Bruno, Chief Of Police

they had been courting pretty energetically in the woods, rather than just

walking. It must have been late August, maybe early September last year. Rick

and Jackie came two or three times. I think she had a car, but I haven’t seen

them this year.’

‘You say they came out of the woods and down to your property. Which woods,

exactly?’

‘Those over that hill.’ She pointed. ‘Over towards Hamid’s place. From the hill,

you can see both my place and his.’

‘Did they ever mention Hamid, or meet him, or see him here when he came to tell

you how to prune your roses?’

‘Not that I can recall.’

‘When they came to visit you again, did they come the same way, from the woods?’

‘No, they came up the road by car. I remember it well because she drove too fast

and I had to tell her to slow down.’

‘Did they go walking off into the woods again while they were here?’

‘Yes, I think they did, teenage passion and all that. You’re sounding very

policeman-like and serious, Bruno. Do you think they could be connected to

Hamid’s murder?’

‘I don’t know, but it suggests that they may have known the old man, or seen

him, or at least had the opportunity to do so, and other than that there is

nothing to connect them with Hamid.’

‘They didn’t seem like Front National types. They weren’t skinheads or thuggish

in any way. They seemed pretty well educated and had good manners, always saying

please and thank you. They even brought me some flowers once. They spoke quite a

bit of English, got on well with the English kids. They were really very

pleasant – I enjoyed meeting them.’

‘Well, it may be nothing, but since we have so few leads, we have to follow them

all. So I must say thank you for the game and get back to work. But I’d better

stroll up to those woods and see whatever’s to be seen before I go.’

‘Can we come too?’ asked Christine. ‘I have never seen a real policeman at

work.’

‘I’m not a real policeman, not in that sense,’ Bruno laughed. ‘I won’t be like

your Sherlock Holmes with his memory for a hundred different kinds of cigar ash

and his magnifying glass. I just want to take a look. Do come along if you

like.’

It turned into a gentle Sunday stroll up to the top of the rise, perhaps a

kilometre to the first thin trees. Another hundred metres through the woods and

over the ridge line, and there was Hamid’s cottage, five hundred metres or so

away and the only building in sight. They walked along the fringe of the woods

and found a small clearing of soft turf, sheltered and private but with a

glorious view over the plateau – a perfect place for a romantic rendezvous in

the open air, thought Bruno. He looked carefully around and found some old

cigarette stubs and a broken wine glass under a bush. He would have to send the

forensics team up here.

They walked back to Pamela’s house mostly in silence, and quickly drank what was

left of the champagne. Then the Baron and Bruno took their leave. The pleasant

atmosphere after the tennis had become sombre. They made no plans to play

together again, but Bruno decided he could always call. Now would not be a good

time, not with the shadow of a neighbour’s murder hanging over Pamela’s house

and the knowledge that the suspects had visited her, enjoyed her hospitality,

and played on the same tennis court where they had spent such an agreeable

morning.

CHAPTER

15

The Juge-magistrat, a dapper and visibly ambitious young Parisian named Lucien

Tavernier who might just have reached the age of thirty, had arrived on the

early morning flight down to Périgueux airport. Bruno took an instant dislike to

the man when he noticed the predatory way he looked at Inspector Isabelle at the

first meeting of the investigative team. It was just after eight a.m. and

Isabelle had woken him with a phone call at midnight to say his presence would

be required. Bruno had not wanted to go; he had a parade to organise for midday

and he was not a member of the investigative team, but

J-J

had specially asked

him to be there to explain the new evidence that put Richard Gelletreau and

Jacqueline Courtemine in the vicinity of Hamid’s cottage. Without Bruno’s phone

call to

J-J

on the previous day, Richard would already have been released.

‘What he said is that he used to go to the woods to have sex, and he hadn’t even

noticed Hamid’s cottage since he had other matters on his mind,’ said

J-J

. With

his hair awry and his shirt collar undone, he looked as if he’d barely slept as

he gulped thirstily at the dreadful coffee they served at the police station.

After one sip, Bruno had abandoned his plastic cup and was drinking bottled

water instead. There was a bottle, a notepad, a pencil and a report on J-J’s

last interrogation sessions in front of each person at the conference table,

except for Tavernier who had pushed these local courtesies aside.

‘Neither Richard nor Jacqueline have any alibi for the afternoon of the killing

except one another, and they claim to have been in bed at her house in Lalinde,’

J-J

went on. ‘But we now know that she used her credit card to fill her car at a

garage just outside St Denis at eleven forty in the morning. So first, they’re

both lying, and second, she at least could have been at the murder scene. This

strengthens the evidence from the tyre tracks on the way to Hamid’s cottage, and

we’re awaiting the forensic report on the cigarette butts and wine glass and the

used condoms found in the woods. But there’s still no clear evidence from the

cottage itself to demonstrate that they ever went into the place. So far, it’s

only circumstantial evidence, but in my view it points clearly to them. They

were in the vicinity, if not necessarily at the murder scene. I should add that

we have no traces of blood on their clothes nor in her car. But I think we have

enough cause to continue to detain them.’

‘I agree. We have a clear political motive, and the opportunity, and they are

lying – quite apart from the drugs,’ said Tavernier briskly, looking at them all

through his large and obviously expensive black spectacles. His equally

expensive suit was black, as was his knitted silk tie, and he wore a shirt with

thick purple and white stripes. He looked as if he were going to a funeral.

Lined up neatly on the conference table before him were a black leather-bound

notebook and a matching Mont Blanc pen, the slimmest cell phone that Bruno had

ever seen, and a computer small enough to fit into his shirt pocket that seemed

to deliver his e-mails. Phone and computer had come from discreet black leather

pouches on his belt. To Bruno, Tavernier looked like an emissary from an

advanced and probably hostile civilisation.

‘That’s quite a strong case,’ Tavernier continued. ‘We have no other suspects at

all, and my Minister says it is clearly in the national interest that we resolve

this case quickly. So if the forensic evidence from the woods places them there,

I think we might be able to file formal charges – unless there are any