Major Ziegler leaned on the hood of his staff car, eyeing the small Belgian village. Sergeant Bayer was asking residents about the woman who stole the diamonds and the abandoned green Minerva. He spoke French, it was easier for him. People weren’t as intimidated when he approached, they spoke more freely. It was different when an officer like Ziegler loomed over the interrogation—the fear showed in their eyes, their faces paled, their voices quivered.
On their way to the village, they had questioned residents of two farmhouses. The farmers knew nothing, saw no one, offered little. But they lived simply, farming their land, raising their families. They had no reason to suspect a diamond thief might be among them. A third farmhouse had been empty. It was closest to the abandoned car and the
