the number of Jacquelines car, and waited, listening to the rustling of pages.
Hello, Bruno? Yes, I found it. The car came in at twelve and left at
three-thirty. It looks like whoever it was, they came for a good lunch.
Any idea who was driving the car, or who they visited?
No, just the number.
Do you have the names of the Dutch lads who were staying with you?
Certainly. Names, addresses, car and bike registrations, and some credit cards.
Mostly they paid cash, but some paid with cards. Franc spoke hesitantly, and
Bruno smiled to himself at Francs new dilemma, whether he would now have to
declare to the taxman even the cash income he had taken from the Dutchmen.
Dont worry, Franc. This is about the Dutchmen and their visitor, nothing to do
with you or taxes. Can you get the paperwork together with the names and
addresses and all the information you have on them and Ill be down in twenty
minutes to make copies.
Can you tell me what this is about, Bruno? Its not involved with the murder of
that Arab, is it?
Its just a hunch, Franc, but were investigating the way some drugs have been
getting into the area, thats all. Twenty minutes.
With Francs paperwork in hand, Bruno thought he had better tie up another loose
end and drove on through the town to Lespinasses garage on the main road to
Bergerac. It was a Total filling station, slightly more expensive than the
petrol at the supermarket but well-placed for the tourist trade, and it was
where Jacqueline had filled her car. Lespinasses sister ran the pumps, while he
and his son and a cousin tinkered happily with engines and gearboxes and
bodywork in the vast hangar of their garage. Lespinasse liked all cars, but he
loved old Citroëns, from the 1940s Model Sept with the sweeping running boards
and the doors that opened forwards to the humble but serviceable Deux-Chevaux
and the 60s beauties that were known as the gorgeous goddesses the
aerodynamic models called the DS that when said aloud sounded like the French
word for goddess déesse.
As always, he found Lespinasse under a car, chewing on a matchstick and singing
to himself. He called out and the plump, jovial man wheeled himself out on the
small board on which he lay and rolled off to greet Bruno, presenting his
forearm to be shaken rather than cover Brunos palm with oil.
We saw you in the newspaper, said Lespinasse. And on TV. A proper celebrity
you are now, Bruno. Everybody says you did a great job with those bastards.
Im here on police business, Jean-Louis, about one of your credit card
customers. I need to look at your fuel sales records for May the eleventh.
The eleventh? That would have been Katis day off, so the boy would have been
running the pumps. He looked back into the garage and whistled, and young
Edouard came out, waving cheerfully. He was the image of his father but for a
full set of teeth. The boy was eighteen now but he had known Bruno ever since
hed first learned to play rugby, so he came and kissed Bruno on both cheeks.
You still write down the registration numbers on the credit card slips? Bruno
asked.
Always, except for the locals that we know, said Edouard.
Bruno gave him the number of Jacquelines car, and Edouard leafed through the
file to the right day.
Here we are, he said. Thirty-two euros and sixty centimes at eleven forty in
the morning. Carte Bleu. I remember her, she was a real looker. Blonde. When she
came back she was with a bunch of guys, though.
She came back?
Yes, after lunch, in one of those big camper vans with a bunch of Hollanders. I
filled them up. Here it is, eighty euros exactly at two forty in the afternoon,
paid with a Visa card and heres the registration number, said Edouard. Bruno
checked his own list. It was one of the numbers listed at the camp site.
And there were a couple of them on motor bikes at the same time and I filled
them too, Edouard went on. They must have paid cash. I remember asking myself
what a nice French girl like that was doing with a bunch of foreigners.
Tough-looking guys, they were. I saw her in the back of the van with them when
the guy that paid opened the back door to get his jacket with the wallet. I
dont think we saw them again, and Id have remembered if wed seen her.
If you hadnt given up playing tennis you might have met her at the tournament
last year. She came and played at the club.
Well, it was either tennis or rugby so maybe I made the wrong choice, said
Edouard. But you know me, I was always better at rugby and I like the lads in
the team.
CHAPTER
21
Bruno left the garage feeling rather proud of himself and went directly to see
Isabelle in her temporary office above the tourist board. Trying not to show
that he felt like some ancient warrior returning with trophies from the
battlefield, he went straight to her desk, laid down three thin files and
announced, New evidence.
Isabelle, in dark trousers and a white shirt of masculine cut, sat pensively at
her desk with a pencil in her hand and wearing earphones. She looked startled to
see him at first, and then pleased. She took off the earphones and switched off
a small machine that Bruno could not identify, then rose and kissed him in
greeting.
Sorry, she said. I was listening to the tape of the last round of
interrogation.
J-J
emailed it to me. You said there was new evidence?
First, Ive identified the missing photo, he said, trying to sound
matter-of-fact rather than pompous. Its of a team called les Oraniens who won
the Maghreb League trophy in Marseilles in 1940. They were coached by a
professional player called Giulio Villanova. By this evening we should have a
full list of the team, thanks to this man, a sports historian, who wrote a
thesis on it. Here are my notes and his phone number. He pushed out one of the
files he had brought.
Second, Ive traced Jacquelines movements on the day in question. He put his
finger on the next file, which contained the list of Dutch names and credit card
numbers and a photocopy of the camp sites visitors book with Jacquelines
registration number. It also contained the numbers of the vehicles that had left
the camp site while Jacquelines car was there.
Third, we can put Jacqueline in the company of the visiting Dutch boys for
almost all of the time that we think the murder was committed. This third file
has photocopies of the credit card they used to buy diesel, and the name of an
eye witness who saw her with them, and who earlier saw her fill up her own car.
Isabelle poured him some of her own coffee before returning to her desk and
looking through the files Bruno had brought. So why would she not explain to us
that she was simply visiting some Dutch boys at the camp site? she asked.
My question exactly. And you know you thought it might be drug-related, and she
was frightened of her suppliers if she talked? Well, the Dutch produce most of
the Ecstasy pills, and a bunch of Hollanders were staying at the camp site when
she visited. They came down in cars, camper vans and bikes, mainly for the
Motor-Cross rally but they stayed on not a bad cover for distributing drugs. I
have a list of names here, some of them with credit card numbers, and I thought
you might want to see if any of them are known to your Dutch colleagues or to
any of those Europol cooperation agencies.