Black Diamond

suppose. That logbook you mentioned, recording all the sales of the extra truffles after the market closed. Didier said it would be with the papers stored in the
mairie
. It isn’t. I searched all through the box of files. If you could track it down, I’ll buy you dinner, or maybe make a lunch for you and the children together. That would be even better, since they’ll get to know me when they start school and come to my tennis lessons. And they’ll like my dog.”
    “Are you sure you know what you’re letting yourself in for?” she said gaily. “It will be a very chaotic lunch with two boisterous three-year-olds and a very harassed mother. Not many single men would put up with that. But certainly I’ll look out for the logbook. If anyone can find it, I can.”
    “And that reminds me,” Bruno added. “Since you’re about to become a citizen of St. Denis, there’s a children’s party we’re planning. It was originally going to be for the kids of the people who lost their jobs at the sawmill, but it’s sort of grown into a party for all the children, and it’s going to be at the old folks’ home, opposite the post office.”
    When he closed his phone, Bruno was feeling in a much better mood and turned back to Hercule’s books. There were hundreds of them. He concentrated on the books with anindex, thumbing through to find references to the Binh Xuyen, and those that contained Hercule’s own bookmarks with notes on them. After nearly an hour of searching and skimming the texts, he had chosen three books in addition to Savani’s. The newest was
Le Viêt Nam depuis 1945: États, marges et constructions du passé
, with half a dozen bookmarks. There were even more bookmarks in a book called
Le maître de Cholon
, about a Binh Xuyen leader called Bay Vien. But the most bookmarks of all were tucked into page after page of a fat paperback in English,
The Pentagon Papers
. Perhaps he could get Pamela to help him translate the marked passages, he thought, but then caught himself and felt the good mood that Florence’s call had stirred start to evaporate. Pamela did not seem inclined to see much of him these days, far less to be helpful. Beside the paperback he found a photocopy of a master’s thesis from the University of Paris VII, titled “Les Binh Xuyen, étude d’un groupement politico-militaire au Sud Vietnam (1925–1955).”
    He checked his watch. It was time to join J-J and the brigadier for the drive to Bordeaux. Swiftly he changed from his uniform into the civilian clothes he had brought in his shoulder bag. The blue trousers and blue shirt stayed. It meant only removing his tie, cap and jacket and donning a casual black windbreaker jacket. But that left no room for the books, so he scoured the kitchen for a plastic bag, locked the house and left. When he got back to the
mairie
he spotted an anonymous black car with two radio aerials and a grim-faced driver. It had to be the brigadier’s car.
    “I know who you are, monsieur,” the driver said. “You can leave your bags with me. I’ll put them in the back.”
    “I’ll need to work on the books in the plastic bag while we drive,” Bruno said.
    The driver nodded and looked at his watch as Bruno went inside the
mairie
and took a glass of wine from the table at the door. The crowd seemed even bigger than it had been when he left it. He saw J-J looming above the sea of heads and edged across to say he was ready to go.
    “The brigadier was looking for you,” J-J said. “Someone he wanted you to meet. He’s over by the big window.”
    Bruno struggled through the crowd again, holding his glass of wine above his head to prevent it from being jostled, and found himself squeezed against the burly shape of Pons the sawmill owner who was talking business with the baron.
    “There you are, Bruno,” said the baron. “I think I preferred our private send-off for Hercule to this zoo.”
    “You know the
mairie
, Bruno,” said Pons in his brusque way. “How long will it take me to get a construction permit to turn my sawmill into residences?”
    “A very long time,” said Bruno. “This mayor won’t be helpful while you’re running against him. And because you’re running against him he could well lose and be replaced by your son. From what I’ve seen of him, your son is not likely to be very helpful.”
    “But what if I apply to build green housing?” Pons said. “What if I were to make it an ecological project, with solar panels,