Bruno 02 - The Dark Vineyard

Normally I love this French obsession with kissing, but you look terrible and smell worse. Of burned wool and I suppose that awful foam all over your trousers. And Ithink you’ve lost your eyebrows. It’s hard to see under all the black smears over your face.”
    “I’m fine,” he said, touching his fingers to his eyebrows. They felt like the bristles on his chin.
    “I didn’t bring the horse,” she said, “because I thought the fire might frighten her. I only came up to see if we’d have to evacuate.”
    “What’s that building that was on fire?” asked the baron. “I thought I knew every inch of these hills but I never knew it was there.”
    “Nor I,” said Bruno. “There’s a break in the trees, and then a track that curves away toward the field so you can’t see it from the road. I want some breakfast. See you back at Fauquet’s?”
    “Good idea,” said the baron. “It’s far too late to go back to sleep. Pamela, please be our guest, so long as you promise to prefer our company to your English crossword puzzle.”
    “But of course, Baron. You’re more entertaining than any crossword puzzle. But I think Bruno needs to wash and change first.” She studied him. “You’d better throw those trousers away. I hope the town pays for a new uniform.”

2
    Even in the age of computers, it was not an easy task to find out who owned the charred field and burned-out shed. Claire, the mayor’s secretary, pored over the
cadastre
, the giant map that listed every building in the far-flung commune of Saint-Denis. It also showed the boundaries of every plot of land, each identified by its own lot number. She wrote down the relevant numbers. Now they could cross-check it against the tax list to learn the identity of the registered owner.
    “There’s no building marked on the map anywhere up here,” Claire complained. “Are you sure you’ve got the right road, Bruno?”
    “Yes, I’m sure.” Showered, shaved and dressed in a spare uniform, Bruno was feeling himself again, except for the eyebrows. He came over to join her at the giant map, careful to keep some space between himself and Claire’s ample form. Even though irritated, she couldn’t resist flirting with him and batted her eyelashes from sheer habit. The only single man at the
mairie
, Bruno was used to Claire’s ways.
    He traced the road he had taken that morning. “The microwave tower was there and the water tower was over there, so the water line must have run along the road to that point,”he muttered to himself, placing his finger firmly on the spot. He was sure he had the correct lot, but Claire was right. There was no building marked on the map. That was not just very odd, it was also a criminal offense, since it meant the commune had granted no construction permit. And because the land was also served by a water line and a standpipe, the commune was being cheated out of its annual water fee. Still, he had the lot number. He left Claire to roll up the map, and went into the cramped room that was called the registry to check the name of the owner in the tax files.
    The owner was a
société anonyme
, a company called Agricolae with a registered office in Paris, and the lot had been purchased from the Ministry of Defense three years earlier. Agricolae—that had been the name on the metal flag Bruno had plucked from the ground and put in the pocket of Albert’s
pompier
jacket. He’d have to get that back. The file showed that no water fee had been paid, no building tax either, and there was no building permit. That meant the company called Agricolae was in trouble. He was just reaching for the phone in his office to call Albert when Claire peeked around the door to tell him he had a visitor.
    “The most important man in Saint-Denis after the mayor and they still keep you in this miserable hole they dare to call an office,” declared Commissaire Jean-Jacques Jalipeau, the chief detective of the Police Nationale for the
département
. He took a half step into the room and at once seemed to fill it.
    “Christ, you look terrible, face all red and eyebrows burned off,” J-J went on. “Sure it wasn’t you who started that fire? You certainly got too close to it.”
    “I certainly got far too close,” Bruno replied, smiling at his colleague. “Heaven help whoever started that damn fire if I get to him first.”
    Bruno liked J-J despite his friend’s regular and justifiedaccusation that Bruno’s concept of justice owed