The Hanging Garden Read Online Free PDF Page B

horrified.
    Even more extraordinary to Rebus’s mind, the British had apprehended a couple of German officers involved in the massacre, but had refused to hand them over to the French authorities, returning them to Germany instead, where they lived long and prosperous lives. If Linzstek had been captured then, there would have been none of the present commotion.
    Politics: it was all down to politics. Rebus looked up andKirstin Mede was standing there. She was tall, deftly constructed, and immaculately dressed. She wore make-up the way women usually did only in fashion adverts. Today she was wearing a check two-piece, the skirt just touching her knees, and long gold-coloured earrings. She had already opened her briefcase and was pulling out a sheaf of papers.
    ‘Latest translations,’ she said.
    ‘Thanks.’
    Rebus looked down at a note he’d made to himself: ‘Corrèze trip necessary??’ Well, the Farmer had said he could have whatever he wanted. He looked up at Kirstin Mede and wondered if the budget would stretch to a tour guide. She was sitting opposite him, putting on half-moon reading glasses.
    ‘Can I get you a coffee?’ he asked.
    ‘I’m a bit pushed today. I just wanted you to see these.’ She laid two sheets of paper on his desk so that they faced him. One sheet was the photocopy of a typed report, in German. The second sheet was her translation. Rebus looked at the German.
    ‘–
Der Beginn der Vergeltungsmassnahmen hat ein merkbares Aufatmen hervorgerufen und die Stimmung sehr günstig beeinflusst
.’
    ‘The beginning of reprisals,’ he read, ‘has brought about a marked improvement in morale, with the men now noticeably more relaxed.’
    ‘It’s supposed to be from Linzstek to his commander,’ she explained.
    ‘But no signature?’
    ‘Just the typed name, underlined.’
    ‘So it doesn’t help us identify Linzstek.’
    ‘No, but remember what we were talking about? It gives a reason for the assault.’
    ‘A touch of R&R for the lads?’
    Her look froze him. ‘Sorry,’ he said, raising his hands.‘Far too glib. And you’re right, it’s almost like the Lieutenant is trying to justify the whole thing in print.’
    ‘For posterity?’
    ‘Maybe. After all, they’d just started being the losing side.’ He looked at the other papers. ‘Anything else?’
    ‘Some further reports, nothing too exciting. And some of the eyewitness testimony.’ She looked at him with pale grey eyes. ‘It gets to you after a while, doesn’t it?’
    Rebus looked at her and nodded.
    The female survivor of the massacre lived in Juillac, and had been questioned recently by local police about the man in charge of the German troops. Her story hadn’t changed from the one she’d told at the trial: she’d seen his face only for a few seconds, and looking down from the attic of a three-storey house. She’d been shown a recent photo of Joseph Lintz, and had shrugged.
    ‘Maybe,’ she’d said. ‘Yes, maybe.’
    Which would, Rebus knew, be turfed out by the Procurator-Fiscal, who knew damned well what any defence lawyer with half a brain would do with it.
    ‘How’s the case coming?’ Kirstin Mede asked. Maybe she’d seen some look cross his face.
    ‘Slowly. The problem is all this stuff.’ He waved towards the strewn desk. ‘On the one hand I’ve got all this, and on the other I’ve got a wee old man from the New Town. The two don’t seem to go together.’
    ‘Have you met him?’
    ‘Once or twice.’
    ‘What’s he like?’
    What was Joseph Lintz like? He was cultured, a linguist. He’d even been a Professor at the university, back in the early 70s. Only for a year or two. His own explanation: ‘I was filling a vacuum until they could find someone of greater standing’. He’d been Professor of German. He’d lived in Scotland since 1945 or ’46 – he was vague aboutexact dates, blaming his memory. His early life was vague, too. He said papers had been destroyed. The Allies had had to create