“What? No!”
Paul waved his hand to silence him. “Tell the police I forced Silvestre to kill Lafarge. I threatened him, his family—come up with a good story. It won’t keep Silvestre out of prison, but it might save his life.”
Moreau kept shaking his big head. “That is a bad idea.”
“Likewise, when the Germans come, if they find evidence of sabotage, lay the blame on me. All of it. In the long run, it was my decision and my responsibility. I refuse to have you men pay for it.”
Moreau’s face screwed up. “What if—”
“I’ll be long gone. In the meantime, pray hard that Lafarge never told his wife about the blackmail.”
“I will.”
“Good. Go back to the craneway. I’ll meet the police at the door.”
Moreau clamped his hand on Paul’s shoulder, and his eyes glistened. “I will miss you ... Paul.”
From Moreau, the use of his first name didn’t sound disrespectful, but affectionate.
Paul’s throat clogged, and he clamped his own hand on his friend’s shoulder. “And I will miss you ... Jacques. It’s been an honor working with you.”
Moreau broke away and strode out the door.
Paul sent up a mess of a prayer and grabbed the phone. First, he called home to signal Madame Coudray to meet him at Gare d’Austerlitz with Josie and the luggage.
Madame Coudray came to the phone. “Oui, monsieur?”
“I would like my dinner precisely at 18:30. I apologize for my brusque manner, madame. I’ve had an appalling day.”
A soft gasp. “Oui, monsieur. At 18:30.”
Paul hung up, then rang Green Leaf Books. He wouldn’t have time to visit the store and give Lucie the rendezvous information.
As the phone rang, Paul rehearsed the code. He’d ask if shehad a book about Joan of Arc. She’d say she did, and Paul would say he’d pick it up tonight. That would be the signal to leave tonight and meet him at the train station in Orléans.
But the phone kept ringing. Paul glanced at the clock—14:45. She should have returned from her lunch.
A knock on the door.
“Come in,” Paul said, the ringing phone to his ear.
Miss Thibodeaux leaned in. “The police are waiting for you in the reception area.”
“Thank you.”
Still no answer from Lucie. Paul stifled a groan and hung up. He’d call later.
He straightened his tie and headed downstairs, but slowly.
The longer Paul kept the police at the factory, the better. The curfew had been moved back to twenty-one hours, and it would look suspicious if Paul left the factory before it closed at eighteen hours, especially after an accident.
The police would investigate at the craneway, question the witnesses, and call the coroner. When they were done, they’d notify Madame Lafarge. If she knew about the blackmail, they’d come for Paul. Even though his appointment with Bentley served as an alibi, he would be brought in for questioning.
Time was his enemy.
38
Chill penetrated Lucie’s sweater, and she stamped her feet to keep warm.
