Martin Walker - The Devil's Cave

‘Were you aware that this young woman in your employ, Eugenie Ballotin, had taken this book, Madame?’ the Procureur asked.

‘Absolutely not.’

‘Then who is responsible for what seems to be an attempt to incriminate the Chief of Police?’

The old woman looked up in appeal to Foucher, who said smoothly, ‘There has evidently been a complete misunderstanding and Madame de la Gorce wishes to withdraw her statement and apologize to the Chief of Police and to you, Monsieur le Procureur , and is grateful for the book’s safe return.’

‘Not good enough,’ said the Procureur . ‘Where is this Mademoiselle Ballotin? I want her brought here now. And for what was she arrested in the past?’

Sergeant Jules coughed discreetly, leaned forward and murmured into his ear.

‘ Mon Dieu ,’ said the Procureur . ‘I thought she was supposed to be a nurse.’

‘Apparently not,’ Bruno interrupted. ‘There is no record of her having any nursing qualification, which is a matter of great concern to Dr Stern of our medical centre, who fears that the Red Countess is not receiving any proper medical attention. Dr Stern also tells me that after inquiries in the Paris hospitals Mademoiselle Ballotin’s claim that a Parisian doctor was treating the Red Countess for Alzheimer’s disease turns out to be untrue. Furthermore, no local doctor can be found who has seen her. Dr Stern wishes to be allowed to see the patient and I filed an inquiry into the relevant legal requirements with your duty clerk this morning, sir.’

The Procureur looked startled, and then grave as he thought about the implications of someone as well known as the Red Countess being denied medical care.

‘Madame de la Gorce, is your sister in tutelle ?’

Again, Foucher answered for her. ‘No, she is not. We believed from the qualifications Mademoiselle Ballotin presented that we had competent medical attention.’

‘Then you will have no objection to my insistence that Dr Stern be allowed to examine the patient and make a recommendation to me.’

‘Madame de la Gorce would like to consult her own legal and medical advisers, but of course that medical report would be available to you,’ Foucher said.

‘Are you a lawyer?’ the Procureur demanded. Foucher shook his head. ‘Then please don’t answer for your employer. In fact, I think you’d be most usefully employed getting a chair for Madame de la Gorce.’

She looked frail as she took her seat, but her eyes were bright and they glared at Bruno with malice before she composed herself to turn a polite face to the Procureur . Standing behind her, half-screened by the back of the chair, Foucher was looking down and appeared to be doing something with his hands.

‘Excuse me, sir,’ said Bruno, stepping forward and closing his hand over the mobile phone on which Foucher was tapping out a text message. ‘Did you authorize this Monsieur to use his phone?’ he asked the Procureur .

‘Certainly not,’ came the reply. ‘Take it off him.’ The Procureur turned to Madame de la Gorce, his voice cold. ‘You may bring in whatever other medical expert you choose, but I want Dr Stern to visit the Countess and I want a medical report on my desk by Thursday morning so I can take a decision before the Easter weekend. If there is a diagnosis of Alzheimer’s I will apply for your sister to be placed in tutelle , with a professional tuteur , since I’m not satisfied with the arrangements made by her family. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, and my own lawyers will contest that,’ she replied, with a glance at Foucher behind her.

‘That is your right. However, I give you notice that I shall investigate further this ridiculous allegation against the Chief of Police, who would appear to me to have a substantial case against you, Madame, for defamation. Since you insisted on filing this allegation with my office as a formal and sworn statement, you do not have the right to withdraw it as you please. You may wish to consult your legal adviser on that, and now please wait outside. Sergeant, please see that they don’t leave and confiscate their mobile phones. And have this Mademoiselle Ballotin brought here forthwith. I want to see her sworn statement about these events and she is not to consult with her employer in the meantime. Is that clear? Very well, I thank you Sergeant, and well done.’

When just J-J, the Mayor and Bruno were left with him in the room the Procureur said to J-J, ‘I should have listened to you.’ Then he turned to Bruno and said, ‘My apologies, J-J told me he suspected a set-up. I should never have listened to the old woman, but she’s a social acquaintance of my wife and came to my home first thing this morning with her statement already written out and signed. She insisted I witness it.’ He looked down at his colourful clothes. ‘It’s supposed to be my day off.’

‘No harm done, sir,’ said Bruno.

‘Harm has been done. In tracking down J-J and your Mayor here, half my office knows that you were being suspended on charges of theft. Word like that spreads fast, which is why you should bring an action against that silly old woman for defamation. I’ll be glad to testify on your behalf. It will never go to court, of course, but you should get something in settlement.’

J-J cleared his throat. ‘If you’re right about these rumours spreading from your office about the Chief of Police, you may want to consider putting out a statement that clears his good name.’

‘Good idea. I’ll issue a press statement. Now let’s all take a seat and Bruno, if I may call you that, tell me what this is really all about and start at the beginning. Why are they trying to shut you up and blacken your name?’

Bruno’s phone vibrated. He saw it was his counterpart from the police in Sarlat.

‘Excuse me, sir. This call may be relevant.’

He answered, to be told that the widow who sold the goat’s cheese had recognized the photo of the Arab who had bought her goat. Bruno thanked his colleague and closed his phone.

‘That’s a new complication,’ he said. ‘It looks as if the son of the Lebanese defence minister is involved in this, just as his father is about to come here to sign some multi-million-euro contract with one of the Count’s companies.’

As soon as the Procureur had been briefed, Bruno excused himself, borrowed Sergeant Jules’s private phone and went out to the square to tell Isabelle of the Lebanese connection. He had no idea exactly how this would complicate the investigation, but he knew it would. The Bentley was still there, presumably the car that had brought the Countess’s sister, which meant Foucher would not be driving his Jaguar and so could not be breathalysed. Bruno wanted Foucher’s DNA, even though he knew the lab would take at least a week to produce results. When he returned Jules’s phone, he suggested taking Foucher and Madame de la Gorce a glass of water. That should yield an adequate sample.

The market was still in full swing. He stopped at Jolliot’s electronics shop and bought a pre-paid phone for fifteen euros as a way to stay in touch with Isabelle. As he passed the church, he felt a hesitant touch on his arm. He turned to see Brigitte Junot, dressed in traditional widow’s black. The circles under her eyes were almost as dark. Three days since Junot’s death and it looked as if she hadn’t slept since. Without a word, she led him into the darkness of the church and to a pew in a side chapel where Francette sat with her head bowed as if in prayer, her features covered by a large black head-scarf. She was dressed as a farm girl, wearing jeans, a shapeless sweater and muddy rubber boots.