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

herself. ‘I know him better than anyone.’
    ‘Is he drunk when he beats you?’
    She shrugged, and then winced again, her hand going to her ribs. Whatever the outcome of his confrontation with her husband, Bruno resolved that he’d take her down to the clinic.
    ‘His own wine is all he can afford to drink and there’s little enough of that,’ she said, turning off the gas beneath the soup. ‘Nobody would drink it but him.’
    She turned to the rear wall where Bruno saw a haybox, something he used for long, slow cooking. But he remembered from his childhood, when he was taken in by cousins, that poor families used them because they could not afford the gas.
    ‘I’ll get it,’ he said. He put it on the counter alongside the stove, lifted the soup pan inside and then packed the extra hay on top and sealed the box. It would keep on cooking all day.
    ‘After I’ve spoken to Louis, I’m taking you down to the clinic,’ he said.
    ‘I’ll be all right.’
    ‘It doesn’t matter. Either you come with me, or I’ll have to arrest you for obstruction of justice and get a doctor to see you in the cells.’ Bruno was bluffing, but he was determined that she see a doctor, preferably Fabiola. She shouldbe back by now from whatever private patient she was seeing.
    He lifted Louis’s shotgun down from the hooks that held it to the wall, opened the breech, held the barrel to the window and squinted. Never much of a gun, it had been badly cared for. The barrels were pitted and it had barely been cleaned since it was last used. There was no sheen of gun oil around the breech and trigger and the wood of the stock was dry. Bruno sighed and took it outside to lock it inside his van before heading down to see the owner.
    Outside, the sky had clouded over and the breeze that never really died up here on the high plateau had turned chill with a hint of rain in the air. A pair of goats gazed up at him before lowering their heads once more to the rough grass. He could see Louis bent over the front of the old Somua tractor, trying to get the engine to turn over with a starting handle. As he approached, Bruno could hear curses interspersed between the dry wheezing of the cylinders. He noticed a jug of wine on the floor beside the vehicle. The wood of the barn needed a coat of creosote and one of the hinges on the doors was hanging loose.
    ‘What in hell do you want?’ came the surly inquiry. Junot barely looked up from the tractor and his voice was slurred with drink.
    ‘I want to talk to you. We’ve had a formal complaint that you’re beating your wife, and it’s clear that she’s been hurt. Was it you?’
    ‘None of your business.’
    ‘I’m afraid it is. It’s against the law. And where’s your daughter gone?’
    Junot stood up, throwing down the starting handle. He was a stocky figure of about Bruno’s height, heavy in the shoulders and with thick, well-muscled forearms. He glared at Bruno, his eyes red and his jaw clenching as if he was ready to fight.
    ‘Why don’t you leave us alone?’
    Bruno shook his head, keeping his eyes on Junot. ‘This is my job, Louis. I have to find out what’s going on. Where’s Francette? Or did you beat her up as well? Did you hurt her so badly that she left? Is that what happened?’
    Junot’s eyes narrowed and Bruno saw him shift his weight to his front foot and his left shoulder moved a fraction forward. Bruno knew the signs: Junot was going to throw a punch with his right fist.
    It came, slightly faster than Bruno had expected. As he ducked beneath the swing he saw Junot’s left coming from the other direction and his leg lifting for a kick. Bruno moved forward inside the left, caught the rising leg and jerked it upwards, sending Junot crashing onto his back. Junot rolled, clambered to his feet and was coming back at Bruno with the starting handle.
    ‘Don’t be a fool, Louis. Put it down and there’s no harm done,’ Bruno said. ‘Otherwise you’re facing a prison term.’
    With a cry that began as a curse and became a desperate wail, Junot attacked, swinging the handle like a cutlass. Bruno stepped back out of range and then slammed a punch into Junot’s kidney as the momentum took the man around. Junot came full circle, the handle still in his hand, but Bruno was expecting him, stepped inside the swing and hit him hardjust under the breastbone. It was a short punch but all of Bruno’s weight was behind the blow.
    Junot stopped as if he’d run into a wall.