that was a kitchen for both the home upstairs and the café out front. He was surprised to see plenty of food: a full sack of potatoes, a big box of carrots with their tops on, a hanging sausage and a basket filled with German-labelled food tins.
After breakfasting on stale black bread, PT couldn’t resist picking up a carrot and taking a bite before heading up the stairs.
A little set of eyes peeked out on to the top landing. ‘Mummy, there’s a man,’ he yelled.
The eyes belonged to a boy aged about four, who bolted back into the upstairs front room and dived behind a couch. PT put a hand on his hunting knife as he raced up the stairs.
He found the woman of the house in a back room. PT had guessed she was the mother of all the brats, but she was too old. She looked at least sixty, sitting on a sofa with the baby alongside and her swollen ankles on a table top.
‘How dare you!’ the woman shouted, pulling her feet down and reaching for a set of knitting needles as PT closed in.
‘I didn’t mean to startle you,’ PT said, before taking another bite out of his carrot. ‘I’m looking for Pierre Robert. When did you last see him?’
‘What’s it to you?’ the woman asked back, as she screwed up her face and made a pathetic stabbing gesture with one of the knitting needles.
The little boy and two slightly older girls peered nervously through the doorway as PT swiped the knitting needles from the elderly woman’s grasp.
‘I’m a nice guy,’ PT said. ‘I don’t want to make trouble, but Pierre owes money to some friends of mine. They’re not the kind of people you want to get on the wrong side of. People get hurt, cafés get burned to the ground. You understand?’
The woman’s lips went very thin before she spoke reluctantly. ‘He’s my son-in-law.’
‘Are these his kids?’
‘The two girls are. The others are their cousins. I look after the kids while their mothers work in a factory.’
‘So where’s Pierre?’
‘I never see him,’ the woman said.
PT took a step closer and tried to look menacing. ‘If you never see him, why did we find his name on a utility bill for this café? And who supplies all these nice black-market carrots?’
The woman stayed silent, so PT leaned forward and grabbed the baby off the sofa. She tried to stop him as the baby started bawling.
‘You’re a cute one,’ PT said, as he stepped backwards, rocking the baby in his arms. ‘How old is he?’
The elderly woman now sounded short of breath. ‘Ten months,’ she said nervously. ‘What did that poor, helpless baby ever do to you?’
‘Nobody will get hurt,’ PT told the baby in a sing-song voice. ‘Because Grandma’s going to tell me all about Uncle Pierre.’
‘Pierre Robert doesn’t live here,’ she blurted. ‘He went off with another woman, but he’s good to the kids. Dropping by with food and stuff.’
‘Where can I find him?’ PT asked, as he stepped back towards the sofa.
‘I don’t know where he lives. But if he’s in town, he’ll roll up at Bistro le Baron sooner or later. It’s two streets over and he hangs out there with a bunch of gangsters.’
‘Has he quit the Milice?’
The baby settled down as the woman gently stroked his head. ‘I already told you. I have nothing to do with the man.’
‘I’ll see if he turns up at Bistro le Baron then,’ PT said. ‘Thank you.’
‘Kiss my arse,’ the woman said, as PT headed for the stairs.
*
Paul felt light-headed as he moved along a set of curving train tracks. Joel and one thug walked in front, and the other one walked behind. Every now and then Paul got told to pick up the pace. But when the goon finally lost his temper and gave Paul a shove, he sprawled out helplessly in the trackside gravel and stumbled up with his railway uniform covered in dust.
‘I can’t help it,’ Paul said, as he scowled angrily at his tormentor. ‘I’ve not moved out of that cellar in weeks and you’ve been feeding us scraps.’
The guard reluctantly let Paul drape an arm over his back before setting off again.
Their destination was a set of overgrown railway sidings, close to the river. Paul and Joel were told to sit inside a dilapidated goods shed. Its wooden cladding was badly holed, so they had no trouble watching the scene that developed outside.
More railway workers arrived, followed by at