Free Kaleidoscope by J. Robert Janes

‘The Perettis were supposed to keep the girl away from Ludo Borel’s eldest son. Madame Buemondi threatened one of them in no uncertain terms. Georges, the old woman’s son, shot her.’
    â€˜Why?’
    â€˜Because she would have cut off their water, and in these hills that is life.’
    â€˜Hermann, what is it? What’s really troubling you?’
    â€˜The maquis, Louis. Your friend Delphane is using us against them.’
    St-Cyr reached out to him. The gesture was so automatic, the barriers of war were instantly set aside. ‘Quietly, Hermann. Quietly, my old one. You’re forgetting the pawn ticket and letting your innermost fears get the better of you.’
    â€˜Am I? You saw the girl’s clothes. You saw the looks she gave us.’
    â€˜Shall we go up to the village to question the abbé?’
    There were tears in Hermann’s eyes. ‘Ask Fratani where we can find Georges Peretti, Louis.’
    â€˜In time, my old one. Let us first go to Cannes and tuck her safely on ice. I have something I must do. The rest will keep.’
    Kohler wouldn’t let go. ‘You’ve been my friend, Louis, but if there are maquis in those hills, I’m going to have to let the Army know. Boemelburg has forced my hand.’
    â€˜Or Pharand, my own, Hermann. And Jean-Paul Delphane.’
    They were up to their necks in shit and both knew it. One last glance through the open curtains revealed the victim still stiff with rigor. She seemed to be trying to tell them something but could not possibly have done so.

3
    Two bodies lay sprawled on the tram-car tracks in Cannes. Perhaps five metres separated them, and when the sub-lieutenant walked up to the nearer of them, he drew his pistol and gave the poor bastard the coup de grâce .
    Fratani shuddered. Jammed between the two detectives in the cab of the hearse, he saw only blood and brains splashing the stones, not the fashionable shops and hotels of the route d’Antibes. Not the half-frozen crowd of stragglers who were bundled in black or grey with scattered colours and fur coats between who made no move, remained only mute and poised in shock and indecision. Poor and rich alike; alien and resident; one dowager in black with a pair of white poodles who sniffed uneasily at her escort’s heels and cocked their heads as if for more.
    A second shot followed, though there’d been no need for it.
    The sub-lieutenant then walked slowly back to the woman who raised an arm, outstretched a hand, the fingers spread and bloody. She cried out to that bastard with the gun and he let her cry out to him, let her beg for mercy. One high-heeled shoe had caught in a track and now lay broken behind her just ahead of the tram-car which remained as if hammered against the background of the street and the faces.
    Furiously Kohler rolled down his side window and started to stick his head out. ‘ Hermann, no ! No, my friend.’
    â€˜Louis …? Louis …?’
    The shot rang out. The face was smashed. The body crumpled. The hand clawed at the pavement.
    Not a person moved. Where once there had always been gaiety, the hubbub of traffic, the lights, the fun, the eccentric and the beautiful, now there was only terror. St-Cyr quickly let his eyes sweep the pavements on either side, alarmed by the sudden thought that others might decide to bolt for it. But no, the couple had been alone in this on the tram-car. A random check of papers. They could not have known their little gamble was bound to fail. An informer? he asked, again searching the faces of the crowd. A collaborator?
    It seemed likely, but he could not decide on any one face. With the toe of his jackboot, the sub-lieutenant flipped the woman’s body over. Then he put away his pistol and stripped her of her valuables.
    Kohler started to get out of the hearse. Louis hissed at him, ‘Hermann, don’t ! It’s finished, eh? What’s done cannot be