Black Diamond

came at 7:42, that’s not long after we got here. It’s possible that we were simply followed.”
    “All the way from Ste. Alvère?” said Bruno. “We’d have spotted anyone following us, even a motorbike.”
    “Maybe you were followed,” the brigadier said to Vien and Bao Le. The police siren was getting louder.
    “Almost certainly not,” said Bao Le. “I had my own people watching our tail.”
    “In that case, they’re tapping Bruno’s phone,” said the brigadier, and held out his hand for Bruno’s mobile. Reluctantly, Bruno surrendered it. “I’ll make sure you get one of ours.”
    “What about the prisoner?” asked Bruno. “The other guy on his bike knows he went down. If they think we’ve got him under arrest, they’ll clear out in a hurry.”
    “Good thinking,” said J-J. “We’ll put out a release saying an unidentified Asian was found dead in the street after a hit-and-run. I’ll see to that now.”
    Police, firemen and the forensics team all seemed to arrive at the doorway together. Leaving Tran and J-J to sort out the procedure, the brigadier steered Bruno and Isabelle, Vien and Bao Le through the back door, past the two Fusiliers and into the alley.
    “I’m sorry we’re missing the meal, but I don’t think we need to be part of that mess back there, and I have to go and brief the prefect. I’m staying with him, but I’ll drop you off at your hotel on the way,” he said to Isabelle. He hit a speed-dial button on his mobile to call up his car and gave Bao Le andVien each a card. “My e-mail address is on there, so send me your new phone numbers as soon as you get them. The e-mail’s secure.”
    He bundled Bruno and Isabelle into the backseat as soon as his car arrived. Then with a curt “I’m sure you have your own arrangements” to the two Vietnamese, he climbed into the front passenger seat and told the driver to head for the place des Quinconces.
    “You’re at the Hôtel des Quatre Soeurs?” he asked Isabelle. She nodded, and he turned to the driver. “Drop them off at the corner of Trente Juillet and Esprit des Lois.” He pulled out another phone from the car’s dashboard and began scanning e-mails.
    Bruno and Isabelle looked at each other, and then at the same moment each looked away. They drove on in silence.
    “My bag is in the back of the car,” Bruno told the driver as the car pulled up. A button was pressed and the trunk opened.
    He and Isabelle were left standing on the pavement. She lit a cigarette and drew in the smoke hungrily. She had stopped smoking when they had been together. He made no comment.
    “Where were you planning to stay?” Isabelle asked, not looking him in the eye. There were few areas of etiquette more difficult to handle than an evening with an old flame, Bruno thought. If you don’t suggest a burning desire to rekindle the ashes, any woman would be offended. But if you do, her pride would require refusal. Bruno avoided even contemplating the possibility that Isabelle might invite him to her bed, knowing that the more he thought about it the more the prospect would entice him.
    “I’d originally planned to stay with Tran. But I think he’sin for a long night with J-J and police statements. So it’s best that I get a hotel.”
    “I need a drink,” she said. “Get yourself a room here and tell them to put it on my bill, room three-three-four. I imagine we get better expenses than St. Denis might offer. I’ll be in the bar. What shall I order you?”
    “Armagnac, please,” he said, and followed her into the hotel, suddenly remembering for some reason the weight of her gun in his hand and the casual way she held it, as if she used it daily. His own weapon lived in his safe at the
mairie
and was usually only ever taken out for his compulsory refresher course each year at the gendarmerie range in Périgueux. He drew a clear distinction between weapons, which he had used all too often in the military and which included his police firearm, and guns, which for Bruno meant the shotguns he took when hunting. These he saw as essentially civilian companions.
    He checked in, taking the cheapest room available, a single on the top floor. It was still eighty-five euros, and he knew he could have had two nights in a St. Denis hotel for the same price. He took the elevator to the top floor, tossed his bag and coat on the bed, washed his hands and brushed his teeth and headed down to the half-full bar. Isabelle was sitting at a small