One Shot Kill - Robert Muchamore Page 0,2

but it was one in the morning and nobody was available.

Huber was chubby, dressed in a grey civilian suit with a fancy pocket watch hung off a gold chain. He studied his nails uninterestedly as a uniformed guard dragged a girl into the room. She was around fourteen years old, extremely thin and dressed in grubby knickers and a blood-stained man’s vest that almost reached her knees. Her eyes were badly swollen and she had dozens of burns and bruises.

‘Still defiant?’ Huber asked, watching the girl struggle as the guard forced her into a chair. ‘Edith Mercier, we’ve not had the pleasure of meeting before.’

Edith looked up, as the guard lurked behind, ready to strike. She’d not been in this interrogation room before, but they all had the same dim ceiling bulb and tang of bleach.

‘Communist bitch spat in my face,’ the guard explained. ‘Earned herself a slap for her trouble.’

‘Oh, Edith! Spitting isn’t nice,’ Huber said, smiling slightly. ‘I just need you to answer some questions. Once that’s done you can clean up. I’ll find you something to eat and better sleeping arrangements.’

Edith’s eyes were black marbles as she stared right through him.

‘Where does the stubborn attitude get you?’ Huber asked. ‘You’re just a girl. You’re facing no serious punishment, but unless you wish to suffer more than you have already, you simply must give full details of the resistance scum you’ve become mixed up with.’

Edith kept silent as Huber signalled the guard with a raised eyebrow. She felt a hand clap the back of her skull as the guard thrust forwards and banged her forehead against the desk.

‘Again,’ Huber said.

Edith was dazed as the guard slammed her a second time. She twisted, slipping off the chair and stumbling sideways, but the guard pulled the skinny girl back into the chair and clamped a hand around a neck barely wider than his wrist.

‘Where is Alois Clement?’ Huber shouted, as Edith choked. ‘When did you last see him?’

Edith gasped when the guard let go, but gave no answer. As punishment the guard snatched her wrist and twisted it agonisingly behind her back.

‘This is all so unnecessary,’ Huber said, as he shook his head gently. ‘So, so unnecessary.’

‘I don’t know anything,’ Edith shouted, when the pain became too much. ‘I’ve never heard of anyone named Clement.’

Huber pulled a notebook out of his pocket and spun it across the desktop. ‘You were carrying this with you when you were arrested.’

‘Never seen it in my life,’ Edith snarled.

‘We’ve confirmed it’s your writing. I know it’s a coded list of names. I know you worked as a messenger for Eugene Bernard and witnesses tell me you regularly visited Alois Clement at the fishing port.

‘Your witnesses are lying,’ Edith shouted. ‘You can’t trust traitors.’

Huber leaned forwards. ‘You’ll tell me everything you know, or I’ll make this the longest night of your life.’

‘You’re not even original,’ Edith laughed. ‘My last interrogator used that exact line. He got nothing from me and neither will you.’

‘Who are you trying to save?’ Huber asked. ‘I’ve been in this room with many of your friends, Edith. They’re happy to spill the beans, so why endanger your life by protecting them?’

Edith snorted. ‘If you already know so much, why are you up in the middle of the night asking me questions? Why aren’t you at home in bed, with your teddy?’

Huber was a professional interrogator, but didn’t completely succeed in hiding his irritation. Edith knew she’d scored a small victory.

In Huber’s experience the majority of people broke quickly under torture, often within minutes. About one third had the will power to hold out for a day or two, usually in order to allow a colleague or loved one to escape capture. Less than one suspect in fifty could endure pain as Edith had done.

‘You were not a blood relative of Madame Brigitte Mercier?’ Huber asked, picking a gentler tone as he signalled for the guard to back off. ‘She was your guardian, yes?’

Edith had been through enough interrogations to know that her tormentor had changed tack to try winning her confidence. This bought her recovery time, so she always played along whilst being careful not to lose concentration and say something of value.

‘I never knew my parents,’ Edith explained. ‘Madame Mercier adopted me when I was a toddler.’

‘You worked for her?’

‘I looked after her stables and ran errands for the girls who worked in her brothels.’

Huber nodded, trying to show some empathy. ‘Sounds as if she was more like a boss