Anselm got back from the post office in time for lunch, which proved to be an unspeakable combination of cold pasta and beetroot without any other benediction to hold them together. Brother Jerome’s news bulletin was a helpful distraction, containing an interesting item on the trial. Anselm determined to read the whole report once he’d escaped from the refectory. Meanwhile, an agenda fell into place: he would see Lucy Embleton and Salomon Lachaise the next day, before heading north to confront Victor Brionne at the weekend – another cold prospect that now filled him with dread. By Sunday night, after sending a fax to Cardinal Vincenzi, his involvement in the whole affair would be over. After lunch Anselm spoke to the Prior and received the necessary permissions. He then pinched the newspaper from the library and made for his bench by the Priory ruins.
After Bartlett had cross-examined Madame Beaussart, he’d surprised the court by volunteering to disclose his client’s defence. As the judge had observed, Schwermann was under no obligation to do so, but Bartlett had said he deemed it right since ‘it could only assist the jury in this particularly difficult case’. Not quite, thought Anselm. It was a ploy to get round the fact Schwermann had not cooperated with the police. A ‘No Reply’ interview always looked suspicious, even if it did pay homage to Goethe. So Bartlett was making Schwermann look as helpful as possible to the jury. And he must have chosen his moment, having got the answers he needed from the witness. Showing Madame Beaussart the photograph was a risky shot, but Bartlett must have noticed the prosecution didn’t formally prove how she knew Schwermann. In the absence of that foundation Bartlett had crept upon her warily, his instinct for the kill growing warm.
Bartlett had said that Schwermann had occupied a minor clerical post in the SS; had never visited a concentration camp; and had never ‘witnessed any of the horrific sights so forcefully described by the courageous lady whose testimony we have just heard’. Schwermann admitted he knew the deportees were going to Auschwitz but he believed this was a staging post on the way to Palestine, part of a wider policy of forced emigration. And as for the smuggling ring, he accepted that he brought to the attention of his superiors information that had come into his possession, but he had no influence or insight into what would happen to them afterwards. While there was no burden on the Defendant to prove his innocence, in this particular case the Prosecution would be shown to flounder without particulars, clutching at circumstantial evidence.
So that was the strategy: four big points, just as Roddy had predicted – three overt and one concealed. The first, a complete denial of ever having seen the machinery of a death camp. Second, a sincere belief that ‘evacuation’ meant just what it said. And third, the fate of the smuggling ring had been handed over to others. Technically, this meant Schwermann denied being part of a joint enterprise whose object or possible outcome was death or serious harm. Bartlett sensibly avoided stating his fourth argument because its inherently comic properties undermined its force: the ‘I was only obeying orders’ defence. But Anselm knew the jurors would be led along by frequent references to Schwermann’s youth, his lowly rank and the power of others. There would be no laughter and the point would be forcibly made. It might even coalesce into pity.
Bartlett’s disclosure, however, was alarming in other respects: there was no reference to Les Moineaux and no mention of Schwermann having saved life rather than taken it away The riddle remained an unexplained secret. Anselm had just turned to the obituary pages in search of light entertainment when he heard a sober voice at his elbow
‘Father, if we hadn’t shared the cup of plenty I’d think you were hiding from me.’
Anselm blenched.
‘I thought I’d give my legs a big stretch, before hitting Sao Paulo. And I have a few answers from the realm of Sticky Fingers.’