Black Diamond

said. “Vinh’s sponsor was a Capitaine Antoine Savani. My team’s trying to find out what we can about him. Vinh’s file also had a supporting letter from one Général Gambiez. But Vinh was just a baby when he came here. It was his parents who got the sponsorship, along with a few thousand others who decided that Vietnam without French protection wasn’t a safe place to be.”
    “Like the Harkis who fought for us in Algeria and got slaughtered when we left.”
    “Exactly,” said J-J. “It’s a dangerous move to pick the wrong side in that kind of war.”
    “So you’ll start putting all this together next week?” Bruno asked.
    “We’re going through channels. I’m not sure how frank the defense ministry will be with the files.”
    “You think I can do any better?”
    “You have that friend in the military archives, the one who helped us out before with that dead Arab. He might be useful.”
    “I can try, but I think you’d have more luck with the brigadier.”
    “He’s a last resort,” said J-J. “He’s not a cop, so he doesn’t have our concerns about catching murderers. He’ll only help if it suits his own agenda.”
    “I think you’re being too hard on him,” said Bruno. “He’llhelp so long as it doesn’t hurt his own agenda. There’s a difference. I think his regard for Hercule means he’ll go a long way to help us catch his killers, plus he owes us some favors.”
    Back at Bruno’s house, they loaded the hay box into the back of the Land Rover, fixed a tight lid on the saucepan of soup and put that between J-J’s feet. Bruno grabbed a couple of spare towels, a sleeping bag and an old rugby shirt and threw them into his sports bag. The wake would go on late, and they’d probably bed down at the baron’s. He boosted Gigi into the back of the vehicle, and they set off down the hill toward town and the tiny hamlet beyond it that huddled around the baron’s
chartreuse
. They parked in the small square that was named after the baron’s grandfather.
    The
chartreuse
covered more than a side of the square. It was almost two hundred feet long, built of stone that had stood for nearly four hundred years, and it soared three stories high with a tower at each wing. It was only one room wide, but each room was more than twenty feet deep, and each of the stone walls added another few feet. The rear wall facing the square was a long line of stone, marked by arrow slits in the towers and some small, shuttered windows in the upper levels. But the front of the house facing the lawn, with its long avenue of alternating apple and walnut trees leading up the slope of the hill, displayed an open face to the world. Its wide, tall windows and handsomely welcoming path of flagstones led up to an imposing iron-studded wooden door. The baron claimed it bore the original scorch marks of the attempt to burn out his ancestor after the revolution of 1789.
    It led into a large hall that the baron had turned into a kitchen with an open fireplace, festooned in black iron hooks and large enough for a man to stand in. From one of them an age-blackened cauldron was suspended. Chains hung downthat could raise and lower the hams that were hoisted there to smoke. On either side of the grate, where a couple of long logs flickered above a bed of red ashes, stood tall iron stands, notched to hold spits and roasting irons. To one of the thinnest of them were affixed a dozen pigeons, turning slowly through an alignment of cogs, each smaller than the next. They were moved by clockwork sturdy enough to rotate a sheep, as Bruno knew from experience.
    Including J-J, they were twelve for dinner. Nicco from Ste. Alvère was accompanied by Roland, the president of Hercule’s hunting club. Roland had brought his two sons, who claimed that their father had taught them to shoot, but Hercule had taught them how to hunt. From St. Denis were Stéphane, Hubert and Jo, Bruno’s predecessor as chief of police, whose farm stood on the outskirts of the baron’s hamlet. With them were the mayor and Sergeant Jules from the gendarmerie, each of whom had memories to share of hunting with their departed friend. They gave a chorus of welcome as Bruno carried his hay box into the big kitchen, took out the heavy pot and hung it unopened on one of the big hooks over the fire. J-J was carrying the soup, and Bruno directed him to put it on top of the modern six-burner stove. The ritual of handshakes followed, interrupted by a festive pop as