Bruno, Chief Of Police

the pedestrian precinct, which would bring him along the Rue de Paris. Bruno

could not be in both places at once. He poked his head in around the door and

told Francine to block Momu at all costs and to ring him as soon as Momu

appeared. Then he stationed himself at the end of the Rue de Paris just in time

to catch Momu pedalling furiously towards him.

‘Hold it, Momu,’ he said with his hand up. ‘Let me and the Mayor take care of

this.’

But Momu ignored him. ‘Out of my way, Bruno,’ he shouted angrily, steering round

him and thrusting out a powerful arm to push him away. Bruno hung on to his arm

and the bike began to topple. Momu was stuck, his feet on the ground, his bike

between his legs and his arm still in Bruno’s firm grip.

‘Get off, Bruno,’ he roared. ‘We’ll fix you. The rugby boys are on their way,

along with half the school. We can’t have them rounding people up like this.

It’s a damn rafle and we’ve had enough.’

Rafle was the term the Algerians had used for the mass round-ups staged by the

French police during the Algerian war, and before that to refer to the Gestapo

raids against French civilians in the war. A rafle stood for brutality and a

police state.

‘It’s not a rafle, Momu,’ Bruno said urgently.

‘The Nazis kill my father and leave him like a piece of butchered meat and now

you take my son into your dungeons. Out of my way, Bruno! I’ve had it with you

and your French justice.’

‘It’s not a rafle, Momu,’ Bruno repeated, trying to catch the man’s eyes with

his own. He let go of Momu’s arm and gripped his handlebars instead. ‘It’s Karim

answering some questions and the Mayor and I are on your side, like the whole of

the town. We have a lawyer coming and we’re going to do this right. If you go

charging in there you’ll make things worse for Karim and do yourself no good.

Believe me, Momu.’

‘Believe you?’ Momu scoffed. ‘In that uniform? It was French police who killed

hundreds of us in those rafles back during the war. Police like you rounded up

Algerians and bound them hand and foot and threw them in the River Seine. Never

again, Bruno. Never again. Now out of my way.’

A crowd was gathering, led by Gilbert and René from the Bar des Amateurs.

‘Have you heard?’ Momu cried. ‘The gendarmes arrested Karim. He’s in there. I

have to get to him.’

‘What’s this, Bruno?’ asked Gilbert suspiciously. ‘Is this right?’

‘Calm down, everybody,’ Bruno said. ‘It’s true. The gendarmes came and picked

him up and there’s a magistrate now questioning him about the brawl in the

square with those Front National types. The Mayor and I are trying to get things

fixed. We have a lawyer coming and we’re standing by Karim, just as we expect

you all to do. We can’t have people charging into the Gendarmerie – it will just

make things worse.’

‘What’s Karim supposed to have done?’ René wanted to know.

‘Nothing, nothing,’ exploded Momu. ‘He’s done nothing. He was defending himself

against those Nazi bastards, defending you.’

‘We don’t know yet,’ said Bruno, keeping firm hold of Momu’s handlebars. At

least Momu wasn’t trying to knock him down or storm past him. ‘It looks as if

they are considering a charge of assault. You remember when Karim threw that

litter bin.’

‘Bruno, Bruno,’ shouted a new voice, and Brosseil the Notaire came bustling up,

tightening the knot of his tie. ‘The Mayor just rang me, said I’d find you

here.’

‘We want you to go in and insist on seeing Karim as his legal representative,

and tell him to say nothing and sign nothing. No statements. And then you say

you demand anything he has said should be struck from the record because it was

said while Karim was denied a lawyer. Then you tell them you will be filing a

formal complaint in the European Court of Justice for denial of legal

representation, and suing Capitaine Duroc personally.’

‘Can I do that?’ Brosseil asked. He was usually a self-important and rather

pompous man but he suddenly looked deflated.

‘It’s European law, and it holds good in France. They might try to deny it, but

just bluster and shout and threaten, and above all stop Karim from saying

anything and we’ll get a criminal lawyer here as soon as we can. Just refuse to

take no for an answer. And remember, the whole town is counting on you. And so

is Karim.’

Brosseil, whose main work was to draw up wills and notarise sales of property,

squared his shoulders like a soldier and marched off to the Gendarmerie.

‘You have to trust me, Momu. I have to go in there now and try to help sort

things out and I can’t have an angry mob shouting outside or forcing their way

in.’ He let go of Momu’s handlebars and gave him his own mobile. ‘Call the

Mayor. It’s on speed dial so just hit number one and then press the green button

and you’ll reach him. The Mayor and I are following the strategy we’ve planned.

Talk with him, and stay here and help calm people down. René, Gilbert – I rely

on you to keep things under control here.’ With that, Bruno followed Brosseil.

The door to Duroc’s office was wide open and the shouts of angry men mingled

with the soundtrack of the riot from the video playing on the TV. Duroc was

standing beside his desk roaring at Brosseil to get out but the little Notaire

was standing his ground and roaring back with dire threats about the European

Court. Tavernier was sitting calmly behind Duroc’s desk, watching the

confrontation with an air of amusement. Karim sat, hunched and baffled, before

the desk. Bruno sized up the situation, then moved to the TV and switched it

off. Brosseil and Duroc stopped shouting in surprise.

‘Gentlemen, if you please,’ he said. ‘I have an urgent message for the

Juge-magistrat. A confidential matter.’ He turned to Duroc, shook him warmly by

the hand and began steering him out of the door. ‘Mon Capitaine, dear colleague,

if you would be so kind, the courtesy of your office, just a brief moment, so

grateful …’ Bruno kept murmuring smooth platitudes while his other hand grabbed

Brosseil’s coat and tugged him along until he had them both in the hallway. He

extricated himself, told Karim to join his lawyer in the hall and closed the

door. He leaned his back against it and scrutinised Tavernier, whose face wore a

sardonic expression.

‘We meet again, Monsieur le Chef de Police,’ Tavernier said mockingly. ‘Such a

pleasure. You bring a message for me?’

‘An old friend and classmate of your father, Senator Mangin, requests the

pleasure of your company,’ said Bruno.

‘Ah yes, the Mayor of St Denis, making up for the disappointments of his

political career in Paris by running the affairs of this turbulent little town.

My father tells amusing stories of his old classmate. Apparently he was out of

his depth even then. Please convey my sincere respects to the Mayor, but I am

for the moment detained on judicial business. I shall be happy to call on him

after my business here is concluded, probably towards the end of the day.’

‘I think the Mayor’s business is rather more urgent, Monsieur le

Juge-magistrat,’ Bruno said.

‘Sadly, you must remind your Mayor that the law waits for no man. Please send