Bruno 02 - The Dark Vineyard

gleaming array of what used to be pristine greenhouses. “He was the one who first saw what happened and called his wife, and she told my mother. You can’t keep secrets in Saint-Denis, Bruno.”
    Bruno showed J-J the greenhouses and led him inside to the office, where Petitbon was still on the phone and Isabelle was downloading the images from the camera onto her laptop.
    “Think it’s the same guy who set the fire?” asked J-J.
    Bruno shrugged. “Who knows? But I think I might know where he got the paint. I even think I may have paid for it.” He turned to Isabelle. “Bring that little evidence bag you filled and let’s follow my hunch. J-J, I’ll leave you here to wait for your forensics boys. If I’m right, we’re going to need them.”
    Isabelle was on the phone to a colleague in the minister’s office in Paris, so Bruno drove, wondering as he parked at the rugby stadium if this was a fool’s errand. The players were still on the field, the knot of girls still watching, and the painter’s ladder was still where he had left it. He took out his ring of keys, and Isabelle followed him to the rear door of the stadium, which led into the kitchen and the large dining room. He didn’t need his keys. The door swung open to his touch—the wood of the lock was splintered where someone had forced it open.
    A dozen large cans of paint, each about half the size of an oil drum, were stacked against the wall, with two backpacks and nozzles leaning against them. Goggles and hooded white coveralls were draped over a trestle table. He was sure the contract had said there would be three painters on the job, but he went into the office to check. Isabelle held her small exhibit bagagainst the newly painted stadium wall to make a comparison, but she shrugged. White was white.
    He called the contractor at home. Three painters were on the stadium job, and there had been three backpacks and fourteen cans of special cement paint, brilliant white, when they packed up on Friday. Would there be any way to remove it from glass? Bruno asked. Wait for it to dry fully and then scrape it off, he was told. It should peel away easily. How long would it take to dry? Two or three days, depending on the weather. Less, if you applied a dryer. Did he have one, or better still, did he have several? He had one, but could probably round up a few more. The local Bricomarché stocked them. Bruno told him to get to the research station with his workers as fast as he could, along with ladders and scaffolding. Then he called the Brico manager at home and asked him to open up. Finally he called the mayor, still back at the research station.
    “We know where he got the paint and the equipment—from the rugby stadium. Somebody broke into the dining room, where the paint was stored,” he said, and then spoke over the mayor’s reply. “Wait, there’s more. The good news is that the painter says the stuff can be scraped off easily once it’s dry, and we can dry it with those big industrial blowers they have at Brico. He’s coming directly to the research station with his men. Can you call in the
mairie
maintenance staff with ladders and scaffolding? We can probably have the paint off by tonight if we move fast enough. I only hope that’ll be fast enough to save Petitbon’s research.”
    “So much for the rest of our day together,” said Isabelle as he closed his phone.
    “I’m sorry,” he said. “You’re a cop too. You know how it is.” He tried to take her in his arms, but she came only with reluctance, seeming almost to sag in his embrace.
    “I know down deep you’re always going to be like this,” shesaid flatly. There was no anger in her voice, more a resigned disappointment. “You’re married to Saint-Denis, and I don’t think I can compete with the whole town. Plus I heard what the mayor said about the wine deal being off. That means you aren’t going to have a fight with him and get sacked. So you’ll stay, and I’ll go.”
    “Isabelle,” Bruno began, with no idea what he was going to say next.
    “Not now, Bruno. Let me just take you back to the research station.”

21
    Bruno was ready to drop with tiredness after his day up and down ladders and moving the scaffolding along the greenhouses. The research station was back to normal, the glass scraped clean of its quick-dried paint. And Isabelle was back in Bordeaux. All he craved was a good, satisfying supper and then some sleep. The restaurant where he felt most