Black Diamond

veterinarian, a jolly woman and renowned local gossip who chattered away happily to everyone in the waiting room, even when she had nothing to say. Now she had a story that she could recount endlessly to all comers. Mathieu’s father, who ran the meat counter at the local supermarket, was equally well known and doubtless every customer would ask after his son’s health. Bruno could understand why the mayor was so happy.
    “That was not exactly at the top of my mind at the time,” Bruno said.
    “I wouldn’t think so,” said the mayor. “But we’ll have to increase your salary at this rate.”
    “Does this mean I get a new van?” he asked. Bruno decided to take advantage of the mayor’s good mood.
    “Certainly you’ll get a new van. I don’t see how you can do without it,” said the mayor. “I’ve already put it on the agenda for the next council meeting. Plus we got the special insurance bonus since the old vehicle was destroyed in the line of duty. So we’ll only have to pay an extra two thousand euros for the new van, police markings and blue light included.”
    “That’s good news, thank you. And you saw the bill I put in for the new uniform?” Even two washings had been unable to save Bruno’s shirt and trousers.
    “Yes, yes, I already signed the approval for two full replacement uniforms, winter and summer. We’ll make young Pons pay for them. And did you see this in the paper? Little Mathieu saying, ‘Once I saw Bruno, I knew I would be safe.’ ”
    “It looks as if Philippe Delaron is setting himself up to be your press agent,” said Bruno, embarrassed. “He’s certainly milked the story for everything it’s worth, even a sidebar on how this damages Pons’s election prospects.”
    “Philippe owes me a lot of favors,” said the mayor. “I just had to encourage him to see what ramifications there were to this story. And it was a quiet news day.”
    “Not that quiet. Did you see the story on the next page about the fire at the Chinese restaurant in Bergerac? That’s the third in a week.”
    “We don’t have any Chinese restaurants in St. Denis. We don’t even have any Chinese,” said the mayor, waving his hand dismissively.
    “We do now. The chef at Bill’s restaurant is Chinese, and his nieces. That reminds me, I need to check about getting them into school,” Bruno said. “But that’s not the point. We have our Vietnamese being attacked by unknown Chinese, and now we have Chinese places of business being burned out across the region. This is what happened in Paris and Marseilles. It’s a kind of gang war for control of territory.”
    “We only have Vinh, and he’s disappeared,” said the mayor.
    “You mean that he’s gone into hiding, but he was attacked here in our market, which makes it our business.”
    “It’s a problem for the Police Nationale,” said the mayor.
    “But you already approved that request from the prefect asking for me to be seconded to the Police Nationale for Hercule’s murder inquiry.”
    “And you’re telling me that Hercule’s murder is connected to this trouble between the Chinese and Vietnamese?”
    “I’m sure of it and so is J-J, and our old friend the brigadierin Paris is showing interest,” Bruno said. “Hercule was some kind of legend in the intelligence business and had a special connection to Vietnam after his time there in the war. He had a Vietnamese wife and child and helped a lot of our Vietnamese friends settle here when they had to leave the country in a hurry. There’s a lot more to this than meets the eye.”
    “His funeral is at Ste. Alvère this afternoon?”
    “Three o’clock. Shall I see you there, or do you want to drive over together? I’m going in the baron’s car, but there’s room for you.”
    Back in his office, Bruno had just finished booking the table at Ivan’s bistro after learning with pleasure that the
plat du jour
would be calf’s liver with sage leaves when his desk phone rang.
    “Is that the police?”
    “
Oui
, madame. Chief of Police Courrèges
à votre service.
”
    “Oh, Bruno, you’re in the paper today, saving that little boy.”
    “How can I help you?”
    “It’s Amélie Condorcet here, you know, from Laugérie.”
    “Yes, Madame Condorcet. We met at your neighbors’ house, the Vinhs, and I know your husband from the rugby club.” Bruno could place her now, a quiet, rather faded woman with a long nose and a bad leg. Her husband worked for France