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

and if the dentists never misfiled their records and the courts didn’t condemn it as a breach of human rights.’ He spoke lightly, trying to be jocular, conscious of a slight sense of challenge in trying to provoke some life into her face. He did not succeed.
    ‘What about those markings on the body?’ she asked. ‘Perhaps they could help identify her.’
    ‘If they had been tattoos, you could be right. But they were temporary markings.’
    She raised an eyebrow. ‘You must have heard the radio, that business about Satanism.’
    ‘No, I didn’t hear the radio. But I talked to the reporter and said it seemed far-fetched. It doesn’t seem to have stopped him.’
    ‘You don’t take it seriously?’
    ‘Death is always serious, but I don’t know what the devil has to do with it.’
    ‘Your local priest sounded rather alarmed, according to what I heard on the radio. And he seemed to know what he was talking about.’
    ‘So he should. He’s a priest,’ Bruno said. ‘Getting alarmed about the devil is part of his job description.’
    She considered this. ‘You mean like that line from Voltaire – “God will pardon me; it’s his profession.”’
    Bruno smiled. ‘That sounds about right, but I didn’t know it came from Voltaire.’
    ‘These clever sayings usually do,’ she said with a sudden and unexpected smile. It felt to Bruno like a reward. ‘That’s why I always say Voltaire when I don’t really know.’ She fell silent, but the smile lingered on her lips and she waited, as if expecting him to say something.
    ‘Are you living down here or just visiting?’ he asked. He remembered that Foucher had called her his partner. She wore no wedding ring, just a curiously shaped black band in some dull metal that seemed to curl sinuously up her index finger like a tiny snake. Her eyes followed his glance and she shifted her grip on her horse’s bridle.
    ‘Visiting, but I might end up staying some time,’ she said. Again there was that short pause, as if waiting for a translation, before her reply.
    ‘The Mayor told me about the plans for a holiday village,’ he said, aware that his probing was clumsy and that she’d realize he was simply trying to prolong the conversation. ‘That’s a big piece of land to put together.’
    She said nothing, didn’t even shrug. ‘I must be getting back. Among other things, there’s an old lady I have to look after.’
    Bruno’s thoughts went back to his phone conversation with Pamela. Perhaps this woman would know something useful about caring for the elderly.
    ‘Do you do it yourself or do you hire specialists?’ he asked.
    ‘I do it. I had a very wise …’ She paused, as if choosing the next word with care. ‘A very wise guardian who said I would grow too tall to be a dancer, so he made sure I trained as a nurse.’
    This time there was a hint of another expression on her face; the faintest tightening of the mouth and a lowering of eyebrows. It passed as quickly as the dappling of sunlight through the hesitant leaves of springtime. She turned, leading the horse back through the clearing to the bridle path that led down to the river. ‘
Au revoir.
’
    He wanted to ask her if she still danced and how far she had pursued it, but instead he watched her go, hearing her spurs catch and click, thinking he should have advised her to remove them while she walked through the wood.

6
    Bruno had risen early, fed his chickens and been for a run through the woods behind his home, knowing the paths too well to be distracted by the mists that rose from the river at this time of year. It was at times like this that he most missed Gigi, the way the dog had trotted beside him and then darted away to follow some new scent, before finding his way back to rejoin Bruno for the final sprint along the ridge back to the house. He would have to find another dog. But Gigi had come from a litter of the Mayor’s hunting hound, and she was now too old for breeding. He would wait until he found a puppy from a strain he knew that he could raise and train himself.
    He stopped at the newest of the town’s five
boulangeries
, a place with an artificial windmill that had become popular partly because it was the only bakery with its own car park. The other reason was Louise, the baker’s attractive wife, who pursed her lips to blow Bruno a kiss as she staggered back into the shop carrying a tray filled with fresh loaves. He waved back and stood in line, greeting the others who