and Isabelle would be impressed if he could come up with some new
evidence. And, being honest with himself, Bruno knew it was Isabelle whom he
wanted to please.
The inquiry had made little real progress that Bruno knew of. The tyre tracks
had matched, but only confirmed what they already knew, that both young
Gelletreau and Jacqueline had been in the clearing in the woods overlooking
Hamids cottage. In any case, they had admitted going there at various times to
make love, while firmly denying seeing Hamid or visiting his cottage, and even a
second forensic sweep had failed to produce any new evidence that could break
their story. The one big hole in their case was Jacquelines lie about being in
St Denis on the day of the killing. She had first claimed that she had simply
come to pick up Richard to take him back to her house, but she was lying again.
Playing truant from his lycée, Richard would have stayed at her home in Lalinde.
Under separate questioning, the boy had firmly denied being in St Denis at all
that day but, even when caught in the lie, Jacqueline stuck to her story.
J-J
and Isabelle assumed that her jaunt probably had something to do with the drugs,
making a pickup or a delivery, and she was more frightened of the drug dealers
than she was of the police.
Bruno had a sudden thought. Most of the Ecstasy pills in Europe were said to
come from Holland. He picked up the phone and rang Franc Duhamel at the big camp
site on the river bend below the town.
Bonjour, Franc, its Bruno and I have a question for you. Those Dutch lads who
stayed at your site for the Motor-Cross rally, how long did they stay?
Salut, Bruno. They stayed the whole week. They came down late on the Friday
night, stayed the week and went back the next Sunday. There were about thirty of
them, a couple of those big camping vans, a couple of cars and the rest on
motorbikes. Along with the camping vans for some of the teams that were
competing, I was nearly full that weekend. It was just what I needed to start
the season.
Franc, I know you have that wooden pole across the entrance and a night
watchman, but do you run security during the day? Take note of car registration
numbers and all that?
Certainly. The insurance requires it. Every vehicle that comes in gets recorded
in the book.
Even visitors, even local cars from round here?
Everybody. Visitors, delivery trucks, even you.
Do me a favour. Look up the visitors book for May the eleventh, and see if you
have a listing for a local car with a twenty-four registration. He gave Franc
the number of Jacquelines car, and waited, listening to the rustling of pages.
Hello, Bruno? Yes, I found it. The car came in at twelve and left at
three-thirty. It looks like whoever it was, they came for a good lunch.
Any idea who was driving the car, or who they visited?
No, just the number.
Do you have the names of the Dutch lads who were staying with you?
Certainly. Names, addresses, car and bike registrations, and some credit cards.
Mostly they paid cash, but some paid with cards. Franc spoke hesitantly, and
Bruno smiled to himself at Francs new dilemma, whether he would now have to
declare to the taxman even the cash income he had taken from the Dutchmen.
Dont worry, Franc. This is about the Dutchmen and their visitor, nothing to do
with you or taxes. Can you get the paperwork together with the names and
addresses and all the information you have on them and Ill be down in twenty
minutes to make copies.
Can you tell me what this is about, Bruno? Its not involved with the murder of
that Arab, is it?
Its just a hunch, Franc, but were investigating the way some drugs have been
getting into the area, thats all. Twenty minutes.
With Francs paperwork in hand, Bruno thought he had better tie up another loose
end and drove on through the town to Lespinasses garage on the main road to
Bergerac. It was a Total filling station, slightly more expensive than the
petrol at the supermarket but well-placed for the tourist trade, and it was
where Jacqueline had filled her car. Lespinasses sister ran the pumps, while he
and his son and a cousin tinkered happily with engines and gearboxes and
bodywork in the vast hangar of their garage. Lespinasse liked all cars, but he
loved old Citroëns, from the 1940s Model Sept with the sweeping running boards
and the doors that opened forwards to the humble but serviceable Deux-Chevaux
and the 60s beauties that were known as the gorgeous goddesses the
aerodynamic models called the DS that when said aloud sounded like the French
word for goddess déesse.
As always, he found Lespinasse under a car, chewing on a matchstick and singing
to himself. He called out and the plump, jovial man wheeled himself out on the
small board on which he lay and rolled off to greet Bruno, presenting his
forearm to be shaken rather than cover Brunos palm with oil.
We saw you in the newspaper, said Lespinasse. And on TV. A proper celebrity
you are now, Bruno. Everybody says you did a great job with those bastards.
Im here on police business, Jean-Louis, about one of your credit card
customers. I need to look at your fuel sales records for May the eleventh.
The eleventh? That would have been Katis day off, so the boy would have been
running the pumps. He looked back into the garage and whistled, and young
Edouard came out, waving cheerfully. He was the image of his father but for a
full set of teeth. The boy was eighteen now but he had known Bruno ever since
hed first learned to play rugby, so he came and kissed Bruno on both cheeks.
You still write down the registration numbers on the credit card slips? Bruno
asked.
Always, except for the locals that we know, said Edouard.
Bruno gave him the number of Jacquelines car, and Edouard leafed through the
file to the right day.
Here we are, he said. Thirty-two euros and sixty centimes at eleven forty in
the morning. Carte Bleu. I remember her, she was a real looker. Blonde. When she
came back she was with a bunch of guys, though.
She came back?
Yes, after lunch, in one of those big camper vans with a bunch of Hollanders. I
filled them up. Here it is, eighty euros exactly at two forty in the afternoon,
paid with a Visa card and heres the registration number, said Edouard. Bruno
checked his own list. It was one of the numbers listed at the camp site.
And there were a couple of them on motor bikes at the same time and I filled
them too, Edouard went on. They must have paid cash. I remember asking myself
what a nice French girl like that was doing with a bunch of foreigners.
Tough-looking guys, they were. I saw her in the back of the van with them when
the guy that paid opened the back door to get his jacket with the wallet. I
dont think we saw them again, and Id have remembered if wed seen her.
If you hadnt given up playing tennis you might have met her at the tournament
last year. She came and played at the club.
Well, it was either tennis or rugby so maybe I made the wrong choice, said