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“My mother, Commandant Fortin, was a Strasbourgerin. I learned my German from her.”

“So was mine, a Strasbourgerin, I mean.”

“Mine married an American right after the First World War,” Cronley said. “And if you don’t mind my asking, I’ve always been led to believe the DST was a police organization.”

“It is. I’ve been seconded to it,” Fortin said, and then bellowed, “Sergeant!”

When the sergeant appeared, Fortin said, “Check in the files for a man named . . .” He looked at Cronley.

“Stauffer,” Hessinger furnished. “Luther Stauffer.”

“Oui, mon Commandant.”

“What is this Stauffer fellow wanted for?” Fortin asked.

“We didn’t mean to give that impression,” Hessinger said. “His name came up in an investigation of black market activities, that’s all. We’d just like to know who he is.”

“I thought your Criminal Investigation, DCI, did those sort of investigations.”

“Most of the time, they do,” Hessinger said.

Commandant Fortin is good. Is this going to blow up in our faces?

“To return to your earlier question,” Fortin said, “there were . . . how do I say this delicately? . . . certain awkward problems here in Strasbourg. When the Germans came in 1940, there were some policemen, including senior officers, who were not too terribly unhappy.”

“‘Better Hitler than Blum’?” Hessinger said.

“Exactly,” Fortin said. “I’m glad you understand.”

“I don’t,” Cronley blurted, and immediately regretted it.

Fortin looked at Hessinger and signaled that Hessinger should make the explanation.

“He was premier of France for a while,” Hessinger began. “A Jew, an anti-fascist, and a socialist, who thought the state should control the banks and industry. This enraged the bankers and businessmen in general, and they began to say, ‘Better Hitler than Blum.’ He was forced out of office before the war. After 1940, he was imprisoned by the Vichy government, and then by the Germans. We liberated him from a concentration camp, and he returned to France.”

“I’m glad you understand,” Fortin said. “The only thing I would add to that is that when he returned to France, Blum immediately re-divided the Fourth Republic into those who love him, and those who think he should have been shot in 1939.”

“May I ask where you stand on Monsieur Blum?” Hessinger asked.

“A career officer such as myself would never dream of saying that a senior French official should be shot. Or fed to the savage beasts.”

“I appreciate your candor, Commandant,” Cronley said. “And I apologize for my ignorance.”

Fortin waved his hand, to signal No apology was necessary.

“As I was saying, when the Germans came, many senior police officers were willing to collaborate with them. Many, perhaps most, of the junior policemen were not. The Germans hauled them off to Germany as slave laborers. Many of them died in Germany.

“When we—I had the honor of serving with General Philippe Leclerc’s Free French Second Armored Division—tore down the swastika and raised the Tricolor over the Strasbourg Cathedral again, some of the senior police officers who had collaborated with the Boche were shot trying to escape, and the rest were imprisoned for later trial.

“That left Strasbourg without a police force worthy of the name. General Leclerc established an ad hoc force from the Second Armored and named me as its chief. He knew I was a Strasbourger. I have been here since, trying to establish a police force. That has proved difficult, as there are very few men in Strasbourg from whom to recruit. And policemen from elsewhere in France are reluctant to transfer here—”

He was interrupted when his sergeant came back into the office.

“I found two in the files, mon Commandant,” he announced. “A Stauffer, Karl, and a Stauffer, Luther.”

He laid the files on Fortin’s desk, as Cronley wondered, Do I have another cousin?

Fortin examined the folders.