Bruno, Chief Of Police

Edouard. ‘But you know me, I was always better at rugby and I like the lads in

the team.’

CHAPTER

21

Bruno left the garage feeling rather proud of himself and went directly to see

Isabelle in her temporary office above the tourist board. Trying not to show

that he felt like some ancient warrior returning with trophies from the

battlefield, he went straight to her desk, laid down three thin files and

announced, ‘New evidence.’

Isabelle, in dark trousers and a white shirt of masculine cut, sat pensively at

her desk with a pencil in her hand and wearing earphones. She looked startled to

see him at first, and then pleased. She took off the earphones and switched off

a small machine that Bruno could not identify, then rose and kissed him in

greeting.

‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I was listening to the tape of the last round of

interrogation.

J-J

emailed it to me. You said there was new evidence?’

‘First, I’ve identified the missing photo,’ he said, trying to sound

matter-of-fact rather than pompous. ‘It’s of a team called les Oraniens who won

the Maghreb League trophy in Marseilles in 1940. They were coached by a

professional player called Giulio Villanova. By this evening we should have a

full list of the team, thanks to this man, a sports historian, who wrote a

thesis on it. Here are my notes and his phone number.’ He pushed out one of the

files he had brought.

‘Second, I’ve traced Jacqueline’s movements on the day in question.’ He put his

finger on the next file, which contained the list of Dutch names and credit card

numbers and a photocopy of the camp site’s visitors’ book with Jacqueline’s

registration number. It also contained the numbers of the vehicles that had left

the camp site while Jacqueline’s car was there.

‘Third, we can put Jacqueline in the company of the visiting Dutch boys for

almost all of the time that we think the murder was committed. This third file

has photocopies of the credit card they used to buy diesel, and the name of an

eye witness who saw her with them, and who earlier saw her fill up her own car.’

Isabelle poured him some of her own coffee before returning to her desk and

looking through the files Bruno had brought. ‘So why would she not explain to us

that she was simply visiting some Dutch boys at the camp site?’ she asked.

‘My question exactly. And you know you thought it might be drug-related, and she

was frightened of her suppliers if she talked? Well, the Dutch produce most of

the Ecstasy pills, and a bunch of Hollanders were staying at the camp site when

she visited. They came down in cars, camper vans and bikes, mainly for the

Motor-Cross rally but they stayed on – not a bad cover for distributing drugs. I

have a list of names here, some of them with credit card numbers, and I thought

you might want to see if any of them are known to your Dutch colleagues or to

any of those Europol cooperation agencies.’

‘This is good work, but it’s the murder we’re supposed to be dealing with here,

Bruno, not another drugs ring,’ she said. ‘Our elegant young Monsieur Tavernier

seems mainly interested in the drugs charges as a way to put pressure on

Jacqueline and keep detaining her. That and the politics, discrediting the Front

National boys.’

‘It’s all crime, and I get worried at the thought of serious drugs in St Denis,’

said Bruno. ‘And it’s strange to me that Jacqueline would rather be the main

suspect in a murder inquiry than cover herself by admitting she visited some

Dutch men at a camp site.’

She nodded. ‘I’ll brief

J-J

and send off a report to Tavernier. We’ll need J-J’s

signature to send the request to the Dutch police. I presume the Dutchmen have

all left St Denis, so they’re out of our reach?’ He nodded, still standing

before her desk. ‘And I presume you also realise that this could give the girl

an alibi for the period when the murder was committed?’

‘Maybe,’ he said. ‘It looks as if she left her car at the camp site and then

went out in one of the Dutch vans. Look at the page of the visitors’ book, and

the times of various vehicles coming and going while her car was there. You

might want to ask the Dutch police to check whether any of those lads had

connections with the extreme right.’

‘You sure you want to remain in the Police Municipale, Bruno? We could use

someone like you in the real police.’ She put her hand to her mouth. ‘Sorry, I

didn’t mean that the way it came out. It’s not that I think you are not a real

cop, it’s just that it’s clear that you have talents that could be used at a

national level. You’re a natural, and

J-J

thinks the same.’

‘Yes, and every time I see him

J-J

tells me how much he envies my life here,’

Bruno protested, laughing to take any sting out of it. ‘I’m just useful for my

local knowledge, you know that.’

‘He just says that. He thinks the world of you, but

J-J

loves his work. He’s

dedicated to what he does, even when there are things about the work that he

hates.’

‘Like Tavernier, you mean? And the politicking?’

‘Don’t change the subject, Bruno. Why not transfer to the Police Nationale? Make

a career of it. I won’t say you’re wasted here, but look at this new evidence

you brought in about the camp site. Nobody else thought of that. And then

tracking down the photo. You ought to be in the detectives. We need people like

you.’

He heard something like urgency in her voice. This was not light banter. Bruno

paused for thought, studying the pent-up energy in her pose. She was sitting

squarely, her back forward from her chair, her arms on the desk and her jaw

slightly tilted. She was making him an invitation, he thought, and not

necessarily about police careers. So how could he answer her without sounding

defensive or complacent?

‘I’m happy here, Isabelle,’ he said slowly, not knowing if she would understand.

‘I’m busy, I think that I’m useful, and I live in a place that I love among a

lot of people that I like. It’s a way of life that pleases me and I can

understand why

J-J

feels wistful whenever he sees me. I like him, but I would

not want his life.’

‘You don’t want more?’

‘More what? More money? I have enough to live as I please and I even manage to

save a little. More friends? I have many. More satisfaction in my work? I have

that.’ Bruno stopped himself, knowing from the look on Isabelle’s face that he

was not saying this well. This was a strange conversation to be having in a

police office. He started again. ‘Let me tell you what I think, Isabelle. I

think there are two kinds of people in this world. There are those who do their

work for eight hours a day and they don’t enjoy it and don’t respect themselves

very much for what they do. And then there are those who don’t see much

difference between their work and the rest of their lives because the two fit

happily together. What they do to earn their living doesn’t seem like drudgery

to them. Around here there are a lot of people who live like that.’