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

unbalanced, made to look ungainly by later changes. Off to the southern side stretched a conservatory, and to the north a series of covered arches led the way to the private chapel. What had once been a moat had become a gentle slope of grass and shrubbery.
    ‘It’s amazing that buildings like this still belong to the old families,’ said Isabelle. ‘I thought the revolution was supposed to change all that.’
    ‘Don’t forget who owns it,’ said J-J. ‘I half expect to see a red flag flying over the battlements.’
    In the courtyard Bruno saw a familiar white Jaguar parked beside a small Peugeot and a Kango van. As they got out of J-J’s car, Bruno donned his official képi. He was climbing the steps when the arched door opened and a maid in a black dress with a starched white apron and a small white cap bobbed a greeting.
    ‘Commissaire Jalipeau, Inspecteur Perreau and Chef de Police Courrèges, to see the Countess on official business,’ said J-J. ‘But first, have you seen this woman?’
    He thrust towards her a copy of the pathologist’s photograph and the maid stepped back, startled. She glanced at the picture, blinked and retreated without a word, leading them into a large hall with a chequerboard floor of dark and light-grey flagstones and old tapestries on the walls. She turned and went through a side door, leaving J-J staring crosslyafter her. It was much colder inside than it had been in the open air. A grand fireplace, as large as a family car, stood empty except for a single fat log left on the firedogs. As he stepped forward to look at the faded battle scenes on the tapestries, Bruno caught a curious, almost medicinal scent in the air. It reminded him of hospitals.
    Double doors opened and Lionel Foucher stepped through. He stopped to nod coolly at Bruno and then raised his eyebrows to look at Isabelle with an imperious gaze that raked her from head to foot and back again. Bruno could feel her stiffen at the intrusion of his stare. Foucher half-smiled and opened the doors wide, then moved to one side to allow an elderly woman, dressed in black silk with a high lace collar, to enter the room.
    ‘
Monsieur le Commissaire
, I understand you wish to see my sister. I am afraid she is indisposed. May I be of assistance? I am Héloïse de la Gorce.’
    She held out her hand, more as if she expected it to be kissed than to be shaken. It seemed to have a ring on each finger, perhaps to conceal the claw-like twists that arthritis had inflicted. Her iron-grey hair looked as if it had been carved from stone. She wore no make-up, but a large red jewel shone from the lace at her throat.
    ‘Commissaire Jalipeau, Madame,’ said J-J, and introduced the others. He looked at Foucher. ‘Who’s this?’
    ‘Monsieur Foucher helps manage the estate,’ she said. Her eyes swept from Bruno to Isabelle and back to J-J.
    ‘When you say your sister is indisposed …’
    ‘She is an invalid and has been for some years. How may I be of assistance?’ she repeated.
    J-J showed the photograph and explained. She took it, glanced at it cursorily and handed it to Foucher with an order that it be circulated among the staff.
    ‘I think the dead deserve a little more respect than that, Madame,’ said Isabelle, stepping forward to intercept Foucher. She took the photograph from him and held it up in front of the old woman’s face. ‘Please look at it more carefully.’
    The old woman could hardly avoid doing so.
    ‘Nobody that I know of,’ she said. ‘That expression, it could be anybody.’
    ‘We have reason to believe that the boat which carried her down the river came from your boathouse, Madame,’ Bruno said. ‘Please assemble your staff so that we may question them. And perhaps you might explain your sister’s illness.’
    The old lady studied him coldly and without turning her head told Foucher to call the staff to the entrance hall. She turned back to Bruno and said, ‘Follow me.’
    She crossed the hall and stood by the double doors on the other side, waiting, Bruno realized, for them to be opened for her. He complied, smiling politely, then narrowed his eyes against the sudden glare of light that came from the next room, the conservatory. The scent of medicine became stronger.
    ‘Here’s my sister,’ said the old lady, striding to a modern hospital bed which was backed by row upon row of machines that Bruno had hitherto seen only in a hospital. An immobile figure with sparse white hair lay upon