candidates to me,’ Isabelle said firmly, looking directly at Tavernier. Bruno

felt a small bud of jealousy begin to uncurl inside him. Isabelle would not have

a difficult choice to make between a lowly country cop and a glittering scion of

the Parisian establishment. ‘Naturally I’d like some firm evidence, or a

confession, I’m sure we all would. They both come from backgrounds that can

afford good lawyers, so the more evidence we have, the better. And maybe we

should also be looking hard at those thugs from the Service d’Ordre, the

security squad of the Front National. They are no strangers to violence. But

again, we need evidence.’

‘Quite right,’ said Tavernier with enthusiasm. ‘That’s why I’d like the

forensics people to take a second look at the murder scene and at the clothes

and belongings of our two suspects. Could you arrange that please, Mademoiselle?

Now that they know what they are looking for, the forensics types might come up

with something that puts them at the killing ground. Wouldn’t that calm your

doubts about circumstantial evidence, Superintendent? Or would you like me to

call down some experts from Paris?’

J-J

nodded. ‘Some of my doubts, yes it would. But our forensics team is very

competent. I doubt that they’ll have missed anything.’

‘You have other doubts?’ Tavernier’s question was silkily put, but there was

irritation behind it.

‘I don’t quite get the motive,’

J-J

said. ‘I see the obvious political motive,

but why kill this Arab, at this particular time, in this particular way, tying

up and butchering the old man as if he were a pig?’

‘Why kill this one? Because he was there,’ said Tavernier. ‘Because he was alone

and isolated and too old to put up much resistance and it was a remote and safe

place to commit this ritual slaughter. Look at your Nazi psychology,

Superintendent. And then they took his medal to demonstrate that their victim

was not really French at all. Yes, I think I have their measure. Now it’s time

for me to question these two young fascists myself. I’ll have what, two hours

with them before I have to leave for this little town called – what is it? – ah

yes, St Denis. Not the prettiest or most unusual of names, but I’m quite sure

the Minister and I shall both be thoroughly charmed.’

J-J’s office was in spartan contrast to the man.

J-J

was overweight and looked

scruffy inside his crumpled suit, but his desk was clean, his books and

documents all neatly filed, and his newspaper precisely aligned with the edges

of the low table where they sat, drinking some decent coffee that Isabelle had

made in her own adjoining room.

J-J

had kicked off his shoes and smoothed his

hair, and was riffling through a slim file that Isabelle had brought him. She

looked cool and very efficient in a dark trouser suit with a red scarf at her

neck, and what looked like expensive and surprisingly elegant black training

shoes with flat heels and laces. She looked at Bruno levelly, with a very faint

and disinterested smile, and he felt a touch of embarrassment at the fantasies

of her he had conjured up after she left his cottage.

‘There’s something odd about this military record of the victim,’ said

J-J

. ‘It

says he came onto the strength of the First French Army for pay and rations on

28 August 1944, listed as a member of the Commandos d’Afrique. That unit was

part of something called Romeo Force, who had taken part in the initial landings

in southern France on 14 August 1944, and they seized a place called Cap Nčgre.

Our man is not, apparently, listed as a member of the original assault force for

the invasion. He just appears on the strength, out of nowhere, on 28 August at a

place called Brignolles.’

‘I called the military archives and spoke to one of the resident staff,’

Isabelle took up the story. ‘He told me that it wasn’t uncommon for members of

Resistance groups to join up with the French forces and stay with them

throughout the war. The Commandos d’Afrique were a Colonial Army unit,

originally from Algeria, and most of the rank and file were Algerians. They’d

taken heavy casualties at a place called Draguignan, and were keen to bring

their numbers back up to strength with local Resistance volunteers. Since our

Hamid was Algerian, he was signed up and stayed with them for the rest of the

war. In the fighting in the Vosges mountains in the winter, he was promoted to

corporal, where he was wounded and spent two months in hospital. And then, when

they got into Germany, he was promoted to sergeant in April of 1945, just before

the German surrender.’

‘And he stayed in the Army after the war?’ Bruno asked.

‘Indeed he did,’ said

J-J

, reading from the file. ‘He transferred to the twelfth

regiment of the Chasseurs d’Afrique, with whom he served in Vietnam, where he

won his Croix de Guerre in the failed attempt to rescue the garrison at Dien

Bien Phu. His unit was then posted to Algeria until the war ended in 1962 and

the Chasseurs d’Afrique were wound up. But before that, along with some of the

other long-serving sergeants and warrant officers, he was transferred to the

training battalion of the regular Chasseurs, where he remained until he was

demobilised in 1975 after thirty-five years’ service. He was hired as a

caretaker at the military college at Soissons after one of his old officers

became the commander.’

‘So what’s so strange about it, J-J?’ Bruno asked.

‘We can’t find any trace of him in the Resistance groups around Toulon, where he

was supposed to be before joining the Commandos. Isabelle checked with the

Resistance records. Since it was useful after the war to be able to claim a

fighting record in the Resistance, most of the unit lists were pretty thorough.

And there’s no Hamid al-Bakr.’

‘It might not mean much,’ Isabelle said. ‘There aren’t many Arab names in any of

the Resistance groups – and not many Spanish names either, although Spanish

refugees from their civil war played a big part in the Resistance. But the

records for the two main groups, the Armée Secrčte and the Franc-Tireurs et

Partisans, tend to be fairly reliable. He could have been in another group or he

may have slipped through the net. He might even have used another name in the

Resistance – it wasn’t uncommon.’

‘It just nags at me a bit, like a loose tooth,’ said

J-J

. ‘Once Hamid was in the

Army, the records are impeccable, but we can’t track him before that. It’s as if

he just turned up out of nowhere.’

‘Wartime,’ Bruno shrugged. ‘An invasion, bombing, records get lost or destroyed.

And I can tell you one thing from my own military service. The official records

may all look very neat and complete because that’s how they have to be and how

the company clerks file them. But a lot of the paperwork is pure invention, or

just making sure the books balance and the numbers add up. What we know is that

he served for thirty-five years and fought in three wars. His officers respected

him enough to take care of him and he was a good soldier.’

‘Yes, I know all that,’ said

J-J

. ‘So Isabelle tried to look back a bit

further.’

‘We asked the Marseilles and Toulon police to run a check, but there’s not much

left of the files before 1944 and they had nothing,’ Isabelle said. ‘The date

and place of birth that he listed in Army records was back in Oran in Algeria on

14 July 1923. The chap at the archives said a lot of the Algerian troops listed