End of Spies by Alex Gerlis (best free ereader txt) 📗

handcuffs, which they did, and sat down before being asked to do so.

Marguerite spoke. This was part of the investigation into Lefebvre’s case, she said; part of the preparation for her prosecution. There was a possibility that significant cooperation on her part could help reduce the seriousness of the charge against her, which at present was one of treason, carrying the death penalty.

Anna Lefebvre sat impassive, looking at Prince and Hanne as if trying to work out who they were. Even when Marguerite said the words ‘death penalty’, she didn’t flinch. She ran her fingers across her hair to make sure it was in place.

‘Are you prepared to answer some questions?’ Marguerite asked.

Lefebvre shrugged. ‘Depends if I know the answers – I doubt it, though. I keep telling you people, I was no more than a clerk at the Gestapo. The cleaners would know more than I did.’

‘According to this file, there is evidence that you were more than a clerk – you were part of a Gestapo unit spying on citizens. There are witnesses.’

‘Ask those witnesses whatever questions you have then. It’s all right for you, with your posh accent and your airs and graces, but a poor woman like me didn’t have any choice. I had an elderly mother and no job; we’d fallen behind with the rent and were about to be kicked out of the room we shared. The first job I got was in a police station – that’s hardly collaborating, is it? Then I was ordered to go and work at rue de Saussaies, and I could hardly refuse that, eh?’

‘Plenty did.’

‘Well good for them. They probably knew where their next meal was coming from. Look, I know that everyone now claims they were in the resistance and those of us forced to work for the German were collaborators. But it really wasn’t as simple as that. The whole country collaborated, in the sense that the vast majority of people passively went along with the occupation. You people see everything as being black and white, whereas in truth most of us were forced to live in an uncomfortable grey world in between.’

‘I want to ask you about one person, Lefebvre, a German who worked for the Gestapo here in Paris. We’re not sure when he arrived here, but we know for sure he was here in December 1943 and left Paris sometime in early 1944. According to the description we have, he’d have been in his late twenties, and had blonde hair and what are described as bright blue eyes.’

‘Are you serious? You’re describing the majority of Germans who were here! Have you not heard of the Aryan race? Most of them in Paris looked like pretty good examples of it.’

‘His nickname was the Ferret.’

Both Hanne and Prince picked up on her reaction, perhaps before Marguerite did. Between them they must have interrogated hundreds of suspects, and both knew there was a point in an interrogation when someone was asked a question they knew the answer to but were reluctant to give it. It might be some information that would incriminate them, or they might be too scared to answer, or they might just want to keep quiet and see how much their interrogator knew. But the reaction was invariably the same – a momentary look of surprise, perhaps a pursing of the lips or a twitching of another facial muscle, accompanied by an adjustment in their seating. And the answer would always be a bit too quick to be convincing.

‘I have no idea who you’re talking about.’

‘Think about it very carefully, Lefebvre, because your life could depend upon it. I promise you if you give us his name then this will count in your favour and the charge against you will be reduced.’

Anna Lefebvre leaned forward, as if she was interested but trying not to show it. ‘Could I have one of your cigarettes?’

Hanne lit one for her and passed it over. Lefebvre looked closely into her eyes as she did so, still trying to work out who she was. She smoked the cigarette for a few moments and then pointed it towards them. ‘These two – do they speak?’

‘These two, as you call them, are the people who can decide whether you live or die. Think about it, Lefebvre, a Gestapo office matching that description who was nicknamed the Ferret. I find it very hard to believe that if you worked at rue de Saussaies for all that time, you never came across him or heard the name.’

‘Ask her about Dijon.’ It was the first time Prince had spoken, and Lefebvre raised her eyebrows.

‘Ah, yes – he was involved in a case in Dijon where he raped a British agent and then shot her dead.’

A slight narrowing of the eyes as if this had rung a bell, but still Lefebvre said nothing as she finished her cigarette.

‘Let me say this.’ Prince was speaking in a friendly manner, smiling at her. ‘I think I understand your situation. You may well have been junior in the Gestapo, but I find it very hard to believe that in the nearly three years you worked for them, you never came across that nickname.’

Lefebvre shrugged. Hanne lit another cigarette for her.

‘But you are probably wondering whether we’re telling you the truth – whether if you give us the information, we really will ensure your charge will be reduced. Is that the case?’

Lefebvre nodded.

‘You’re not exactly in a position to bargain with us. If you know anything, tell us and we can assess how helpful it is. After all, your life is at stake – why should you risk it to protect a Gestapo officer who’s probably living it up somewhere?’

Anna Lefebvre ran her fingers through her hair in a more agitated manner and sighed as she looked up at the ceiling. ‘He didn’t work at rue de Saussaies.’

‘So you had heard of him?’

‘I heard this nickname but I don’t know his real name. He had a reputation