The Cyclist by Fred Nath

Author:Fred Nath
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: world war 2, detective, war, thriller suspense, ww2, wartime, catholic faith, dilemma, detective stories, thriller adventure books, historical thriller, crime adventure, thriller anguish, german occupation, jewish holocaust, holocaust in france, war adventure, bergerac, aquitaine, absolution, detective thriller, detective mystery fiction
Publisher: Fingerpress

Chapter 15

1

Rain made a gentle pattering sound on the windowpane as Auguste sat in the hard-backed chair. Brunner’s office, illuminated by two table lamps, appeared comfortable and as well appointed as a hotel lounge. On the right hand wall was the stolen painting and the bookshelves opposite seemed filled with old books. An antique inkstand adorned the desk in front of him, no doubt stolen from somewhere, Auguste mused. He detected a faint smell of mothballs but could not localise its source.

He was uncomfortable. His head ached and his back felt bruised. His left elbow had ballooned with a bruise but he knew there were no bones broken; he could still bend his arm. Brunner’s office was warm at least but nothing could make Auguste enthusiastic about what he knew was to come.

German soldiers had taken him from the barn. They refused to speak to him but did not handle him in a rough or disdainful manner. The journey back had been a bumpy and painful one. Only when they arrived at the Mairie did they cut his bonds. He wondered on the journey if there was a German word for suspension, for none seemed prevalent in the mechanics of the armoured truck bringing him back to Bergerac.

Presently, the door opened and Auguste looked over his shoulder at Brunner. For once, there was no bonhomie, no smile and no humour.

‘Helmut,’ Auguste said, ‘I need to get this cut dressed.’

‘Yes, Inspector, but we must talk first.’

‘Inspector? This is unusually formal.’

‘It is a serious matter.’

‘It certainly is. I need to get home, let my wife know I am safe and get my cut washed and dressed.’

‘Linz.’

‘Yes, poor fellow. I saw his body when they got me out of the place.’

Auguste noticed he was speaking much too fast and managed to regain control and slowed down mid-sentence.

‘You did not witness it?’

‘No, I awoke as the soldiers dragged me out. I’m relieved they didn’t fire the barn before leaving. I presume it was the Maquis?’

‘Yes. I’m interested in why you say “they”? How did you know there was more than one?’

‘The driver and Linz and me. How could one man have taken us to that place on his own? Partisans work in groups, you know that.’

‘Linz suffered terribly.’

‘Perhaps God was kind and made him faint before the end?’

‘It is unusual with what they did to him. Usually they scream and bleed but if you press hard on the wounds, they stop bleeding. One can keep such pain going a long time without too much blood loss.’

‘You seem to know about such things?’

‘One reads, you know. I have read many firsthand accounts by torturers. You could say I have made a study of it.’

‘It is not something we use in the police force.’

‘No, but the stakes are different, are they not? Police work is about obtaining information freely given and piecing it together. My work is different. It is an inquiry but also a punishment; the Spanish Inquisitors understood it. I am sure you understand too in your way.

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