families?’

Darac shook his head.

‘There’s no time to debate moral questions now. Let’s concentrate only on the case. Any questions before we move on?’

Flaco raised a hand.

‘How did Delage get to know Vincent Dantier had been involved in the round-up? Just because of his age? Or something more concrete?’

‘Good question.’ Darac ran a hand through his hair. ‘I don’t know. And I don’t yet know where Emil Florian fits into this.’

‘Here’s a possibility.’ Perand stuck out his long chin and scratched it. ‘He doesn’t fit into it. He was just the wrong man in the wrong place – a random victim to try out the poison on.’

‘A walking crash-test dummy?’ Darac stared off for a moment. ‘I like the freedom of your thinking but it’s far too risky, isn’t it? Let’s press on.’ But he took a deep breath instead. As chills raced each other down his spine, he told himself to essay calm efficiency and get on with it. ‘We’re going to look at two other lists and compare them. Erica – bring up page one of the first, please.’

As a page of names and ages formed on the screen, Frankie’s grandfather’s words came back to Darac:
Mezuzoth attracted good luck and good Nazis
. ‘These are the names of all those who were eventually deported from the Caserne to Auschwitz.’

‘Jesus Christ.’ Bonbon exhaled deeply. ‘Look at the ages of some of them.’

‘The detainees were given the option of handing over their children.’ Frankie put a hand unconsciously to her bosom. ‘There were organisations who took them and looked after them. But I’ve heard that a lot of parents thought it was a trick and kept their children. Tragically, as it proved.’

Darac kept a concerned eye on Frankie as he continued.

‘It’s easy to make mistakes with lists, right? We need something foolproof and I can’t think of an easier way of doing it, so, Granot – you’ve got a pad and a ruler there?’

‘I have, yes.’

‘As Erica brings up each page, note down the name of any child with a DOB between 1936 and ’42 – the span is just to give us a bit of leeway. Tear off each entry as we go so each name has its own strip of paper. Then when we get to the end, we’ll distribute the strips evenly around the room to make it easier to match the names to the second list we’re going to see. That way, none of the names…’ He almost said, ‘can fall through the cracks’. ‘None of the names can be overlooked.’ He stared at the screen. ‘Okay, on page one here, there are… none at all. Good. Page two, Erica.’

By page twelve of the first list, Armani could no longer look at the screen. Giving Frankie’s shoulder a squeeze en route, he went to the window and stared out.

A roll call of names gradually coalesced.

‘That’s the last page,’ Erica said, her voice almost inaudible.

Armani went back to his place as the distribution of the names began. At the end of it, virtually everyone in the room had become the proxy guardian of a child. Darac suspected that the name of his charge, Paul Stefan Gartos, was one that would remain with him. For his part, Armani had cast only a cursory glance at his own strip of paper. Alexander Jacob Markowski was a name he didn’t want to remember.

His heart rising in his chest, Darac took another sip of water. And then another.

‘Now it gets harder. We’re going to see that initial list of names again. This time, in date order, the details of what became of the children is recorded.’

As each page came up, anxious eyes scanned the list. Every so often, there would be a sigh, an “oh no” or a shake of the head, and a strip of paper would be laid gently down. It was on page eleven that Darac let go of Paul Stefan Gartos.

Armani made it through to the final page of the inventory. But then there it was. Alexander Jacob Markowski had not been spared.

‘No!’ Crushing the strip into a ball, he turned to Darac. ‘You think that was easier? Do you? Jesus!’

‘I meant easier logistically, Armani – that’s all.’

No one said anything for a moment.

His expression a curious mixture of concern and surprise, Granot looked across at Darac.

‘All the names are… well yes, accounted for. The girl who became Corinne Groismont was not on board any of the trains.’

‘She must have been.’ But Darac wondered if he had made a serious error. An error that was wasting valuable time. ‘I would have staked anything on it.’

‘She wasn’t there, chief.’

Frankie raised a hand.

‘The plaque outside commemorates 1942. But we should probably look at 1943, as well. The ’42 round-up targeted Jews from around Europe who had fled here looking for sanctuary. The poor souls underestimated the reach of Vichy. But by ’43 when the Nazis themselves were in charge, the situation changed. I know from my grandfather that
local
Jews were the targets, then. There were deportation quotas; bounties paid to anyone who would identify them; local hotel rooms turned into torture chambers. It was worse than before. Appalling.’

And it would have been appalling to have reacted to the revelation with anything but disgust. But Darac felt a sense of release, nevertheless.

‘Thank you, Frankie,’ he said. ‘Those are the lists we need.’

He punched buttons on Perand’s desk phone. As he waited, he watched Armani straightening his screwed-up strip of paper with an ironing motion of his fist.

‘Archive? Get me Adèle.’

Every so often, the light had flashed. And now it became more regular.

I’m breathing
, he said to himself.
Breathing under my own steam.

The blonde one. Talking over him, as usual.

‘What’s the backup rate set to?’

‘Twelve,’ the black one said. ‘And the total rate is reading sixteen.’

The blonde one’s face. Big and beaming. Coffee breath that could de-grease a chain.

‘Clever boy, breathing by yourself. But we’re going to keep a watch on you, alright? Because the machine is still doing most of the work. And we want to see you take over completely.’

I’ll move my fingers. That will impress her.

‘Look at him go! There’ll be no holding you back soon, will there? You’ll be able to breathe, move… And you’ll be able to talk – not just blink yes and no. You’ll be able to say anything you like. Are you looking forward to that?’

Oh yes. He was looking forward to that very much indeed.

He blinked once.

Erica flicked the switch.

‘The blind again, please.’

Another page. Another river of tears flooding in from the past.

As Granot noted down the first of the names, Bonbon lowered his head into his hands.

‘Bills of lading.’ He massaged his forehead. ‘Human freight.’

Frankie sat forward as if prodded from behind.

‘Look at the bottom of the page.’

For a moment, the group was too stunned to say anything. Erica refocussed the image. No, they weren’t seeing things. The entry referred to a family of three who had been arrested and dispatched to hell within one working day: 10 October 1943.

Djourescu, Adam: DOB 9/7/20
Djourescu, Elena: DOB 16/4/21
Djourescu, Olivie: DOB 30/08/40

‘But he was one of the arresting officers the summer before.’ The words were Flaco’s but she was speaking for everyone. ‘The commended one, the high flyer.’

Perand shook his head.

‘He certainly paid for arresting his own kind. And the rest of his family paid with him.’

Bonbon turned to Granot.

‘Who arrested
them
, I wonder?’

‘Fucking hell!’ Armani threw a hand at the screen. ‘Jacques Sevran selling photos of me and some of the others to the boys is shit, isn’t it? But sending a brother officer and his family to their deaths? That can never be forgiven.’

‘What was that?’ Granot stopped writing. ‘
Did
Seve do that? We thought he’d just accepted a bribe. To fund his wife’s care.’

‘That may have been the reason he was arrested – so what? He’s done a few things, I hear. The rat.’

‘The Seve issue can wait,’ Darac said. ‘Carry on, Granot.’

The procedure proved even more gut-wrenching the second time. As the inventory accounted for child after child, the sense of loss in the room was palpable. But as the torture finally ended, a solitary hand rose into the air. A hand clutching a strip of paper.

‘I’ve still got little Olivie Djourescu.’ Frankie’s cheeks were damp with tears. ‘She never made it to the holding camp at Drancy.’

A collective sigh. Smiles. Even a smattering of applause.

As ever, Granot sought to point out the dangers of jumping to conclusions.

‘You know, someone like Frènes would argue that all this tells us for certain is that Olivie went missing somewhere between Nice and Drancy.’

Armani brought his hands together and shook them emphatically.

‘Don’t forget the lost lamb scenario at the Grandeville farmhouse.’

‘It’s suggestive – absolutely. But as yet, we just don’t have enough to be sure little Olivie is that lost lamb: the one who became Corinne Delage.’

‘Yes we do.’ Darac pointed to the screen. ‘Look at the dates. You were right, Erica: Olivie/Corinne’s arrival at the Groismont farm was like a second birth. 10 October 1943 was the date of the Djourescus’ deportation to Drancy, right? On the re-registered birth certificate, the Groismonts cited 10 October 1940 as Corinne’s DOB. They kept the day her young life began again as her birthday.’ He turned to Granot. ‘Good enough?’

‘Good enough for me.’ He gave Darac an approving nod. ‘I taught you well.’

Knowing what the exercise had cost her, Darac gave Frankie a look.

‘Thank you. And thank you, everyone.’

As a buzz went around the room, Darac was already on the phone to Archive.

‘Adèle – we need everything you’ve got on Officer Adam Djourescu. Prioritise anything that links him with Vincent Dantier. They worked together until October 1943. Soon as you can, please.’ He put down the phone. ‘Let’s take a break. We’re in for another wait, I’m afraid.’

As the minutes ticked by, every new sound out in the corridor drew eyes to the door. And then, a full half-hour after Darac’s call, a uniform wheeled in a trolley laden with files. The team got to work on them like maggots on a rabbit carcass. It was Erica who came up with the first find.

‘Here are Adam Djourescu and Vincent Dantier’s ID photos from ’43.’

She projected them side by side on the screen. Idealistic, talented, confident – the young officers looked out into the squad room as mute witnesses to the search for the truth that connected them.

‘You can see Corinne Delage in Djourescu’s face,’ Frankie said. ‘Quite clearly.’

Perand looked up from his work for a moment.