had been scored into his chest postmortem. Bruno took some small relief from
that.
There was no sign of a theft. Hamids wallet was found in the back pocket of his
trousers. It contained forty euros, an ID card, a newspaper photo of himself
standing in a parade by the Arc de Triomphe in Paris, and another of Karim
scoring a try in a rugby match. Apart from some old bills and postage stamps,
that was it. There was a cheque book from Crédit Agricole in a drawer with some
pension slips, and some previously unopened mail from the bank, mainly showing
deposits from a military pension. The old man had over 20,000 euros in the bank.
Bruno raised an eyebrow at that. He knew from the Mairies records that Momu and
his father had bought the small cottage two years ago for 78,000 euros in cash,
which was not a bad deal given the predatory way the local agencies were pricing
up every tumbledown ruin to sell to the English and the Dutch.
The old man had had no luxuries in the cottage, not even a refrigerator. He kept
his supplies in a small cupboard wine, paté, cheese, fruit and several bags of
nuts. There were two litre bottles of cheap vin ordinaire, and one very good
bottle of a Chateau Cantemerle 98. At least sometimes the old man had cared
about what he drank. There was cheap ground coffee in an unsealed bag on the
shelf above the small stove which was fuelled, like the hot water, by gas
canisters. This was routine in rural homes; Bruno cooked and heated his own
water in the same way. He continued to run his eye down the list: Hamid had no
gun and no hunting licence, but he did have an up-to-date fishing licence and an
expensive fishing rod. No TV, just a cheap battery radio tuned to France Inter.
No newspapers or magazines, but a shelf of war and history books whose titles
were listed in the report. There were books on de Gaulle, on the Algerian War,
the French war in Vietnam, World War II and the Resistance. And two books on the
OAS, the underground army of the French Algerians who had tried to assassinate
de Gaulle for giving the colony its independence. That might be significant,
Bruno thought, although he could see no connection to a swastika. Apart from the
money, and the medal and photo that had disappeared, there was not a lot of
evidence of what seemed to have been a rather lonely and even primitive life.
At the back of the file, Bruno found a new printout showing details from the
pensions computer. Until almost two years ago, Hamid had been living up in the
north, over twenty years at the same address in Soissons, until his wife Allida
died. Then he moved to the Dordogne. Bruno did the calculation. The old man had
come here the month after Karims marriage, probably to be with the only family
he had left. His profession was listed as gardien, or caretaker. Bruno scanned
the pension printout. He had worked at the military academy, where hed had a
small service flat. Yes, theyd do that for an old comrade with a Croix de
Guerre. And with a service flat, hed have paid no rent, which would account for
the savings. There was no sign on the pension form of any medical problem, and
no doctor was listed.
That reminded him. He rang Mireille at the Mairie to see if the Ministry of
Defence information had arrived yet. No, but she could tell him that Hamid was
not named on any local doctors lists, nor at the clinic, nor with any of the
pharmacies in town, and no medical claims were registered on the social security
computer. Evidently he was a healthy person, probably thanks to having been a
footballer. Why had that photo disappeared along with the medal?
Hey, Bruno. Robbed any good banks lately? grinned
J-J
, striding into the room
with Isabelle at his heels. I always thought you must have been the brains
behind that job. It was too smart for those idiots we put away.
Its good to see you,
J-J
. Bruno smiled with genuine pleasure as they shook
hands. They had been taken to a magnificent celebration dinner at Le Centenaire
in Les Eyzies at the end of the case by the banks regional manager. Two
Michelin stars, a couple of bottles a head of some of the best wine Bruno had
ever tasted, and a chauffeur to take him home again. Hed had to stay off work
the next day. I see youre a big shot now, top cop in the Departement.
And theres not a day goes by that I dont sit back and feel a twinge of envy
for the life you have here, Bruno.
J-J
gave him an affectionate slap on the
back. Thats what intrigues me about this vicious little murder its so out
of character for this place. Isabelle tells me you think we might have a lead in
this doctors son.
Im not sure Id call it much of a lead, but hes the only local from St Denis
that I recognised in the photos. This is a weekday. He should be at school in
Périgueux.
Isabelle shook her head. I just checked. He didnt turn up on Monday. He
reported sick, and they got a note signed by his dad the doctor.
Gelletreau writing a sick note for his son? I think wed better verify that,
said Bruno, impressed at her speed of action but wary that shed gone elsewhere
to make the calls rather than do so in his presence. Not quite a team player,
this Isabelle. He doesnt like writing sick notes at all, old Gelletreau. He
accuses half his patients of malingering. He told me I just had a cold once, and
it turned into pneumonia. And doctors are notoriously tough on their own
families. He reached for the phone.
You see why I like this guy?
J-J
said to Isabelle. Local knowledge. Thats
real policing for you. Not all this computer crap.
Madame Gelletreau? Bruno said into his phone. If Isabelle could move fast, so
could he. Could I speak to Richard, please? Its Bruno about the tennis, or is
he too sick? Hes at school in Périgueux, you say. Oh, my mistake, Id heard he
was at home sick. Very well, its not urgent. He rang off.