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

active before that because I didn’t want to do anything that could compromise David. After he was deported, I had nothing to lose. Because I worked in the mairie, I was able to access information that was useful to the resistance – addresses, that kind of thing. Now, you need to understand that most of the people you encountered today worked there during the war. They weren’t collaborators as such, but they were close to it, if you get my meaning. By working in the mairie they indirectly helped the Nazi occupation, so it’s no surprise that they feel sensitive about it now, which would explain why they’re reluctant to help you. They’re certainly reluctant to admit there was a Gestapo office there.

‘So there was one?’

‘Of course! The Gestapo had a presence in all the mairies; it was the best way of checking on people, getting addresses, accessing local information. They used them for the rounding-up of Jews and then carried on throughout the war. It was only a small office, but it was there on the third floor, overlooking rue Lecourbe.’

‘And Charles Girard – and the German, the Ferret?’

‘Ah – that is where I can help you. The man who ran the office went under the name of Charles Girard and he was something of an enigma. For a start, that was not his real name – this is not in itself unusual: many French collaborators used different identities. But it was hard to work out what nationality Girard was – his French was fluent and sounded like that of a native, but he also sounded like a German too. He was more like an office manager at first – and there were always one or two German officers based there. For a while, one of them was the man you describe – he was only ever known as the Ferret.’

‘When was that?’

‘Hard to say, but perhaps towards the end of 1943 – maybe early 1944. I used to have to go into that office quite often, because I work in the finance department and Girard often needed help sorting things out to do with money. Because I was always looking to gather intelligence, I pretended to be friendly with him. One day he was complaining about the Ferret, who’d apparently taken a large sum from the cash box, and Girard had to find a way of accounting for it. He said this man was making his life very difficult; he was constantly creating problems and didn’t do what he was told. He said he couldn’t do much about it, as the Ferret’s father was an important official in Berlin. When I asked him what his real name was, he said he couldn’t tell me – he said he’d be in trouble if he did.’

‘So Charles Girard knows the Ferret’s real identity?’

Irène nodded and pulled her raincoat tight round her.

‘And does the name Anna Lefebvre mean anything to you? Apparently she worked for the Gestapo at rue de Saussaies, their headquarters. There seems to be some connection between her and Girard.’

‘She was there sometimes. I think she may have had some type of affair with Girard: there were rumours she’d had an abortion because of him. Later on, Girard became far more active – as a Gestapo agent. He seemed especially interested in communists; it was as if he was obsessed with them – far more than with Jews actually, which was unusual. He put all his energy into finding them – he’d come across an old list of party members from the 15th arrondissement, and he spent hours trying to track them down and arrest them. The worst thing he did was arrest the parents of one of the senior party members who’d fled to Moscow before the war. As I understand it, the parents weren’t even communists, but Girard shot the father and then had the mother sent to Auschwitz. He kept this behaviour up until the middle of June last year – then, about a week after Normandy, he disappeared.’

‘What – altogether?’

Irène shrugged, and then waited as an elderly couple shuffled past the chapel towards the front of the church.

‘Certainly from the mairie, but he may have gone to work at Avenue Foch or rue de Saussaies. He was certainly in Paris at the start of 1944.’

‘How can you be sure of this?’

‘My aunt runs a bar on rue de Vignes, on the right bank of the Seine, and sometimes I help her out there. I was working there on New Year’s Eve at the start of 1944 and to my horror, I noticed he was there with a group of friends and they were all speaking an odd German dialect. When I asked my aunt about them, she told me they were Alsatians; she said they behaved like dogs too. People from Alsace can appear to be both French and German at the same time – you are no doubt aware it’s on the German border and many of its residents would see themselves as German rather than French, which would explain much about Girard.

‘I didn’t want him to see me there, so I asked her if I could work in the kitchen for the rest of the shift. According to my aunt, his real name is Alphonse Schweitzer. I think he must have felt safe because the name Girard was his collaborator identity, if you see what I mean. No one would have realised that Schweitzer and Girard were one and the same.’

‘If only we knew where is now.’

‘Aha – I can tell you! When the Communist Party leaders returned from Moscow, I told the man whose parents had been caught by Schweitzer exactly what had happened, and he was put on a wanted list. It took the FTP a while to find him, but I’m told they eventually tracked him down a few months ago in Colmar, which is a city in Alsace, on the border with Germany. They handed him over to