Martin Walker - Bruno, chief of police

Tavernier looked first at J-J, then at Isabelle and finally at Bruno, a half-smile on his face as if he were expecting someone to tell him it was all a joke and it was soon going to be time to laugh.

‘I think we may have to alert our masters that they might wish to consider some of the wider national implications of this,’ Isabelle said coolly. ‘As far as I know, the role of North Africans being specially deployed by the Vichy regime to inflict brutal retaliations on the French population during the Occupation has not become common knowledge. It is now likely to become very well known indeed.’

Tavernier looked carefully at the papers Bruno had put out before him.

‘Notice the thumb prints on the pay books,’ said Isabelle. ‘They match. And when the forensics team searched the cottage, they naturally took all the victim’s fingerprints. Here they are.’ She shoved another sheaf of papers across to Tavernier. ‘It’s the same man.’

‘We await your guidance,’ said J-J.

‘Do you have any recommendation for me, any proposal on how you plan to proceed?’ Tavernier asked.

‘We have a list of the known Resistance families in the region, including those who were targets of the Force Mobile,’ said Isabelle. ‘Any of them would have a motive to murder their old tormentor. The obvious next step would be to question them all, about forty families altogether. That is just in the Commune of St Denis. We may have to spread our net wider.’

‘Why on earth did the old fool ever come back to St Denis and run the risk of being recognised?’ Tavernier asked, almost to himself.

‘It was the only family he had,’ Bruno said. ‘He’d changed his name, abandoned his old family back in Algeria, lost his brother in the war, lost his country after the Algerian war and his wife had just died. His son found work here in St Denis, and so did his grandson, and he was about to become a great-grandfather.

He was old and tired and lonely, and he took a chance.’

‘And you think he was murdered by someone who recognised him from the old days?’

‘Yes,’ said Bruno. ‘I think he was executed by someone who felt he had a right to vengeance. At least, that’s how I would make the case for the defence if I were his lawyer.’

‘I see,’ said Tavernier. ‘I’d better review these overnight. As you say, my dear Isabelle, there are a lot of implications to be considered, some consultations to be made.’ He looked up at them, a determined smile on his face. ‘You three have obviously had a very long day. This is brilliant research, and I must congratulate you on first-class detective work. And now perhaps you all deserve to take some time off while we decide how best to proceed. So, no questioning of the old Resistance heroes for the moment, and I suggest you go off and have the best dinner Pйrigueux can provide. The investigation budget will pay. You’ve earned it.’

With a final beaming smile, a murmured promise to call J-J when a decision had been made, and a half-bow to Isabelle, he stood up, gathered the papers and was about to leave the room.

‘Just one thing,’ said Bruno. ‘You have to sign the release order for Richard Gelletreau, the teenage boy. He’s obviously no longer a suspect.’

‘Bruno is right,’ said J-J. ‘We have nothing on him for the drugs charges, and we still have a lot of work to do with the Dutch police to nail those suppliers.

Young Jacqueline has given us all the testimony we need. It’s a good result.’

‘Right,’ said Tavernier. ‘A good result.’ Bruno looked across to see Isabelle smiling at him. Tavernier took some notepaper and his seal of office from his elegant black leather attachй case. He scrawled the release order with a flourish, and then stamped it with the seal. ‘Take him home, Bruno.’

Bruno awoke in his own bed with Isabelle still sleeping beside him, her hair tousled from the night and one arm flung out above the covers and resting on his chest. Gently, he crept out and tip-toed to the kitchen to make coffee, feed Gigi and his chickens, water the garden and start this day of June the eighteenth. He knew that if he turned on the radio, some announcer on France-Inter would play de Gaulle’s full speech. Somewhere he had read that there was no copy of the original broadcast of 1940, and de Gaulle had recorded it all over again after the Liberation… ‘La France a perdu une bataille! Mais la France n’a pas perdu la guerre!’

While the water boiled, he walked, still naked, out to his garden, to his compost heap at the far side of the vegetable garden and enjoyed the deep masculine pleasure of urinating in the open air. At his feet, he saw that Gigi had cocked a leg to follow his master’s example. Still peeing, he heard the sound of applause and turned to see Isabelle in the doorway, clapping her hands slowly together and looking particularly fetching in the blue uniform shirt he had worn the previous day.

‘Magnifique, Bruno,’ she called, and blew him a kiss. ‘The same to you,’ he called back, laughing. ‘Police Municipale – it suits you.’

‘Night after night away from the hotel,’ she said over coffee. ‘My reputation is in tatters.’

‘You’d be amazed how fast the word goes around that you were on special duty in Bordeaux and Pйrigueux,’ he assured her. ‘And besides, what does it matter?

You’re leaving for Paris.’ It was the first time he had raised this.

She stretched out her arm and put her hand on his. ‘Not until September,’ she said quietly. ‘I have to be here for the drugs case, and with all the bureaucracy of the Dutch liaison, that’s at least another month. That’s the rest of June and half of July. Then I have my vacation and that’s July and half of August. Then I have my re-assignment leave. That’s the rest of August. You’ll probably be tired of me by then.’

He shook his head, suspecting that whatever he said would be wrong, and leaned across and kissed her instead.

‘I saw that you’d put the photograph away, that one of you and the blonde girl,’ she said. ‘You didn’t have to do that for me, not if she was important to you.

Particularly not if she was important.’

‘Her name was Katarina and she was important.’ He forced himself to look at her as he spoke. ‘But that was a long time ago, a different Bruno, and it was in the middle of a war. The rules all seemed to be different then.’

‘What happened to her?’ she asked, and then shook her head. ‘Sorry. You don’t need to answer. It’s just curiosity.’

‘She died. The night that I was wounded, she was in a Bosnian village that got attacked and burnt out. She was among the dead. My captain went looking for her after the battle and told me when I got out of hospital. He knew that she meant a lot to me.’

‘Captain Mangin, the son of the Mayor of St Denis, which is how you came to be here. Captain Mangin who was promoted to Major while you were in hospital and then resigned his commission.’

‘You knew all along?’

‘J-J recognised the name, and then we talked to him in Paris. He teaches philosophy and is a rising star in the Green Party. He’ll probably be elected to the European Parliament next time. He says you were the best soldier he ever knew, and a good man, and he’s proud to be your friend. He told us about rescuing the women from that Serb brothel but he didn’t say anything about Katarina. At least she knew some happiness with you before she was killed.’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘We knew some happiness.’

Isabelle rose and came round to his side of the kitchen table. She opened the shirt she was wearing and put his head against her breast and stroked her hands through his hair. She murmured, ‘I know some happiness now, with you.’ She bent to kiss him.