The Crowded Grave

years now.”
    Bruno knew that the FTP was the Francs-Tireurs et Partisans, the Communist wing of the Resistance. He calledBordeaux again to tell the curator of this extra snippet of information.
    “I could have told you that,” the curator replied. “We’ve found a fair bit on our friend Joxe. He escaped from Camp Gurs in 1940, like a lot of the internees did. It wasn’t well guarded, and he had relatives in France, among the Basques in Bayonne. They probably wangled him some identity papers. He was in the FTP from the beginning, after Hitler invaded the Soviet Union in 1941, and with his Spanish experience he did a lot of training of the young recruits in the Maquis. He also helped organize the Spanish refugees. The citation for his medal says he fought at Tulle and Terrasson in the summer of ’44 and was wounded.”
    “I knew I could count on you for this,” Bruno said. “Thank you, it’s a great help.”
    “Hang on, there’s more,” the curator said. “He joined the French army when he recovered and fought his way into Germany in ’45. That’s how he escaped being rounded up and sent back to Spain like so many of the other war refugees. The British and Americans were worried about these Resistance-trained Spaniards going back to overthrow Franco and replace him with a Communist regime. So they handed a lot of them back to Franco’s tender mercies.”
    “I never knew that,” said Bruno, his satisfaction at tracking down the information suddenly chilled.
    “Not many people do. The Cold War started a lot earlier than most people think.”

20
    Although the sun was out, Pamela was wearing a heavy woolen coat in black, a cream cashmere shawl around her shoulders and black boots that somehow looked both elegant and sturdy when Bruno raced into her courtyard, scattering gravel. She waved good-bye to Fabiola and climbed in beside him, pulling her carry-on bag onto her knees and looking nervously at her watch after she kissed him.
    “I checked the
méteo
. It’s cold in Edinburgh,” she said, gesturing at her coat as he drove off. She began to wrestle with the strap of the seat belt.
    “Just that small bag?” He wished he could have driven her all the way to Bordeaux.
    “I have clothes at Mother’s house. Are you sure you can take care of the horses?”
    “Fabiola will help,” he said. “Don’t worry about things here. Have you had any more news about your mother?”
    “Yes, from my aunt, who saw her and said that it’s her left side that’s affected. But she recognized my aunt. She just can’t speak much, but the doctor says that should come back in time.” She was twisting the black leather gloves in her handsas she stared through the windshield. “Will we be in time for the train?”
    “Comfortably,” he said, but pressed the accelerator a little harder, glad that his new police car had a bigger engine than the old one. “Have you eaten?” he asked.
    “Fabiola made me eat an omelette and an apple and drink some tea. She put a sandwich and a bottle of water in my bag. I’ll be fine.” She looked at her watch again. “I’m worried about the train.”
    “If I have to, I’ll put the siren on.” He tried to make light of it.
    “This is the time I should be processing all the bookings for the
gîtes
this summer,” she fretted. “I’ll go broke if I can’t get them all settled and the deposits in the bank.”
    “There are bound to be Internet places in Edinburgh where you can deal with that. I can check your mail and deposit checks at the bank,” Bruno said, looking both ways before turning onto the busy main road toward Le Buisson. He understood that she was saying these things as a way to make a mental list of things to be done, an effort to impose control over her life again after the shock of the news about her mother. She needed reassurance.
    “These things can all be resolved. Right now, your concern is your mother, so don’t worry about anything having to do with St. Denis. We can take care of things here. I can send you reports by e-mail.”
    “I can’t leave it all to you, Bruno,” she said, rummaging in her handbag to check that she had her passport and the printout of her boarding pass. “You have more than enough on your plate as it is, and now this dynamite and the corpse at the dig and the foie gras and Horst disappearing … Oh God, this is all happening at the worst possible time. And now there’s Charles.”
    Bruno hated taking his eyes off the