Sandman Read Free

dustbin of things came out of the left pocket. A tin pencil case—a Faber Castell; a toy, hand-held, push-lever roulette wheel with a tiny steel ball bearing to roll around; frosted and unfrosted marbles; four of the gritty vitaminic ‘biscuits’ all children were given at school in lieu of fresh fruit, vegetables, milk, cheese and meat, et cetera, at home. ‘A crystal of clear quartz,’ said St-Cyr, gazing raptly down at the loot. ‘A small pebble of poorly polished amethyst. A homemade ring of braided gold wire—scrap most probably and once saved for the jeweller’s, perhaps. A tiny, zinc-cast Lone Ranger on his Silver, a pre-war thing from an American cereal box, perhaps, the horse rearing up so as to give chase to bank robbers. I’ve seen it myself in an American film serial, or was it in a Tom Mix film? There was also a wireless serial. She may have listened to it on the shortwave late at night. Not now, of course. Now she’d be arrested and shot, but we won’t mention it, will we?’
    Louis hesitated at something else. Kohler could hear him gritting his teeth in dismay. ‘A death’s-head cap badge, Hermann. Two of the gold wound badges, the Polish Campaign medal and a silver tank battle badge.’
    â€˜ Shit! ’ They both knew the mere presence of such things would implicate the SS in von Schaumburg’s mind—Old Shatter Hand hated the SS with a vengeance. ‘Let’s keep it quiet,’ said Kohler and, snapping his fingers, demanded the badges. ‘I’ll take charge of them. That’s an order. I’ll toss them in the Seine if I have to.’
    The look in Louis’s sad brown eyes never left him—they’d been all through this sort of thing with the SS before and knew the consequences only too well, but still … ‘Then perhaps you might like to keep this also, Herr Hauptmann Detektiv Aufsichtsbeamter , since so many of your number are attracted to our fair city to play at being artists?’
    â€˜Ah, don’t get so pissed off about being one of the conquered and having to take orders from your partner who can’t measure up to you in rank. Just tell me what it is.’
    â€˜A crumpled, empty tube of oil paint. Mummy Brown and, yes, made well before this war from ground Egyptian mummies. There is a use for everything in this life, and the Egyptians, they had so many dried corpses some enterprising soul decided to export the dust to Paris to satisfy Renoir and Degas and the others, all of whom had insatiable appetites.’
    â€˜ Mummy Brown ,’ breathed Kohler, filing it away.
    â€˜Yes. It’s not overly dark, I think, but a deep, sandy brown, perhaps not unlike the desert at dusk.’
    â€˜Since when did you ever see the desert?’
    â€˜Never. Only in my imagination, on the silver screen, and in the adventure novels of Saint-Exupéry, the airmail pioneer and aviator.’
    â€˜Ancient history. Then keep the tube and stick to the present eh, Chief? Six Tarot cards,’ he snorted, wanting to get it all ove with and gazing at a naked Brünnhilde emptying two stone jugs at a pond. ‘“The Star”, it says.’ He looked at the others. ‘“The Lovers; the Nine of Swords; the Devil”.’ Puzzled, he raised his eyebrows. ‘“The Eight of Swords”, and finally “the Ace” of the same suit.’
    â€˜Will you be able to remember the order in which you found them?’
    â€˜Hey, are you forgetting I was a Munich detective before Berlin and then Paris?’
    â€˜Never. Absolutely not for one minute!’
    â€˜ Touché , eh? There’s also this. Lost, I guess, and found, or the other one is missing.’
    â€˜Just let me see it.’
    The storm-trooper’s stumpy middle left finger was wetted to stab the object and thrust it at him. ‘Gold. The fob of an ear-ring.
    â€˜The Virgin with welcoming arms at her