Free Dollmaker by J. Robert Janes

sweaters, heavy dark blue corduroy trousers and boots were the essence of informality and comfort.
    One of the Blitzmädels from Base Kernével sat primly at the opposite end of the table from the Préfet with a pad and pencil in her lap and still wrinkling her nose distastefully. Blonde, curly, wavy hair, serious blue eyes, soft pink cheeks, lovely red lips, a trim, neat twenty-two-year-old in a snappy blue Kriegsmarine uniform. A telegraphist.
    Everything was to be taken down in shorthand to be later transcribed and telexed to the Admiral at the U-boat Command Centre in Paris.
    The cell was cramped. There was barely room to stretch one’s legs. The racket from the canneries intruded but would just have to be ignored. Kohler longed for a cigarette and coffee, even the ersatz garbage of ground, roasted acorns, barley and chicory, but none had been offered and no one was suggesting it. The generalities over, they’d now get down to business with the decisiveness of battle.
    The Préfet launched into the coroner’s preliminary report.
    â€˜Time of death approximately 4 p.m. the old time, 1700 hours Berlin Time on the afternoon of Friday, the 1st of January. The force of the blow strongly suggests the assailant was a man in his prime. Both hands grasped the switch-bar and this is evident from the smearing of soot and grease. Gloves were, however, used.’
    He paused to look at each of them in turn, nodding finally at the Blitzmädel to signify he would continue. ‘These gloves were of black leather, probably of light weight, that is to say, not insulated with a thick cotton liner.’
    â€˜A moment, Préfet,’ interjected St-Cyr. ‘How is it that the presence of such gloves was determined?’
    â€˜Tiny shreds of leather were torn from the gloves by rasps of metal on the bar. These shreds were examined under the microscope, at a magnification of one hundred. I myself have witnessed them.’
    It was Freisen who, rocking back in his chair, told him to continue. No diplomat when it came to the French, the C.-in-C. U-boats Kernével had allowed his impatience to show. He’d tolerate Kerjean’s presence only for so long.
    Ignoring him, the Préfet laid the report on the table and decisively pressed it flat. ‘They were dress gloves similar to, if not the same as those worn by officers of the Freikorps Doenitz when ashore and in uniform at this time of year.’
    Ah merde , thought St-Cyr, how could they possibly tell from so little?
    â€˜I wasn’t wearing uniform,’ said the Dollmaker. ‘I was in my spare coveralls and sheepskin jacket. The watchman will confirm this. We shared a cigarette and a few words about the weather.’
    â€˜I have already asked him,’ said Kerjean levelly. ‘He is not certain, Captain, if you wore gloves but thinks …’ The Préfet lifted a cautionary finger. ‘… that perhaps the gloves were in the pockets of your jacket.’
    â€˜Then he is mistaken. I would not gather kaolin while wearing them, since I have to use them on parade, yes? Nor would I wear them afterwards without first washing my hands.’
    Kerjean sat back to survey him. The girl’s pencil was poised. She hardly breathed. She was really very pretty but professionally intense like so many Germans. Did she have an interest in the Captain? he wondered and thought it likely. ‘But … but you did wash your hands? You apologized for the state of them? You grinned, Captain, and shrugged it all off, and Monsieur le Pennec, who speaks about as good French as you do yourself, poured water from his kettle over them and offered the use of his towel with apologies of his own, is that not so?’ The Préfet looked at Louis and shrugged open-handedly. ‘The towel, my friends, was filthy but what can one say since it was the only one the watchman had?’
    Verdammt! thought Kohler. This thing …
    Freisen turned to