The Crowded Grave

gravel. But then we have to do secondary blasts where we use dynamite, and we also use dynamite where the rock formation is tricky. We blast, then we quarry until we have to blast again. As I say, it depends on the rock formation, but we usually do two or three days’ blasting at a time.”
    “So anybody who knew the routine would have heard the blasting yesterday and could assume you’d be storing dynamite overnight?”
    Jeannot nodded. “It’s the way most quarries operate thesedays, ever since the restrictions came in on storing explosives on site.”
    “What’s that ANFO you mentioned?” J-J asked.
    “Ammonium nitrate fuel oil,” said Jeannot. “It’s cheap and it does the job. But that’s stored at the depot and we only bring that in on blasting days.”
    “I have a copy of all our licenses and permits,” said the man in the gray suit. “Everything is in order …”
    “Except that you’ve lost enough dynamite to blow up a battleship,” said J-J.
    Jeannot looked mournfully at the hole in his blockhouse. “I always said we needed concrete, but the company never got around to it.”
    “That’s enough,” said the man in the gray suit.
    Jeannot rolled his eyes at Bruno, then turned to J-J and asked, “I presume you’ll bring dogs in, give them a sniff?”
    “Sometime later today,” said J-J, and led the way back down to the road and the cars, where he paused and looked at Carlos. “What do you think? Could this be your guys?”
    “ETA prefers explosives to anything else and they’ve used dynamite before, stolen from quarries. But there’s no shortage of Semtex on the black market. Still, I think we’d better assume that it’s them. And if they’re here they’ll need a base.”
    “If they’re using explosives, then they need to place them,” said Bruno. “Our ministers are coming in by helicopter direct to the château so they can’t mine a road. The château is under guard around the clock and there’ll be dogs. Where and how do they plant the stuff?”
    “We’ll thrash it out at the evening conference,” said J-J, thumbing his way through messages on his cell phone. “By then I’ll have a preliminary forensic report on the quarry. In the meantime I have a bank robbery suspect in custody backin Périgueux … and what the hell’s going on in St. Denis? I’ve just gotten a message saying that traffic is backed up halfway to Périgueux, the gendarmerie’s asking for reinforcements and the prefect wants to know what’s going on.”
    “Duroc,” said Bruno. “And the new magistrate. They make quite a combination. They arrested a popular local farmer and his wife for killing and cooking their own ducks, and the other farmers are demonstrating for their release.”
    “
Merde
. Shouldn’t you be there?”
    Bruno sighed. “When the brigadier seconded me to the security team he said this takes priority.” He took the opportunity to check his own text messages. There was one from Pamela, saying “Happy birthday; see you tonight,” and another from Stéphane that said,
“St. Denis bloqué. Tout le monde à la bataille.”
    “I can report to Isabelle on the dynamite theft,” said Carlos. “We can do without you until this evening’s meeting. Come on, I’ll take you back.”
    Once in the car, Bruno rang the mayor, to learn that St. Denis was at a standstill. Since it was the intersection for roads running both east-west and north-south that meant a large part of the
département
’s traffic was now stalled. Duroc’s van was surrounded by immobile tractors, so close that he couldn’t even open the doors. Maurice, Sophie and the magistrate were all still inside with Duroc, and children were clambering over the tractors to taunt him. Women gathered on the pavement were demanding Sophie’s release, and Father Sentout was with them. It was all, the mayor stressed, completely peaceful, extremely noisy and great fun.
    Even if Duroc made it to the gendarmerie, its entrance was blocked by a large heap of steaming manure, the mayor gleefully reported. The
pompiers
had been called to use their firehoses to wash it away, but their fire engines were also stuck and were adding to the traffic jam. Sergeant Jules, who understood the difference between duty and folly, had apparently taken one look at the gathering storm on his way to begin his shift and gone home to call in sick with a convenient migraine. And as luck would have it, a TV crew from TF1 had been making a