The Crowded Grave

rings my alarm bell.”
    “What about this old corpse you found? No possible connection to our business?”
    Bruno shrugged. “I’ll save you a copy of the forensic report, if you like. I should get something today.”
    “This other matter, the animal rights militants. Can we check them out? In my experience, being a radical in one thing makes it more likely to be a radical in another.”
    “I can give you a full list of all the students, names, addresses, passport numbers. I was going to ask the brigadier to check them out with the various home countries, but you can probably do that.” He turned to the computer, clicked open Clothilde’s e-mail to him of yesterday and printed out two copies of the attachment.
    “E-mail it to me at this address,” Carlos said, handing across a business card that bore simply the arms of Spain, his name, an e-mail address and phone number. “Then I can forward it direct. It will be faster. But I’d like to take a look at the archaeological site, if that’s possible. It’s mainly for my own interest, but I’d like to be able to report that I’d checked the site of the grave, if this dead man turns out to be interesting. And I’d like to take you to lunch, but perhaps you have other plans.”
    “We have the security meeting at the château this evening,” Bruno said. “I also want to go and have a quiet talk with the old man who did this job for thirty years before me. He knows everybody, so I was going to ask him about Basques, as well as the mysterious corpse. You’re welcome to come along, but becareful of any wine he offers you. His red
pinard
is terrible, but his
vin de noix
is worth the detour.”
    Carlos smiled. “Thanks for the tip. I suppose we all have friends like that.”
    “I’ve got one question for you,” Bruno said, leaning back. His chair squeaked again. “How serious is the security threat? I realize this meeting makes an inviting target, but ETA has been on the defensive for years. You must have some idea of what resources and capabilities ETA still has.”
    “We know they used the cease-fire to rebuild some of their networks,” Carlos said. “And we know they have now determined France to be an enemy state and a legitimate target. We think they have two, perhaps three, active service teams available, at least one in southern France. We’ve already passed on everything in our files to your minister of the interior, including what few photos and records we have on the members, and I’ll be providing daily updates.”
    Bruno nodded and rose. “I’m going to the site of the dig, if you’d like to come.”
    The Spaniard pointed to his computer and said he’d work on his e-mails. As Bruno trotted down the stairs to his van, his cell phone rang. Bruno looked at the screen and saw the name of Maurice, a friend from the hunting club. He clicked the green button to take the call.
    “Bruno, it’s Maurice. You’d better get here quick. I’m in trouble. I think I’ve shot somebody.”

8
    Maurice Soulier’s farm was on the lowest slope of the hillside below Coumont. On the flat land that stretched down to the busy stream that joined the Vézère near St. Denis he kept the ducks that he fattened by hand in the old-fashioned way. Lacking a permit to slaughter them, he had the ducks collected twice a week by a cousin who was a local butcher. He paid Maurice a fair price for the foie but kept all the money from selling the meat and carcasses. Of course, the entire hunting club and its extended families bought Maurice’s foie gras and his
magrets
and the
confits
made by his wife, Sophie. This meant that Maurice was still killing a couple of dozen ducks a week with his grandfather’s ax on the old stump in the barnyard, and Bruno was not the only citizen of St. Denis who slept under a magnificent eiderdown made by Sophie from duck feathers. So it was with considerable alarm that Bruno pulled into the farmyard, to find Sophie weeping in the kitchen and Maurice trying to comfort her.
    Bruno sized up the situation, went to the familiar cupboard in the corner opposite the stove, removed the bottle of cognac that Maurice kept to fill his flask before a hunt and poured aglass for each of them. They drank, and then husband and wife began to speak at once.
    “One at a time.” Bruno held up a hand. “Maurice, you first—tell me what happened.”
    Maurice explained that it was about 5:00 a.m. and he was asleep when the dog started barking in the