The Crowded Grave

program at Horst’s dig and was now filming the besieged gendarmerie, and its reporter was about to interview the mayor.
    “Wonderful,” said Bruno. He wished that he’d been there to watch this mobilization of St. Denis. “For the media, let’s play up the absurdity of it all. You might tell them that a farmer’s wife has been arrested for making bouillon,” he suggested. “
L’affaire bouillon
has a certain ring to it, the kind of phrase the headline writers like.”
    “It invites them to add that the gendarmes are in the soup as a result,” said the mayor, chuckling. “I think this is our chance to get Duroc transferred out of St. Denis.”
    “You might want to give Radio Périgord a call. They’ll put you right on the air, and it’s crucial to get our side of the story out first,” Bruno said.
    “By the way, Bruno,” the mayor added. “Happy birthday. We’ll have a drink when we see you tonight.”
    The blockade of St. Denis was over by midday, as Bruno expected, when the thoughts of all good Frenchmen turned to lunch. Several of the farmers stopped for a
petit apéro
of Ricard to celebrate their victory on the way home, and he waved away a dozen invitations to join festive groups at the bars as he headed along the rue de la République toward the gendarmerie. He wanted to ensure that Maurice and Sophie were released as the subprefect had insisted.
    “Want a lift, Bruno?” came a voice from the road. It was Albert, the chief fireman, making room on the wide runningboard for Bruno to step up and join him. “Now that the road’s clear we’re off to the gendarmerie to hose the manure from the steps. Is Maurice okay, do you know?”
    “That’s why I’m going to the gendarmerie, to find out. Sophie was the one who seemed most upset.”
    By the time they reached the square in front of the building, Duroc’s van was already parked inside the yard of the gendarmerie. A heap of manure, not nearly as large as the mayor’s description had led Bruno to believe, was tumbled over the steps, but the armored glass entrance door to the building was only partly blocked. Bruno stepped down with a wave of thanks to Albert. A few seconds later he heard the hydraulic pump of the fire engine and the spluttering inside the hose that meant the water was on the way. Ahmed had the hose pointed directly at the steps, and Bruno saw, in a moment of appalled anticipation, the handle of the door start to turn.
    Events then seemed to happen in slow motion, but unfolded in an inevitable progression as Duroc held the door open for Annette to walk through. She paused above the steps, obviously surprised to find the manure still there. Not expecting her to halt, Duroc bumped into her as he came through the door in turn. Then with one hesitant initial burst the full force of the fire hose hit the manure and sprayed it powerfully up the steps in a pungent brown flood, over Annette and Duroc and into the gendarmerie through the still open door.

15
    Clothilde’s call came as Bruno was driving back to the
mairie
after dropping Maurice and Sophie at their farm. The presence of Stéphane and the Villattes and other well-wishers, all proudly recounting their various feats of traffic disruption, had delayed him. Before escorting Maurice from the gendarmerie, Bruno had stopped to buy some shampoo and shower gel for Annette. He couldn’t see her relishing the harsh industrial soap that was on offer in the shower that served the gendarmerie’s cells. Along with the smallest pair of overalls that he could borrow from the firemen, he thought the toiletries a wise peace offering, making up a little for the laughter that had him and Albert leaning helplessly against the fire engine as Duroc and Annette stood and dripped manure. Still stunned by the shock of her foul drenching, Annette had barely recognized Bruno’s gesture, but he was glad he’d made it. Duroc could fend for himself.
    “
Salut
, Clothilde,” he answered when she rang, pulling onto the side of the road to take the call.
    “Bruno, I’m worried about Horst. Have you seen him? He’s not at home, not at the museum and not at the dig. Nobody’s seen him since he left the dig yesterday afternoon.”
    Bruno explained about the traffic jam in St. Denis, and Clothilde objected that being stuck in traffic would not stop his answering his mobile phone. Calls for him were still coming in from archaeologists around the globe. Clothilde had phoned his neighbor who did