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

rang off and Bruno was left staring at his phone, momentarily stunned. He checked his watch. Thirty minutes. He could do a lot in thirty minutes. He called Sergeant Jules but an automated voice asked him to leave a message. He considered calling the Mayor, but there was no point. If the Mayor was told his municipal policeman was under investigation he’d have no choice but to agree to the suspension. Bruno climbed the steps back up to the town square, handed the phone back to Stéphane and headed into his office at the
Mairie
.
    He pulled out the file with the printouts Isabelle had made,checked the internet address and called up the photo of the Count with the son of the Lebanese minister. He emailed that to his counterpart in Sarlat, a good friend, and followed it with a phone call, asking him to show the photo to the widow who sold goat’s cheese in the old church of Ste-Marie to see if she recognized either man. Then he called Fabiola, to tell her that the nurse at the Red Château had no known qualifications. In turn, she told him that she had found Annette at home and she was researching the law. Apparently it depended whether the Red Countess was in
tutelle
, which would mean a court had ruled that she was not fit to conduct her own affairs, and her sister or her nephew might have been named her
tuteur
with legal powers to act for her.
    It was time to go. He settled his cap squarely on his head, checked his appearance in the mirror in the men’s room and walked briskly down the Rue de Paris towards the Gendarmerie, shaking hands and kissing cheeks as he always did. The thought crossed his mind that this might be the last occasion he would do so. He refused to speculate on the reasons for the investigation, but his inability to contact Sergeant Jules was worrying. Perhaps he should have called the Mayor after all, and he certainly should have called Isabelle.
    The Mayor was standing on the steps of the Gendarmerie, a solemn look on his face as Bruno approached. A stately old Bentley limousine from the Fifties was standing in the car park.
    ‘The
Procureur de la République
has come down from Périgueux himself and an accusation of theft has been filed against you,’ the Mayor said. ‘Sergeant Jules said that was all he knew.’
    ‘Jules is here?’ The Mayor nodded. Bruno felt reassured and followed the Mayor inside, where Sergeant Jules greeted him with a wink and a sideways glance at a plastic evidence bag with a book inside. Bruno marched into the familiar office, halted in formal military style, stood to attention and saluted the
Procureur
. After seeing the Bentley outside he was not surprised to see the sister of the Red Countess and Foucher standing by the window. J-J stood to one side of the desk.
    ‘At ease, Courrèges,’ said the
Procureur
. Bruno was startled to see him wearing red corduroy slacks, a blue denim shirt and a bright yellow sweater, as if he’d been hauled from a golf course. This was a normal workday.
    ‘One moment, please,’ said the Mayor. ‘I understand that Chief of Police Courrèges is entitled to legal representation and I would like to say that while ready to provide him what assistance I can, I must protest against the haste in calling this inquiry without summoning a qualified lawyer. I should add that my officer has my complete confidence.’
    ‘Protest noted,’ the
Procureur
said and fixed Bruno with a cold stare. ‘Madame de la Gorce has filed a formal statement accusing you of stealing from her family library a valuable book, a first edition of Montaigne’s essays. She says that you obtained entry to the library with a spurious claim of being on duty and while you were left alone there the book disappeared. She claims that this edition of the book is worth over five thousand euros, but this particular example is priceless, having once belonged to the former royal family. What do you have to say?’
    ‘Not guilty, sir.’
    ‘Were you in the library alone?’
    ‘Yes, sir.’
    ‘Did you see the book in question?’
    ‘Later, sir, I did, but not in the library.’
    ‘I don’t understand.’
    ‘Permission to call Sergeant Jules of the Gendarmerie, sir?’
    ‘I hope someone can explain.’
    Sergeant Jules entered and saluted, the evidence bag and a slim folder under his arm. He laid the bag on the desk.
    ‘Sir, Chief of Police Courrèges entrusted this book to me yesterday evening at his home. He’d called me to say that he believed this accusation of