knew I was an orphan.
Im sorry, Bruno. I didnt mean
J-J
turned away from the view to scrutinise
him. I remember somebody telling me that, but it slipped my mind.
I never knew them, Bruno said levelly, not looking at
J-J
. I know nothing of
my father, and my mother left me in a church when I was a baby. It was the
priest who christened me Benoît, the blessed one. You can understand why I call
myself Bruno instead.
Jesus, Bruno. Im really sorry.
I was in a church orphanage until I was five, and then my mother committed
suicide up in Paris. But first she wrote a note to her cousin down in Bergerac
naming the church where shed left me. The Bergerac cousins raised me, but it
wasnt easy because they never had much money. Thats why I went off to the Army
as soon as I left school. It wasnt a very happy childhood but theyre the
nearest to a family Ive got, and they have five kids of their own so theres no
pressure on me.
Do you still see them?
Weddings and funerals, mostly. Theres a lad Im close to because he plays
rugby. Ive taken him out hunting a few times, and tried to talk him out of
going into the Army. He sort of listened; joined the Air Force instead.
I thought you enjoyed your time in the service? I remember you telling some
stories, that night we went out to dinner.
Bits of it were fine. Most of it, really. But I dont tend to talk about the
bad times. Id rather forget them.
You mean Bosnia?
Yes, he meant Bosnia. Hed been there with the UN peacekeepers, but he quickly
found there wasnt much peace to be kept. Theyd lost over a hundred dead, a
thousand wounded, but nobody remembered that any more. They barely even noticed
at the time. They were being hit by snipers and mortars from all sides, Serbs,
Muslims and Croats. Hed lost friends, but the UN orders were they were not to
fight back, hardly even to defend themselves. Not a glorious chapter. This was
partly why hed chosen to come and live here, in the quiet heart of rural
France. At least it used to be quiet before they got a dead Arab with a swastika
carved in his chest. He told
J-J
some of this, but not all.
Well, you turned out okay, despite everything. The orphanage, Bosnia, all
that,
J-J
said finally. And Im a prying old busybody. I suppose it goes with
the job. Still, I meant it about my wife, shes a good woman. Im lucky.
J-J
paused. You know shes got me playing golf?
She never has, laughed Bruno, grateful for the change of subject, and of mood.
She started playing with a couple of her girlfriends, then she insisted I take
some lessons, said we had to have some common interests for when I retire,
J-J
said. I quite enjoy it; a nice stroll in the open air, a couple of drinks
after, some decent types in the club house. Were planning on going down to
Spain this summer on one of those special golfing vacations play every day,
get some lessons. Look, bugger this, I need a drink. Stay here. Ill be right
back.
Bruno turned and looked back at the house. All the lights were on and
white-garbed figures crossed back and forth behind the windows. The last time he
had seen this many police was in the passing-out parade from his training
course. He thought he knew what
J-J
was building up to say. This was going to be
a very messy case, with politics and media and national interest, and hed want
Bruno out of it. That would be fine with Bruno, except that his job was to look
after the interests of the people of St Denis, and he had no idea how to do
that.
Well, it looks like we have our chief suspect for the poor old Arab. J-Js
silhouette loomed out of the light in the house, offering him a glass. A Ricard,
mixed just right, not too much ice. The furniture tycoon would hardly miss a
couple of drinks.
Its circumstantial, unless forensics come up with some traces or we find the
weapon, Bruno said.
One of those Nazi daggers on the wall, if you ask me. I told forensics to take
special care with them.
You know youre going to lose control of this case once Paris gets involved.
Theres too much politics.
Thats why I want to wrap it up fast, said
J-J
. Theyre sending down a
Juge-magistrat from Paris, along with something they call a media coordinator to
handle the press. Theyll be spinning everything for the evening news and the
Ministers presidential ambitions. Id be surprised if he doesnt come down here
himself, maybe even for the funeral.
The Mayor is already worried enough about the impact on tourism this summer
without having ministers making headlines. I can just see it now. Bruno shook
his head. St Denis: the little town of hate.
In your shoes, Id try to keep out of the way. Let the big boys do their thing
and then try and sweep up the broken crockery when they go. Thats the way it
works.
Not with my Mayor, it doesnt, said Bruno. Dont forget he used to be on
Chiracs staff up in Paris. Anybody who worked for a president of the Republic
can play politics with the best of them. And hes my boss.
Well, they cant fire you.
Its not that, said Bruno. Hes been good to me helped me, taught me a lot.
I dont want to let him down.
You mean, like the father you never had?
Speechless for a moment, Bruno stared intently at
J-J
then took a deep breath
and told himself to relax. You must have been reading some paperback on
psychology, he said, more curtly than he had intended.
Merde, Bruno, I didnt mean anything by it.
J-J
leaned forward and gave him a
soft punch on the arm. I was just talking, you know ?
Forget it, maybe youre right, Bruno said. He has been like a father to me.
But its not just the Mayor. Its the town itself and the damage all this mess
could do. Its my home, and its my job to defend it.
CHAPTER
10
It was raining, not the hard driving downpour of a summer thunderstorm but a
thin persistent drizzle that would last for a couple of hours, so the four men
hurried across the wet grass to the covered court of which Bruno was rather
proud. It looked like a disused hangar on an old airfield, with a corrugated
roof in translucent plastic and tarpaulins for walls. But the court was sound
inside, and boasted an umpires chair, a scoreboard, and benches for spectators.
An array of small placards, advertising local businesses and the Sud-Ouest
newspaper, hung on the metal frame
Bruno partnered with the Baron, who was not a real baron but, as the main
landowner in the district and a man of sometimes imperious habits, was widely
known by the nickname and openly rejoiced in it. Xavier and Michel took the
other side, as they usually did, and they began to knock up, not too hard and
none too skilfully, for the pleasure of the game and of the weekly ritual. When
Bruno took the ball to serve, the Baron stayed alongside him at the back of the
court. He preferred playing the back court, letting young Bruno take the
volleys at the net. As always, each man was allowed to have his first serve as
many times as he required to get the ball in. And, as usual, Brunos hard first
serve went long but his second was decently placed. Xavier played it back to the
Baron, who returned one of his deceptive drop shots. Michel was the better
player, but the men played together so often they knew each others game and