Montpellier.
He read them through again, even though he had made the lecturer spell out each
one, letter by letter, so that there would be no more mistakes. The complete
list should already be on his fax machine at the Mairie, and he would have to
check it again, but clearly there was some error somewhere. How else to explain
why the final list of the Oraniens championship team contained no Hamid al-Bakr,
when the young man had pride of place in the official photograph? Unless of
course he had changed his name?
His phone rang and he leaped towards it, a lovers intuition persuading him that
it was Isabelle.
I just woke up, she said. And its so unfair that you are not here. I miss
you already.
And I miss you, he said, and they exchanged the delightful nothings of lovers,
content just to hear the others voice in the electronic intimacy of a telephone
wire. In the background of her room, another phone rang. Thatll be
J-J
on my
mobile for the morning report. I think Ill have to go to Bergerac for the drugs
case.
This evening? he asked.
Im yours, until then.
He gazed out over his garden, suddenly noting that it must have rained in the
night while he slept. At least the rain had held off for them, and he felt
himself smiling once more. But the list was still there by his telephone,
nagging at him, and he looked at the name that was listed as the team captain:
Hocine Boudiaf. Beside the word Hocine, Bruno had written in brackets Hussein,
which the Montpellier lecturer said was an alternative spelling and which looked
more familiar. He had not been able to come up with a team photograph, but he
promised to fax Bruno another photo that included Boudiaf, which might help
solve the puzzle. He checked his watch. Momu would not yet have left for school.
He called him at home.
Bruno, I want to apologise again, to apologise and thank you, Momu began
almost at once.
Forget it, Momu, its alright. Listen, I have a question. It comes from trying
to track down your fathers missing photograph. Have you ever heard the name
Boudiaf, Hussein Boudiaf? Could he have been a friend of your father?
The Boudiaf family were cousins, back in Algeria, Momu replied. They were the
only family my father stayed in touch with, but not closely. I think there might
have been some letters when I went through the stuff in his cottage, just family
news deaths and weddings and children being born. I suppose I should write and
tell them, but Ive never been in touch. My father felt he could never go back
to Algeria after the war.
Did you know any of his friends from his youth, football friends or team-mates?
Do you remember any names?
Not really, but try me.
Bruno read down the list of the Oraniens team. Most got no response, but he put
a small cross beside two of names that Momu said sounded vaguely familiar. He
rang off and called Isabelle again.
I knew it was you, she laughed happily. I am just out of the shower and
thinking of you.
Sorry, my beauty, but this is a business question. That helpful man you spoke
to in the Military Archives. If you have his number, would he speak to me? I
have the list of the Oraniens team and the mystery is that Hamids name is not
on it. I want to see if we can trace any of the other team members. One or two
might still be alive.
She gave him the number. If you dont get very far, I can try him. I think he
was an old man who liked talking to a young woman.
Who could blame him, Isabelle? Ill call your mobile if I need help. Until this
evening.
As Bruno had expected, the faxes from Montpellier had already arrived at his
office when he got in. He checked the list. The names were the same, and then he
looked at the photo, grainy and not too clear. It had come from an unidentified
newspaper and showed three men in football gear. In the centre was Villanova
with his arms around two young North Africans, one of them named as Hussein
Boudiaf and the other as Massili Barakine, one of the names that Momu had half
remembered. Now he felt he was getting somewhere. He rang the Military Archives
number that Isabelle had given him, and a quavering voice answered.
This is Chief of Police Courrčges from St Denis in Dordogne, Monsieur. I need
your help in relation to an inquiry where youve already been very helpful to my
colleague Inspector Isabelle Perrault.
Are you the policeman that I saw on TV, young man, in that riot?
Yes, Sir. I think that must have been me.
Then Im at your entire disposal, Monsieur, and you have the admiration of a
veteran, sous-officier Arnaud Marignan, of the seventy-second of the line. What
can I do for you?
Bruno explained the situation, gave the names, and reminded Marignan of the
connection with the Commandos dAfrique who had landed near Toulon in 1944. And
did the archives have a photograph of the young Hamid al-Bakr?
Yes, I remember. And we should have an identity photo on the copy of his pay
book, if not for the Commandos dAfrique then certainly after his transfer. Give
me your phone number and Ill call back, and a fax so I can send a copy of the
pay book photo. Im afraid we cant send the original. And please convey my
regards to your charming colleague.
Bruno smiled at the effect Isabelle seemed to have on the telephone, and began
thinking what other lines to pursue. He was about to ring Pamelas number when
he suddenly caught himself, took a piece of notepaper from his desk and wrote a
swift letter of thanks for his English dinner. He put the envelope in his Out
tray, then rang Pamela, exchanged amiable courtesies, and asked for Christine.
He gave her the new names for her researches in Bordeaux, made sure they had one
anothers mobile numbers and rang off. Instantly the phone rang again. It was
J-J
.
Bruno, I want to thank you for that good work on Jacquelines movements, he
began. It turns out those Dutch lads she was with are well known up there.
Drugs, porn, hot cars you name it, theyre into it. From what I see of their
convictions, in France wed have locked them up and thrown away the key, but you
know how the Dutch are on prisons. To get to the point, we showed Jacqueline the
evidence you collected and she cracked last night. I tried to reach Isabelle
late last night to tell her but she was out of contact; bad mobile service out
there in the country, I suppose. Anyway, we have a full confession on the drugs,
but shes still saying nothing on the murder.
Thats great as far as it goes,
J-J
. What about Richard? Was he involved in the
drugs?
She says not, so I dont think we can still hold him. We cant shake his story,
and now that shes come clean on the drugs Im inclined to believe her on the
killing. If it were up to me, Richard would be out today, but that decision is
up to Tavernier. By the way, what did you guys do to him yesterday? He came back
steaming and spent hours on the phone to Paris.
I think our Mayor gave him a talking to, as an old friend of his fathers. You