The Devil's Cave: A Bruno Courrèges Investigation (Bruno Chief of Police 5)

1
    Bruno Courrèges seldom felt happier about the community he served as Chief of Police than when standing at the rear of the ancient stone church of St Denis, listening to rehearsals of the town choir. Unlike the formal ceremonies at Mass when they dressed in neat white surplices, the choir practised in their normal dress, usually gathering directly after work. But Father Sentout’s daring decision that the choir should reach beyond its usual repertoire to attempt Bach’s
St Matthew Passion
had required some additional rehearsals early in the morning. Farmers stood alongside schoolteachers and accountants, waitresses and shopkeepers. These were people Bruno knew, wearing clothes he recognized, and usually singing hymns that were familiar; perhaps the only memory of his church orphanage that still gave him pleasure.
    On this Saturday morning two weeks before Easter, the twenty-four choristers were mostly in casual clothes and the front pews of the church were filled with coats and shopping baskets they would take to the town’s market, about to get under way in the street outside. As he entered the twelfth-century church, Bruno heard the first notes that led into the chorus of ‘Behold Him as a Lamb’. The noises of the streetseemed to ebb away behind him as Florence’s pure soprano voice filled the nave. He knew there should be two choirs and two orchestras, but St Denis made do with its trusty organ and the enthusiasm of its singers plus, of course, the determination of Father Sentout, whose love of choral music was matched only by his devotion to the pleasures of the table and the fortunes of the local rugby team. It made him, Bruno thought, an entirely suitable pastor for this small town in the gastronomic and sporting heartland of France.
    The early morning sun lifted above the ridge to the east of St Denis and flooded the top of the stained-glass window. Shafts of blue, gold and red lanced into the body of the church. Father Sentout’s black soutane stood out against the roseate glow that now suffused the choir. Bruno’s eye was drawn irresistibly to Florence, dressed in white with a bright red scarf at her throat. Her head was raised as she sang alone, knowing the music too well to need to look at her score. Her fair hair was lit by the sunlight into something almost like a halo.
    It had been one of his better moves, Bruno thought, to have found Florence the job of science teacher at the local
collège
. The post brought with it a subsidized apartment in the
collège
grounds, more than big enough for a divorced young woman and her infant twins. She was a fine addition to the life of the town and particularly to the choir. Father Sentout might not have dared attempt the
St Matthew Passion
without her. For the first time, she seemed to notice Bruno standing in the nave. Her face softened into a smile and she nodded to acknowledge his presence. Other choristers raised their hands in greeting. Bruno felt the familiar trembling athis waist as his mobile phone began to vibrate. Reluctantly, he slipped outside to take the call.
    ‘Bruno, it’s Marie,’ he heard. She ran the Hôtel de la Gare beside the railway station, now unmanned to cut costs on rural lines in order to finance the massive investment in high-speed trains. ‘I’ve been asked to pass on a message. Julien Devenon says there’s a naked woman in a boat drifting down the river. He says he saw her from the railway bridge as he walked along the line.’
    Her voice sounded strained. Bruno thought of Julien, just entering puberty, transfixed by the sight of a naked woman. But this was troubling. Despite the spring sunshine, this was no time for sunbathing; not even for the Dutch, German and Scandinavian tourists who seemed to discard their clothes at the slightest opportunity.
    ‘He gets the train to his
lycée
in Périgueux,’ Marie added. She paused and her voice took on a deeper note. ‘He thought she was dead.’
    ‘Is Julien still there?’ Bruno pictured the boy’s eager face as he trotted out for rugby practice.
    ‘No, he had to catch his train. He would have called himself but his dad had confiscated his phone.’
    There would be a story behind that, Bruno thought.
    ‘So when did he see this boat? Was it just in the last few minutes?’ Bruno tried to calculate how long a boat drifting downstream might take to reach the great stone bridge at St Denis, probably the nearest place he’d be able to intercept it and bring it