Bruno 02 - The Dark Vineyard

woman in your life?” Bondino asked.
    “I wish I knew,” said Bruno. “I think it’s probably over.”
    He stopped. Bondino looked at him expectantly. Bruno shrugged.
    “Women can make life very complicated,” said Bondino, raising his glass. This was a strange conversation to be having with a suspected murderer. Bruno refilled the glasses, pulled out his phone and rang Dupuy again.
    “Chief of Police Courrèges. This time I’m calling from home and we can speak now. I have Bondino with me.”
    “So he hasn’t been formally charged?”
    “Not yet. The police will start questioning him again tomorrow.”
    “Is he all right, not too shaken up?”
    “He’s fine, enjoying a glass of wine and petting my dog. You want to speak to him?” He handed his phone across to Bondino, saying, “Your man Dupuy.”
    A long conversation in English followed, too fast for Bruno to follow; Bondino’s eyes kept returning to Bruno as his free hand caressed Gigi. He handed the phone back.
    “I cannot thank you enough,” Dupuy began. “Monsieur Bondino’s father is taking a plane from California to Paris and then a charter that will land him at Bergerac airport sometime tomorrow afternoon. I’ll meet him there with Maître Bloch from Bordeaux, the best lawyer I could find at this hour. The U.S. Embassy is also sending someone. We’ll come directly to Saint-Denis.”
    “By then, he’ll probably be at the Police Nationale headquartersin Périgueux. That’s where they’re planning to take him.”
    “Might I ask why you’re sticking your neck out like this?”
    “It’s not just me, it’s the mayor as well. But Bondino has a right to contact his embassy and to see a lawyer. And I wouldn’t keep a dog in those gendarmerie cells.”
    “I won’t forget this, and I’ll make sure the Bondinos understand what you’re doing. I’ll call you tomorrow when I’ve talked to Monsieur Bondino’s father and to the lawyer. Will that be okay?”
    “That’ll be fine. We’ll stay in touch.” Bruno closed his phone and filled the glasses again, the bottle now close to empty. He looked across the table at Bondino. “Tomorrow, you’ll have your father, and a lawyer.”
    “Thanks to you.”
    “Did you kill Max?”
    “No!” Bondino shook his head. “No.”
    They drank in silence, studying each other, Gigi lying comfortably between them, his head on Bruno’s foot, his rump against Bondino’s leg.
    But if
he
didn’t
, thought Bruno,
who did? And who killed Cresseil’s dog?

37
    Just after eight the next morning, his prisoner safely deposited back at the gendarmerie, Bruno took his dog along the riverbank for the long stroll to Fauquet’s café. He had to stop at the
mairie
to pick up his notes on land and vineyard prices and his research file on the Bondino project before the meeting at the Domaine, but for the moment there was time to enjoy the beginning of a perfect September day. Gigi loved the river, darting in and out of the shallows to chase the ducks and splashing through the shaded waters where the willows hung low, and then looking back to see that his master was properly admiring his feats. As they rounded the bend past the old manor house, now converted into a tourist information center, Bruno’s favorite view of his town unfolded: the three arches of the great stone bridge flanked by the
mairie
and the church’s bell tower, and directly ahead of him the wide stone steps that led up from the river to the market square. He walked on along the quay that ran beneath the bridge to greet Pierrot, who was sitting by the base of one of the great arches with a fishing rod in his hand and two small trout already in his bucket.
    Gigi raced ahead, and then stopped on a small rise, standing like a pointer with one front paw raised, his head and tail high,watching the curl of the river, where he sensed something was about to appear. Squinting against the glare of the morning sun on the river, Bruno saw the silhouettes of two riders appear on horseback, picking their way across the shallow waters of the late summer. Gigi barked and raced up the riverbank to greet them, Bruno following until Pamela and Fabiola reached him and swung down from horseback to greet him.
    “I’m having a wonderful day,” Fabiola said. “I have a horse to ride and a house to live in. I’m going to rent one of Pamela’s
gîtes
until next season.”
    “With Jacqueline that makes three lovely women together in one property. You’ll have