Bruno 02 - The Dark Vineyard

abandoned when they were sent into Bosnia as barely armed peacekeepers when there was no peace to be kept, no orders to fight, no honor in the duty. There had been only humiliation and mortar rounds and the sniper who put a bullet into Bruno’s hip.
    He stayed there at the top of the stairs, staring at the old and faded tourism poster that had been banished to the stairwell in one of Claire’s redecoration projects. The top half depicted the prehistoric cave paintings of Lascaux and the lower half an idyllic view of the valley from the ridge above Saint-Denis. Between them was the phrase “Valley of the Vézère, cradle of mankind for 40,000 years.” Whole civilizations and nations, monarchies and cultures, had come and gone. His own petty concerns seemed minuscule in such a vast historic scale. But this was his town, these were his friends and this was duty. The only way to protect Saint-Denis now was for him to solve the case quickly, and to do it himself. He knew that Max was his obvious suspect. That meant breaking Cresseil’s alibi, eliciting a confession or setting a trap for Max. Bruno let out a deep breath. He didn’t like it, but he knew the course he’d have to take. With a last look at the ancient animals of Lascaux, he pushed through the heavy door into the offices, barely nodding in response to Claire’s cheery greeting from the reception desk. He knocked on the mayor’s half-open door and leaned into his office to ask about working with the brigadier.
    “Better cooperate,” the mayor said. “I already approved your assignment to work with J-J, and it’s the same case. And after that remark by Bondino about finding the arsonist, the sooner we do so the better. I’m glad you came by because I wanted to ask about this adoption request. I don’t want to stand in Cresseil’s way, but it may be a problem. Cresseil’s land is part of the slope Bondino wants us to help him buy. Perhaps you couldfind out informally what Cresseil plans to do. From the look of him, I’d guess he’ll be in the retirement home before the year is out. And maybe you could talk to Bondino’s people about a job or a scholarship or something for young Max. If he wants to go into the wine business, it could be a good opening for him.”
    Heading back to his office, Bruno pondered the mayor’s words. The prospect of a Bondino scholarship for Max could be an attractive idea, unless he was arrested, but it also carried the implicit threat by the mayor that he would block the adoption request. Clearly the mayor had decided to go ahead with the Bondino project. If it worked, it could secure the economic future of Saint-Denis for generations. So why did Bruno feel so wary of the plan? Was it just his dislike of change, or was it his affection for Saint-Denis as it was? Absentmindedly, he booted up his computer. The first e-mail was from Isabelle in Paris: “Coming to Périgord. Are you free this weekend?”
    Bruno was taken aback by the sudden rush of emotion that flooded him.
I’m not some teenage innocent in the grip of his first affair
, he told himself.
I’m going to be forty. We had a very grown-up conversation about how her career ambitions and my love of this place could never blend happily. And now she’s coming to visit and my heart is beating faster and I want to stand up and cheer
.
    He read the e-mail again, analyzing the eight-word message for some deeper meaning. There was not the slightest hint of affection, only the raw data. Did she want to spend the whole weekend with him? How should he respond? In similar neutral terms, or should he say something personal? Did he really want to repeat the cycle of joy and then melancholy with Isabelle? His fingers rested lightly on the keyboard. He had to send some kind of reply. He closed his eyes in thought and then quickly opened them and tapped out, “Wonderful news. For you, of course I’m free. Bruno.” And without letting himself pause to think about the phrasing, he hit the Send key.

13
    When Bruno arrived at Cresseil’s property, a familiar white Porsche was parked in the yard. Dupuy and Bondino were standing on the porch facing the seated Cresseil and Max, who stood protectively at Cresseil’s side, his hand reassuringly on the old man’s shoulder. Cresseil’s venerable dog was growling and trying to stand, his hackles raised but his rear legs crumpling at his master’s feet. All their faces had turned to watch Bruno’s arrival. He had interrupted