Martin Walker - The Devil's Cave

‘Have they been on to you?’

‘Not yet, but they have been on to the Brigadier and he asked me to find out what you think you’re playing at — his words. And he wasn’t talking about that charade your priest staged in the cave.’

Bruno explained that this was no longer a possible fraud case, but that the Procureur had opened dossiers on two probable murders. Briefly, he described Junot’s crash and the injection marks.

‘It’s out of my hands now,’ he said. ‘J-J’s forensic guys are probably going to require a search of that hotel where we got turned away, so I hope there’s no plans for the minister to hold a signing celebration.’

‘You should have told me this before.’ Her voice was tightening. ‘We need to know this.’

‘It only began to come together last night.’

‘Is there anything that points to the two guys with the Count in those glossy photos I printed out?’

‘Not yet,’ he said.

‘The Ballotin girl in the glossy photos, the one calling herself a nurse, it turns out she isn’t. No record of a diploma. And here’s some more news. The second time Beatrice was arrested, so was the Ballotin girl. Same time, same place, same profession.’

‘I’m not surprised,’ he replied. ‘But what I can’t work out is the motive for all this. It can’t be inheritance — Athenais has a daughter who’ll be the heir.’

‘Only if she lives to inherit. Where is she now?’ As she spoke, his own phone on his belt began to vibrate.

‘At college in Canada, Paris-Match tracked her down.’ Could Isabelle be serious, that a teenage girl was now at risk?

‘The Count’s short of money. If this Lebanese deal doesn’t come off, he’s in real trouble: bankruptcy, lawsuits, he may even be looking at a prison term. The only thing that could save him then would be to borrow more money using the family estate as collateral. We’ve been on this phone long enough. Get yourself a throwaway and send the number to the email I used to contact you.’

His own phone had stopped ringing but the call had come from J-J. He’d expected this. Yves must have finished the forensic study and J-J would be preparing a search. He called him back.

‘Bruno Courreges?’ J-J said, his voice curiously formal, as though someone official were listening in. ‘You are required to meet me at the Gendarmerie in thirty minutes. And consider yourself under suspension pending investigation. Your Mayor has been informed.’

He rang off and Bruno was left staring at his phone, momentarily stunned. He checked his watch. Thirty minutes. He could do a lot in thirty minutes. He called Sergeant Jules but an automated voice asked him to leave a message. He considered calling the Mayor, but there was no point. If the Mayor was told his municipal policeman was under investigation he’d have no choice but to agree to the suspension. Bruno climbed the steps back up to the town square, handed the phone back to Stephane and headed into his office at the Mairie .

He pulled out the file with the printouts Isabelle had made, checked the internet address and called up the photo of the Count with the son of the Lebanese minister. He emailed that to his counterpart in Sarlat, a good friend, and followed it with a phone call, asking him to show the photo to the widow who sold goat’s cheese in the old church of Ste-Marie to see if she recognized either man. Then he called Fabiola, to tell her that the nurse at the Red Chateau had no known qualifications. In turn, she told him that she had found Annette at home and she was researching the law. Apparently it depended whether the Red Countess was in tutelle , which would mean a court had ruled that she was not fit to conduct her own affairs, and her sister or her nephew might have been named her tuteur with legal powers to act for her.

It was time to go. He settled his cap squarely on his head, checked his appearance in the mirror in the men’s room and walked briskly down the Rue de Paris towards the Gendarmerie, shaking hands and kissing cheeks as he always did. The thought crossed his mind that this might be the last occasion he would do so. He refused to speculate on the reasons for the investigation, but his inability to contact Sergeant Jules was worrying. Perhaps he should have called the Mayor after all, and he certainly should have called Isabelle.

The Mayor was standing on the steps of the Gendarmerie, a solemn look on his face as Bruno approached. A stately old Bentley limousine from the Fifties was standing in the car park.

‘The Procureur de la Republique has come down from Perigueux himself and an accusation of theft has been filed against you,’ the Mayor said. ‘Sergeant Jules said that was all he knew.’

‘Jules is here?’ The Mayor nodded. Bruno felt reassured and followed the Mayor inside, where Sergeant Jules greeted him with a wink and a sideways glance at a plastic evidence bag with a book inside. Bruno marched into the familiar office, halted in formal military style, stood to attention and saluted the Procureur . After seeing the Bentley outside he was not surprised to see the sister of the Red Countess and Foucher standing by the window. J-J stood to one side of the desk.

‘At ease, Courreges,’ said the Procureur . Bruno was startled to see him wearing red corduroy slacks, a blue denim shirt and a bright yellow sweater, as if he’d been hauled from a golf course. This was a normal workday.

‘One moment, please,’ said the Mayor. ‘I understand that Chief of Police Courreges is entitled to legal representation and I would like to say that while ready to provide him what assistance I can, I must protest against the haste in calling this inquiry without summoning a qualified lawyer. I should add that my officer has my complete confidence.’

‘Protest noted,’ the Procureur said and fixed Bruno with a cold stare. ‘Madame de la Gorce has filed a formal statement accusing you of stealing from her family library a valuable book, a first edition of Montaigne’s essays. She says that you obtained entry to the library with a spurious claim of being on duty and while you were left alone there the book disappeared. She claims that this edition of the book is worth over five thousand euros, but this particular example is priceless, having once belonged to the former royal family. What do you have to say?’

‘Not guilty, sir.’

‘Were you in the library alone?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Did you see the book in question?’

‘Later, sir, I did, but not in the library.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘Permission to call Sergeant Jules of the Gendarmerie, sir?’

‘I hope someone can explain.’

Sergeant Jules entered and saluted, the evidence bag and a slim folder under his arm. He laid the bag on the desk.

‘Sir, Chief of Police Courreges entrusted this book to me yesterday evening at his home. He’d called me to say that he believed this accusation of theft would be launched against him. I have had the book fingerprinted, sir, and his fingerprints are not to be found. However, the fingerprints of a young woman in the employ of the chateau were found, identified from her previous arrest record. That supports the Chief of Police’s statement that the woman in question called at his home and deliberately left the copy of the book in an attempt to incriminate him. Here is the Chief of Police’s statement, taken by me last night, and my own statement, sir.’

Jules laid the slim folder on the desk and with a sharp glance at the old lady who was now leaning heavily on Foucher’s arm, the Procureur began reading the statements.

‘What’s this about a previous arrest?’ Madame de la Gorce interjected. ‘They must be in it together.’