The Crowded Grave

campground shop and the town pool. They lived rent-free in a small apartment above the office, shared two modest salaries and worked like slaves from the start of the tourist season in May until the end of September. For the rest of the year there was little to do other than maintenance.
    “
Salut
, Bruno. How about a coffee?” She got up and presented her plump cheek to be kissed. Her hair was bottle blond, black at the roots. He nodded and she began fussing with a small machine that looked new.
    “Trying it out on approval,” she said. “I like the coffee it makes, but Bernard prefers the old way, stewed on the stove top. What brings you here?”
    “The students who’re camping; are they all from the group that’s here for the archaeology?”
    “They’d better be. That’s why they get the special rate. But they all had the right paperwork from the museum. Why, is there trouble?”
    “I don’t know, but the Villatte farm was vandalized last night by some animal rights people. They let all the ducks out. There are no other strangers around, so I thought I’d better ask if you heard anything from the youngsters.”
    “No, they keep to themselves, cook their own food down by that big tent they use as a living space. They don’t even shop here anymore, once they saw the prices are cheaper at the supermarket. They’ve been no trouble, except for the noise late at night, but you have to expect that.”
    “It looks like more tents than people. Do they each have their own?”
    “In theory, but you know what youngsters do. Most of them are paired off now and sharing.” The coffee machine made gurgling noises and started dripping coffee into the two cups Monique had put under the spout. She slid a sugar cube and aspoon onto his saucer and added a small biscuit wrapped in cellophane. “It’s like the United Nations here every Easter, Dutch and Polish and Belgians and English. I don’t know where Horst rounds them up. Some of them come back two and three years in a row.”
    “There’s a Dutch girl called Katie or something like that. Do you know her?”
    “She’s the one always wrapped around the big English boy. Her own tent’s empty now.”
    “Mind if I take a look?” He finished his coffee.
    “Official, is it?”
    “Not yet, but it could be. You’d better come with me, keep an eye on me in case I try to walk off with her underwear.”
    “I wouldn’t put it past you. Keep an eye out for anyone coming is what you mean.” She grinned at him. “Come on, then. Let’s go make a security check.”
    Kajte’s tent was empty apart from a couple of plastic bags filled with clothes and some paperbacks resting on a flat stone. Teddy’s tent contained two sleeping bags zipped together into a double and two rucksacks aligned neatly side by side. Two towels hung from a thin rope strung between the two tent poles. He’d built a small shelf of a plank of wood resting on stones to hold a couple of tin plates and mugs, two toilet bags and what looked like textbooks. Bruno thumbed through some papers in a small briefcase, but from what he could make of the English they seemed mainly photocopies of articles from archaeology journals. There was nothing about animals. The rucksacks held only more clothing, and he found nothing more when he felt around the side pockets.
    He was backing out of the tent, shaking his head at Monique when his phone rang.
    “Monsieur Courrèges?” It was a young woman’s voice, very brisk.
    “This is the magistrate Annette Meraillon. I’m told a dead body has been found that I’ll need to see. I can be in St. Denis in thirty minutes. Where should we meet?”
    “Bonjour, mademoiselle, and welcome to the Périgord,” he said. “You know the body has been removed by the Police Nationale and taken for forensic examination?”
    “What? Without my seeing it in place?” Her voice had risen a notch.
    “That’s something you’d better discuss with Commissaire Jalipeau, the chief of detectives. But I gather it’s quite routine, particularly when there’s a problem of identification.”
    “We’ll see about that. I still want to see the site. Where will you meet me?”
    “In front of the
mairie
in thirty minutes. I’m in uniform, so you can’t miss me, and you can park there. But you might want to bring some boots or walking shoes. It’s some way off the nearest road.”
    “Right. Thirty minutes.” She hung up. Bruno looked at his watch. He had a little time, so he