Black Diamond

see what special glue we might need.”
    Bruno paused. The procedure seemed sound enough as a safeguard against adulteration. That left the human element.
    “Tell me,” Bruno said, “just as a hypothetical, if you ever wanted to cheat the system, how would you go about it and not get caught?”
    “I really don’t know,” Didier replied with a shrug that turned into a confident half smile. “I’ve asked myself that and I don’t see how because at the end of the day the final step in quality control rests with the customers. If they aren’t happy, we’re out of business, and I’m out of a job.”
    Didier switched his half smile to full beam and spread his arms wide. Bruno forced himself to smile back.
    “Who designed this system you have?”
    “I did, and had it approved by the mayor. We’ve had three years with no trouble.”
    “Until now.”
    Didier’s smile was still in place, but his eyes glinted. An innocent man angered at unjust suspicion, or a guilty one worried that his deception wasn’t working? Bruno had no idea. Most of the usual little clues and the local knowledge that helped him in St. Denis simply did not work here. Heknew little of Didier, his family and his reputation. Ste. Alvère was virtually unfamiliar territory, and he was groping in the dark, trying to decide whether his hackles were up because he was suspicious of the man or whether he just disliked him and his bad breath.
    “Do you ever see any Chinese in the market?” Bruno asked.
    “We get the occasional tourist. We have some regular customers. There’s a Chinese supermarket chain and an import-export firm in Paris that sells our truffles into the Chinese market. But they get all the profit, so we’re looking at arranging our own distribution in Hong Kong.”
    “I’ll be in touch,” Bruno said, rising now that his list of prepared questions had run out. “And now I’d like to see your chemist. Should I stay in this room?”
    “I’ll send her in,” said Didier. “By the way, I know you’re a friend of Hercule Vendrot. Could you ask him to let us borrow his truffle journal? It’s got all the prices and supplies in the market for years past plus weather reports and all sorts of other historical data. He’s turned down me and the mayor. You might have better luck.”
    “Why should I do that?”
    “It would help make the market more efficient if we tracked sales and output over time, and since you’re on the payroll now …”
    “How do you mean, ‘on the payroll’?”
    “Well, I presume you’re not doing this security review for nothing.” He winked, rubbing his thumb and index finger together.
    Since the thought of payment had never entered his head until this moment, Bruno said nothing but simply stared at Didier. Why did people think of everything in terms ofmoney? He was doing this for a friend, Hercule, and because his boss, the mayor, had also asked him to perform this small service. If it helped the truffle trade, it helped Bruno and all the other truffle hunters of St. Denis. And where would the Périgord be without the truffles that symbolized its culinary distinction? Evidently embarrassed by Bruno’s silence, Didier scooped up his papers and bustled out.
    The fair-haired young woman who had earlier brought the coffee came in and stood quietly by the door. Bruno was about to decline more coffee when he suddenly realized he was about to make a fool of himself. Despite her demure pose, there was a sharp and watchful intelligence in her eye.
    “You’re the chemist, madame …?”
    “My name is Florence Pantowsky. Yes, I’m a chemist, employed here part-time.” Her voice was quiet and low, and she kept her eyes downcast, although her posture was upright. She had a fine complexion, and strong cheekbones gave elegance to what would otherwise have been a rather plain face. Bruno noted that while her hair was neatly brushed it was dry and lifeless. She was wearing a very unflattering floral dress that was about thirty years too old for her and canvas tennis shoes. With a little effort, she would have been handsome.
    “Thank you for bringing the coffee earlier. Won’t you please have a seat?”
    “Thank you.” She tucked her slim legs beneath the chair and smoothed her dowdy dress down so that it fell below her knees.
    “What kind of chemist becomes an expert on truffles?” he asked.
    “The unemployed kind with a divorce and two children to raise,” she replied calmly, without hint of