Red Rainbow G Johanson (i am malala young readers edition .txt) 📖

two arrests out of it, black market profiteers, nothing worth celebrating. Strohkirch was in with Vadeboncoeur in the ‘friendly’ interview suite. It was still secluded, no windows, but it was above ground and presentable enough, far better than the ones they had in the basement where the décor added intimidation before they even got started. Gehring did not want to interrupt him mid-interview, instead checking in with one of the junior officers in his office. Gehring saw that he had a can of fizzy drink on his desk, a cola knockoff.

Girndt saw where his eyes were drawn and said to him, “There’s one on your desk too. He told us to bring a crate.”

“You sure about that?” Strohkirch had no qualms about taking suspects down to the dungeon. That he hadn’t done so suggested he was playing this softly. That didn’t tally with confiscating Vadeboncoeur’s property.

“Absolutely. Ask him.”

“He’s interrogating the suspect.”

“You can ask him too, but I meant César. He asked us if we’d tried it. When we said we hadn’t, he wanted us to try some.”

César. The suspect was Vadeboncoeur or Mr Vadeboncoeur. Not César. Bought off with a drink that wasn’t even alcohol. He trusted Strohkirch was better than that, Gehring loitering around outside the interview room to catch him as soon as he came out even if just for a drink or a piss. He needed to get involved in this quick.

Gehring eyeballed Strohkirch when he opened the door, gesturing for him to come with him. Strohkirch followed Gehring to his office. Strohkirch spoke first, asking, “You get anything?”

“A pair of small-timers who’ve got nothing to do with this? You getting anything so far apart from free soda?”

“Nectar of the gods according to César.”

“You’re on first name terms with him too?”

“No, I haven’t given my first name. He admits to meeting her. Come in and I’ll have him explain why.”

Gehring led the way keenly, fascinated to hear this fantastic explanation from César that so impressed his colleagues. Forst, who had sat in with Strohkirch for the interview, stood up upon Gehring’s entrance, understanding that his services were no longer required. He thanked Vadeboncoeur for the drink as he left.

Strohkirch and Gehring sat down opposite the suspect. “Mr Vadeboncoeur, this is Officer Gehring.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Vadeboncoeur said, offering his hand across the desk. Gehring stared blankly at it. Was this man retarded? Did he not understand that he had been arrested in connection with a capital crime?

“Help us with our enquiries, then I may shake your hand, Vadeboncoeur.”

“That’s why I’m here.”

That was hardly true. The helpful, smiley act was an instant fail. No Frenchman was that happy to be brought in for questioning by the Gestapo. And he was not here because he wanted to help. They had arrested him for questioning, he hadn’t volunteered any information to them prior to this.

“Tell him what you told us. Your reason for meeting Florence,” Strohkirch advised.

“Of course, of course. To get where I’ve got, you have to do a lot of networking, a lot of socialising. It’s a hard life. I got to hear about her and what she did and put it out there that I needed to meet her. She hasn’t been in Paris for years and then sweeps in and causes chaos. I tried to get her to turn herself in. I’m trying to right what she did wrong before you guys have to make examples of innocent people.”

“Let’s say that’s true. Did you not consider contacting us to let us know she would be there?” Gehring asked.

“I couldn’t be sure she’d show. If she had shown and you guys had been there, she might have turned straight back round. Ego played a part. I thought I could talk her round. I still think I can.”

“Who did you talk to about her?” Gehring asked.

“That’s where we’ve got stuck,” Strohkirch said.

“I talked to all of my many contacts – as a man around town who’s lived here all of my life, that’s a good few, then they’ll have asked everyone they know. That’s hundreds, thousands of people. I don’t know how she heard. I’m just pleased she did hear as the lines of communication are now open.”

“We’ve been looking into this for 17 days. Your name has never come up before this. We have an extensive network of informers who would have let us know about this enquiry into the ether,” Gehring said, instantly picking holes in this work of fiction.

“Informers are double agents. You can never trust them. I’m loyal to my country, I’m not going to pretend otherwise. That doesn’t mean I detest you guys. I golf with a general a couple of times a month. I want us to win this war and for you guys to leave, but that’s not where we are right now. I also don’t feel that her way is the way I want to win this. I was taken prisoner and treat well – that’s something you don’t forget. I’m looking out for my countrymen and women. I just don’t want to see any more reprisals. I say that as an employer, a Parisian with many friends here, and as a human being.”

“Your general friend wasn’t at the dinner with Florence. You were.”

“I was hardly hiding it going there.”

“No, you weren’t. Why not? That wasn’t a good venue to pick.”

“It was close to closing time. I figured nobody would be able to contact you guys in time. The phone wasn’t working there either. I never really analysed why I picked it. I guess it could be that I hoped being seen with her would make her think I was siding with her. I don’t know, that’s something my subconscious could answer better.”

Questioning down in the basement would probe down to the subconscious and ferret it out of him.

Strohkirch spoke again, his tone far less confrontational and challenging than Gehring’s. “That’s something for you to think about. The people you spoke to – that’s not so hard. You give us