Bruno 02 - The Dark Vineyard

on. Bruno realized that J-J’s anger was being diluted with every emollient phrase.
    “It’s a pleasure to see you again, J-J. I remember very well that excellent work you and Bruno did together on that bank robbery we had, and again on the murder of that Arab. I always thought the two of you represented a model of what good relations should be between the various arms of the law here in our little part of the world. Now do as Bruno says and sit down and let’s have a drink. Cognac for me. And you, J-J?”
    J-J looked at the mayor, who still clung to his hand, looked at Bruno, who was beaming innocently at him, glowered briefly at the small knot of spectators in the doorway of the bar, let out an enormous sigh and sat down.
    “Scotch whisky,” he said, and turned his face up to theevening sky. “There are 36,565 communes in France. Why do I always have to end up in this one?”
    “Because we make you feel so welcome,” said Bruno from the doorway, where he was calling to the barman. “Cognac for the mayor and two Glenfiddiches from your special bottle.
    “Now that you’re here,” he went on, returning to the table, “let me tell you why it might be a good idea to release Bondino overnight and let him sleep in his hotel just down the road. He won’t be going anywhere. You’ll have his passport and you can take his car keys and wallet, and I can stay in the suite with him, if you want.”
    “I’ll take some convincing,” said J-J as René brought the drinks.
    “Your big problem is that so far you don’t have a formal statement of unlawful death from the pathologist. Until you get that, you don’t have a crime. That’s the first thing the
juge d’instruction
will want to see, and as soon as Bondino gets a high-priced lawyer on this case that’s the first thing he’s going to demand.”
    “I’ll have it tomorrow,” J-J said.
    “Even if you do, any smart lawyer would file a complaint against you for keeping him in jail overnight before you have it. Release him into my custody and you’re covered.”
    J-J took a thoughtful sip of his drink.
    “Bondino is the son of an extremely rich and well-connected industrialist who was introduced to us by the American ambassador,” Bruno went on. He turned to the mayor. “Isn’t that right?”
    The mayor nodded solemnly, confirming the stretched truth. “I’m told the father is a big political fund-raiser,” he said. “We’re not just talking about political influence here, but about great wealth and the lawyers and publicity it will inevitably bring. This is a powerful and prominent man, so his son’s arrestfor murder will be a big news story and probably an international incident.”
    “The mayor’s right. It will be a media circus. You can write the story yourself, the killing in a wine vat of a sexual rival after a squalid barroom brawl. Look, J-J, you haven’t got a
juge d’instruction
, so right now it’s your head on the block and only yours. If the
juge
decides to detain him, it’s no longer your responsibility. And you can still have him to interrogate all day tomorrow if you want. But from what I saw in there, he’s not going to give you anything except a demand to call his embassy. Leave him to me overnight, good cop to your bad cop, and I might even get something out of him.”
    “Bruno’s right,” the mayor said. A long silence ensued while J-J pensively sipped his whisky.
    “If I transfer him to your custody and you sign the receipt, it’s your head if he disappears,” J-J said.
    “And mine,” said the mayor. “Bruno works for me, and I authorize this.”
    “Okay,” J-J said, nodding. “I want him back at the gendarmerie at eight a.m. sharp and I’ll take him to headquarters in Périgueux.”
    “You’ll probably find the American ambassador and a small army of very expensive bilingual lawyers in your office by midday,” the mayor said, slipping a banknote under his glass to pay the bill.
    “Come on, let’s get him out of there,” said Bruno, finishing his drink and rising to his feet.

36
    His shoulders bowed and his eyes blank, Bondino was silent as Bruno led him up the stairs of the gendarmerie. When Bruno opened the passenger door of his van and gestured for him to enter he looked startled, but he complied. As Bruno drove off, Bondino asked, “Where are we going?” and Bruno simply said, “My house. Again.” Then the American fell silent, eyes fixed on the dark country road ahead. The passing tree