Black Diamond

company.”
    Fabiola and Jules came up the stairs as the main door to the gendarmerie opened. A middle-aged man with a self-important air approached the main desk. His clothes looked expensive.
    “I’m Poincevin,” he announced. “I’m here to see a client who’s been detained.”
    “And I’m the arresting officer,” said Bruno. “One moment please.” He turned to Fabiola. “Okay?”
    “He’s in better shape than you are,” she replied. “But one thing. I thought that Vietnamese friend of yours was supposed to be bringing his wife to the medical center. Neither of them turned up.”
    “I’d better check on that,” said Bruno. “Thank you, Mademoiselle le Médecin.” He smiled, her formal title a private joke between them. He turned back to Poincevin, who clearly did not like to be kept waiting.
    “Perhaps you did not hear me,” the lawyer said coldly. “I’m here to see my client.”
    “We intend to charge the prisoner with one count of criminal damage, three counts of assault, one of them on a policeman, and attempting to evade lawful arrest,” Bruno said. “So far, we have no name, no statement and no proof of identity. If this detainee is your client, I’m hoping you can help us with that.”
    “I will see my client at once,” said Poincevin, waving aside the list of charges. “And I wish to see the gendarme
officier
in charge of this station. I’m not in the habit of dealing with village policemen.” He made the phrase sound like “village idiot.”
    “Now just you wait a moment …,” began Sergeant Jules, but Bruno held up a restraining hand.
    “Which client, Monsieur Poincevin?”
    Jules settled back, leaning against the doorframe, a smile on his face. He always enjoyed it when Bruno started calling someone “monsieur” and using that tone of icy politeness.
    “What do you mean, ‘which client’?” Poincevin snapped. “The one in your cell, of course.”
    “And the name of your client, monsieur, would be what?”
    “The Chinese boy.”
    “Ah, monsieur speaks Chinese.”
    “I do not, but I have an interpreter waiting in the car outside, a member of my staff.”
    “And does your interpreter know the name of your client?”
    “He will once I as his lawyer am allowed to see him.”
    “Monsieur, am I to understand that you think you have a client here, but you do not know his name?”
    “My office was telephoned from this gendarmerie some two hours ago and informed that a young Chinese boy hadbeen arrested and had offered them the number of my office. He is therefore my client.”
    “Monsieur, you are mistaken,” Bruno said. “When that call was made, we had no idea whether he was Chinese or an Eskimo. We informed your office that a young man of Asian appearance had been arrested and was in possession of your phone number. But now you tell us he is Chinese. That represents progress. Now, if he is indeed your client, you will have his name and some means of identification. If he is not of French nationality, presumably you have his passport or some proof of his legal presence in this country. Otherwise we shall have to invoke the procedures for illegal immigration.”
    Fabiola was smiling broadly as she stood by the door, watching this exchange. Jules gave her a wink, but quickly returned his face to its usual stolid expression when Poincevin began casting his eyes around the room as if daring anyone to witness his frustration.
    “This is ridiculous,” he said, his long nose looking white and pinched while two red spots flared on his cheekbones.
    “Chef de Police Courrèges is quite correct, monsieur,” said Sergeant Jules. “I’m currently the officer on duty and as a lawyer you will understand that the regulations do not permit anyone to visit a detainee unless he or she has the proper authorization. I’ve never heard of a lawyer being unable to identify someone he claims to be a client. May I see your own identification papers, please?”
    His thin lips tightening, Poincevin pulled out his wallet and handed over his identity card. Jules took it, went to a desk and formally copied down the particulars.
    “
Merci
, monsieur,” said Jules. “And who is it you are here to see?”
    “One moment,” said Poincevin after a long pause. Hepulled out a mobile phone and a notebook, juggled with them both but finally put the notebook on the counter and began to punch in some numbers. Once he had a connection, Poincevin squeezed past Fabiola and walked out