Bruno, Chief Of Police

objections?’

He looked severely around the table, as if daring any of those present to

challenge him.

J-J

was pouring more coffee, Isabelle was quietly studying her

notes. A police secretary was taking minutes. Another bright young thing from

the Prefecture was nodding sagely, and the media specialist from Police HQ in

Paris, a smart young woman with blonde streaks in her hair and sunglasses pushed

back above her brow, raised a hand.

‘I can schedule a press conference to announce the charges, but we’d better fix

the timing to catch the eight p.m. news. Then we have the anti-racism

demonstration in St Denis at noon. You’ll want to be there, Lucien?’

‘Have you confirmed that the Minister will be there?’ he asked.

She shook her head. ‘Just the Prefect and a couple of deputies from the National

Assembly, so far. The Minister of Justice is stuck with meetings in Paris, but

I’m awaiting a call from the Interior Ministry. The Minister has a speech in

Bordeaux this evening, so there’s a suggestion he might fly here first.’

‘He will,’ said Tavernier, a note of triumph in his voice at being first with

the news. ‘I just received an e-mail from a colleague in the Minister’s office.

He’s flying into Bergerac and plans to be at the Mayor’s office in St Denis at

eleven thirty. I’d better be there.’ He looked at

J-J

. ‘You have a car and

driver ready for me?’ He turned to Isabelle with a smile. ‘Perhaps this charming

Inspector of yours?’

‘An unmarked police car and a specialist gendarme driver are at your disposal

for the length of your stay. Inspector Perrault will be engaged in other

duties,’

J-J

replied, his tone studiously neutral.

J-J

had been bitter when he

rang Bruno’s mobile earlier in the morning, as Bruno was driving up from St

Denis. The young hot-shot, as

J-J

called him, had only been Juge-magistrat for

three months. The son of a senior Airbus executive who had been at the École

Nationale d’Administration at the same time as the new Minister of the Interior,

young Lucien had gone straight from law school to work on the Minister’s private

staff for two years and was already on the executive committee of the youth wing

of the Minister’s political party. A glittering career evidently loomed. He

would want this case prosecuted, tried and convicted with maximum dispatch and

to his Minister’s entire satisfaction.

‘I’m heading back to St Denis after this meeting, so I could give you a lift,’

offered Bruno.

Tavernier looked at him, the only person there wearing police uniform, as if not

sure what Bruno was doing in his presence.

‘And you are?’

‘Benoît Courrčges, Chef de Police of St Denis. I’m attached to the inquiry at

the request of the Police Nationale,’ he replied.

‘Ah yes, our worthy garde-champętre,’ Tavernier said, using the ancient term for

the Police Municipale, dating back to the days when country constables had

patrolled rural France on horseback. ‘You people have cars now, do you?’

‘The Commune of St Denis is larger than the city of Paris,’ said Bruno. ‘We need

them. You’re welcome to a ride. It might help your inquiries if I briefed you on

the local background, and on some of the odd features about this case.’

‘It looks very straightforward to me,’ said Tavernier, picking up his little

computer and flicking his thumb on a small knob as he studied the screen.

‘Well, there’s the question of the missing items, the military medal and the

photograph of Hamid’s old football team,’ said Bruno. ‘They disappeared from the

wall of the cottage where they’d always been kept. It might be important to find

out where they went or who took them.’

‘Ah yes, our brave Arab’s Croix de Guerre,’ Tavernier said, still studying his

screen. ‘I see my minister is bringing some brass hats from the Defence Ministry

with him.’ He looked up and focused on Bruno and, adopting a patient and kindly

tone as if he were addressing someone of limited intelligence, said, ‘It’s the

Croix de Guerre that persuades me that we have the right suspects. These young

fascists from the Front National would detest the idea of an Arab being a hero

of France. They probably threw it away in a river somewhere.’

‘But why take the photo of the old football team?’ Bruno persisted.

‘Who knows how these little Nazis think,’ Tavernier said airily. ‘A souvenir,

perhaps, or just something else they wanted to destroy.’

‘If it were a souvenir, they’d have kept it and we’d have found it by now,’ said

J-J

.

‘I’m sure you would,’ drawled Tavernier. ‘Now, when do we get the forensic

report on that little love nest in the woods?’

‘They promise to have it by the end of today,’ said Isabelle.

‘Ah yes, Inspector Perrault,’ said Tavernier, turning to give her a wide smile.

‘How do you feel about our two prime suspects? Any doubts?’

‘Well, I haven’t attended all the questioning, but they look very strong

candidates to me,’ Isabelle said firmly, looking directly at Tavernier. Bruno

felt a small bud of jealousy begin to uncurl inside him. Isabelle would not have

a difficult choice to make between a lowly country cop and a glittering scion of

the Parisian establishment. ‘Naturally I’d like some firm evidence, or a

confession, I’m sure we all would. They both come from backgrounds that can

afford good lawyers, so the more evidence we have, the better. And maybe we

should also be looking hard at those thugs from the Service d’Ordre, the

security squad of the Front National. They are no strangers to violence. But

again, we need evidence.’

‘Quite right,’ said Tavernier with enthusiasm. ‘That’s why I’d like the

forensics people to take a second look at the murder scene and at the clothes

and belongings of our two suspects. Could you arrange that please, Mademoiselle?

Now that they know what they are looking for, the forensics types might come up

with something that puts them at the killing ground. Wouldn’t that calm your

doubts about circumstantial evidence, Superintendent? Or would you like me to

call down some experts from Paris?’

J-J

nodded. ‘Some of my doubts, yes it would. But our forensics team is very

competent. I doubt that they’ll have missed anything.’

‘You have other doubts?’ Tavernier’s question was silkily put, but there was

irritation behind it.

‘I don’t quite get the motive,’

J-J

said. ‘I see the obvious political motive,

but why kill this Arab, at this particular time, in this particular way, tying

up and butchering the old man as if he were a pig?’

‘Why kill this one? Because he was there,’ said Tavernier. ‘Because he was alone

and isolated and too old to put up much resistance and it was a remote and safe

place to commit this ritual slaughter. Look at your Nazi psychology,

Superintendent. And then they took his medal to demonstrate that their victim

was not really French at all. Yes, I think I have their measure. Now it’s time

for me to question these two young fascists myself. I’ll have what, two hours