Bruno 02 - The Dark Vineyard

depends on the autopsy on Cresseil being done by that new young doctor, Fabiola Stern,” Bruno replied, feeling relieved that this at least was entirely beyond his control. “But there’s no autopsy planned on Max. It could be very hard to tell when he died. Time of death is never easy to establish with certainty.”
    “Logic might suggest that Cresseil wondered what had happened to Max, went up the ladder and saw the boy lying there already dead, and the shock brought on the heart attack thatkilled him, or sent him reeling off the ladder so he broke his neck,” said Bruno. “That would mean Max died first.”
    “A different logic might say that Max got into difficulties, Cresseil tried to clamber up to help, had the heart attack and died, and then in the absence of help, young Max tragically drowned. So the old man died first,” replied the mayor, so casually that Bruno knew he was up to something. “If somebody makes the case that the boy lived long enough to inherit, we’ll have a lawsuit brought by Cresseil’s family. It won’t get settled for years, and Bondino may give up in disgust. So, Bruno, how well do you know the young doctor?”
    “Hardly at all. She seems pleasant and very capable. In fact, she may have saved my life,” said Bruno, focused once again on how much the mayor wanted the Bondino project to move forward. He was not going to start his relationship with the new doctor by hinting that she might bend her professional verdict to suit the mayor’s scheme. “She struck me as a person of integrity. I’m sure she’ll give us an honest opinion.”
    “Could you perhaps suggest the importance of this matter to her? Its importance to the future of Saint-Denis, that is.”
    “There’s a further complication,” said Bruno, avoiding a direct answer. “Earlier this week, Bondino started a fight with Max in the Bar des Amateurs, breaking a plate-glass window and assaulting a young woman. I could have arrested him, and I’m really having second thoughts about linking the future of Saint-Denis with that guy.”
    “Well, we were all young once. He’ll grow out of it.” The mayor paused. “You’ve never liked this project, have you?”
    “I like the idea a lot, in principle. But Bondino’s behavior hardly inspires confidence.”
    The mayor rose from his chair and walked to the window. “
Merde
, Bruno. You’re right, of course. But what else can we do? I have to fight tooth and nail to keep the sawmill alive. Thesupermarkets are killing small businesses. This Bondino project is the best chance we have to secure our future, and I’m not going to lose it. Go and look at Saint-Fénelon or at any other of those hollowed-out tourist towns around here, with only a couple of bistros and a real estate agent. They’re dead from September to June every year,” the mayor went on, flourishing his hand at the window as if pointing to the ghost towns he evoked. “No families, no schools, no jobs, no shops, and most of the houses empty until the tourists come back to rent them. That’s what’s at stake, Bruno. We have to have those jobs for Saint-Denis.”
    The mayor thrust out his jaw and advanced on Bruno. “So I don’t much care if Bondino is a drunken young fool, so long as he commits that investment. You’ll just have to manage him.”
    “Whoa!” Bruno held up his hands and grinned. “I’m not the council, and I’m not a voter at a public meeting. Practice your speeches on me all you like, but you don’t need to convince me. I like the project. But if it makes commercial sense with Bondino, it might also make commercial sense with somebody else. That’s my point, and we haven’t even looked at that possibility.”
    “Businessmen with ten million euros to invest are hardly lining up outside my door,” the mayor said.
    “But now that one is doing so, that’s valuable information. Maybe there are other big companies, British or Italian, that see the same potential Bondino does. Maybe there are French investors who could be interested. If you do get the appellation, we can make our own deal.”
    Hubert’s wine shop was busy when Bruno arrived, bracing himself for the task of telling Jacqueline the bad news. Hubert was talking in English with a couple standing by the racks ofvintage Armagnacs. Nathalie turned from the cash desk, where she was serving a line of customers, and greeted Bruno sadly.
    “We know about it,” she said. “The Mad Englishwoman came by, covered in