Martin Walker - Black Diamond

“Money laundering, hundreds of thousands in cash, and making some special auction arrangement with the manager, who used to work for him.”

“Do you think he will be charged?”

“Probably. Certainly he’ll be hauled in and questioned, and the tax people will be all over him about the cash. But without Didier to testify, he might be able to squirm out of it for lack of evidence.”

“Will the scandal break before the election?”

“Now you sound like the politician Pamela accuses us both of being,” said Bruno.

“Like life itself, politics goes on,” the mayor replied. “I thought I’d taught you that.”

Bruno paused and looked at the mayor somberly, thinking of the mixture of admiration and affection that he felt, with a thread of cynicism running through it. “You taught me everything else,” he said, already at the door that led out to the parking lot. “I have to go.”

“And I have to stay, and make a speech of thanks to Pons. That’s politics, too.”

Bruno put his head around the door. “The new science teacher at the college, her name’s Florence and she has two toddlers. I brought her over from Ste. Alvere but she’ll need a ride back.”

“Is she the blonde who was wiping chocolate off your face?”

“That’s her.”

“Consider it done. If she’s moving here she’s a new voter, so I’ll drive her myself.”

“She might represent a vote for the other side. She’s teaching environmental science, so I guess she’s a Green.”

“So am I,” said the mayor. “When I have to be.”

Didier was sprawled on the floor behind his desk, his legs still entangled in the chair. Inspecteur Jofflin from Bergerac was bending over the body. He squinted at the inside of the ring he had removed from Didier’s hand. “Didier-Annette” was engraved upon it.

“Is that a Rolex he’s wearing?” Bruno asked. “They cost a fortune.”

“Rolex Oyster Perpetual,” said Jofflin. “About five thousand euros. And his name’s engraved on the back.”

“The bastard,” said the mayor of Ste. Alvere, his eyes squinting against the smoke from the Disque Bleu hanging from his lip. “That was the town’s money.”

“He left no note?” asked Bruno.

Jofflin went to the desk and handed him a piece of notepaper inside a plastic bag. “Just this.”

Bruno glanced at the three words, and read them out: “Je regrette tout.” The mayor snorted.

“And these were in the wastebasket.” Jofflin pointed to a not-yet-crumbled mass of burned paper inside another evidence bag. It looked as if it had been glossy. “I think they were photos. Maybe the forensics boys can get something from them. They’re on their way.”

“Has his wife been told?” Bruno asked.

“My wife is with her,” said the mayor. “She knows.”

“About the fraud?” Bruno asked. He felt a great weight of responsibility creeping over him.

“Not yet,” said the mayor. “Just the suicide.”

“The mayor showed me your findings,” said Jofflin. “Would that be enough to make him blow his head off?”

“He’d have been going to prison,” said the mayor, about to stub out his cigarette in the wastebasket. Jofflin put out an arm to stop him, took the stub from the mayor’s fingers, opened the window and tossed it outside.

“Mustn’t pollute a crime scene, sir,” Jofflin said with a polite smile. This young man would go far, thought Bruno.

“Sorry,” said the mayor, lighting another cigarette. “I wasn’t thinking. But yes, we’d have made sure he went to prison, and I made that clear when I spoke to him. I called him in soon after you left, Bruno, once I’d looked at the logbooks and verified the notes you gave me. I kept Nicco here as a witness.”

“It was Alain’s statement that got to him,” Nicco said. “He broke down, said he’d been waiting for this to happen and was very sorry. I took some notes because it sounded to me like a confession. Then he said something about being under a lot of pressure and wanting to call a lawyer. We let him go, and about ten minutes later we heard the shot. I’m pretty sure I recognize it as Didier’s shotgun, a Manufrance.”

“It seems strange that he would have kept it in his office,” Bruno said. “And the ammo as well.”

“Probably kept it locked in the trunk of his car,” said Nicco. “A lot of people do.”

“Have you searched his car, and the desk?” Bruno asked, as the front bell sounded and a SUV could be heard pulling up outside.

“We’ll leave that for the forensics team. That’s probably them now,” said Jofflin.

But it was Bruno’s boss, the mayor of St. Denis, coming to offer condolences and ask for a word with Bruno. Behind him the forensics team began to clamber out of their vehicle.

“I’d better take a statement from each of you, but I’d rather not do it here,” said Jofflin.

“We can use my office,” said the mayor of Ste. Alvere, crumpling an empty cigarette packet and casting a last glance at Didier’s body. “I’ve got some more smokes in there.”

“Our new science teacher and her children are home safe and sound, but she gave me a real interrogation about you and Pamela on the way back,” Mayor Mangin said as they stood in the corridor, waiting for Bruno to make his statement. “I barely had the chance to ask for her vote.”

“And what did you tell her?” Bruno asked.

“I explained that you had a broken heart. Women like that sort of thing. But the real reason I wanted a word was to give you my phone. J-J called me, very frustrated because you had to hand your phone to the brigadier, and so J-J can’t reach you. He says mine will be safe enough and says to tell you that the operation will go ahead tonight.”

“Thank you, I’ll take care of it,” Bruno replied, taking the phone. “What did you say about my broken heart?”

“What everybody in town knows, that you were in love with Isabelle, and she wanted you to join her in Paris, but to our great relief you insisted on staying in St. Denis. And then along came Pamela and caught you on the rebound, but that was never going to work.”

“Why is that?” Bruno asked, intrigued to hear this view of his love life. “Because she’s British?”

“Not at all. They make excellent lovers because they always think we Frenchmen are a little exotic. Of course, our own womenfolk know better,” said the mayor. “It’s because Pamela told Fabiola she didn’t want children and didn’t want to settle down. One look at you teaching the kids to play tennis is all it takes to see you want kids of your own.”

“And you told all this to Florence, with her children all ears in the back of your car?” Bruno did not know whether to be amused or furious. He felt both.

“Well, not in so many words,” the mayor replied.

“So having realized that she was too Green to vote for you as a politician, you decided to win her sympathy by explaining what a sensitive and thoughtful soul you are and get her vote that way.”

“Now you’re sounding like Pamela, not that she isn’t a very sound woman in many ways. In fact, if I win the next election I’ll bring her into the council somehow, probably as liaison with the foreigners.”

Nicco emerged from the thick oak door and pointed his thumb back into the room. “Your turn,” he said to Bruno.

“Just one thing, Nicco. Is Gaby Duchot still the bailiff around here?”

“That’s right, he’s been the huissier for everybody since his old man died. Still lives above the office in the old house on the road to Lalinde. Anything I can help with?”

“While I’m giving my statement, can you find out whether he was the one who served the closure notice on L’Auberge des Verts this morning?”