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

Chapter 13

Prisoners

César remained in custody and would do so until the stalemate was breached. Strohkirch accepted that much, that César had to at least give them some names. Yet he seemed to respect him for his silence, his loyalty to his contacts. He was incarcerated but he was fed well, allowed to bathe, treated very well considering he was defying them.

Gehring kept his distance from his cell and only joined in the interviews when Strohkirch asked him to. It wasn’t worth the aggravation, being the voice of reason swimming against the tide. Interviewing him on a friendly basis would never work. César wouldn’t reveal anything he didn’t intend to this way. Gehring had had a complaint made against him by the prisoner that Strohkirch took him to one side about. ‘Kind’ César didn’t want to make a formal complaint but did want assurances that no correspondence would be sent to his mother. Gehring wanted to go through with it even more after this, though assured Strohkirch (who was dead set against the idea as poor form) he’d never had any intention of doing so, though could not resist a barb against the prisoner, commenting that it produced the closest he’d come to an unrehearsed reaction.

César’s complaint had made no mention of his threat of torture. Gehring had not gone far with this. The message had permeated still, a notable shift of composure in the prisoner when he ordered him to present his bare arm to him. The paintings in his house, in his bedroom especially, an obscene picture of a nude woman’s reclining torso, her legs spread, confirmed Gehring’s opinion of this man. He was a sensualist, which was why physical pain was the method to break him. His hands were soft, César having lived a charmed life with no hard labour. Even his short army stint sounded easy. It was hardly the Russian Front, and that was the case for both sides, the Geneva Convention in full force here. His POW tenure was so brief it could not have left any impression on him. A different story for his smitten guards, of course. Released early due to ‘concerns over the effect imprisonment could have on his psychological state,’ i.e., the guards had gone soft. There was no physical ailment they could justify releasing him on so they went the mental health route – while making sure not to label him a nut or retard.

The more he read and learned about him, the more Gehring felt sick. The wall of silence regarding his friends didn’t even make sense. They weren’t after his friends to arrest them – they knew who plenty of them were anyway. They just needed the name of every person he spoke to about seeking out Florence. The plan was to lead back to her through them, that was all. He wasn’t dooming anyone, only Florence, who’d doomed herself. But he wouldn’t budge, and they weren’t doing enough to make him budge even though the solution was so easy. This softly-softly approach played into his hands. 10 minutes with a scalpel and Gehring knew he’d have a full statement with very minor injuries on the prisoner to show for it. And no career. That was if he was lucky, harming a hair on César’s pampered head potentially having far worse consequences.

An alternative way of reaching him presented itself. A young French woman came to them claiming to have information about César Vadeboncoeur. The pretty teenage redhead was shown to Gehring’s office. She could have looked better if she’d dressed up and had her hair loose instead of tightly tied back. It was understandable she hadn’t made more of an effort. She was stressed, this besotted young woman anguished at the object of her affection being incarcerated. She swore that César was innocent of all charges without even knowing what the charges were. She pleaded with Gehring to release him, offering him information to trade for his release.

“Does your information concern Florence Pascoe? Be truthful now, or there will be consequences for him.” He added this to ensure Alexia Fleischer (German name, that one?) told the truth.

She shook her head.

“Then we have nothing to discuss.”

“We do. This is important.” Alexia wanted this so badly she became defiant at hearing no, forgetting where she was. She wasn’t asking her father to stay out late for a party, but the tone was more fitting for such a request.

“By your own admission, you have no information about Florence.”

“I have information about multiple people going back years. You’ll get six arrests out of my information compared to one.”

“You clearly care a lot about him. Enough to say anything.”

Alexia nodded in agreement. “But I know that I’d be making things worse for him if what I was saying didn’t check out. Interrogate them, some will crack and reveal I’m telling the truth.” Again, the tone was off; she said this far too forcefully, another demonstration of immaturity.

“Is he your lover?”

“I wish. He barely knows I’m alive.”

This statement confirmed Gehring’s suspicions. For her to put her neck on the line for a virtual stranger – she was under his spell too. One of his slaves had come to free him. The way things were going here, his other subjects would be flinging the doors open for him and gently carrying him out.

“Give me one name now, and I’ll let you see him.”

Alexia instantly blurted a name out in response to this promise. Gehring wrote it down and told her to follow him. He’d get the full details about that name later. He led her down to the cells where the custody officer offered to take her off his hands.

“She’s visiting César.”

The guard frowned. He showed he was gone too by insisting on consulting with the prisoner first to see if he wanted to see anyone. The guard returned and said, “He’s going to bathe and shave first,