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

explained why he needed Alphonse as they entered the cave, took the steps down to the pedal-boats and headed across the lake to the chapel.
    ‘My wife was here all day, making sure nobody went in,’ Marcel said, moving to one side the makeshift barrier of two chairs and a rope that kept visitors outside Our Lady’s Chapel.
    ‘There’s the goat,’ Bruno said to Alphonse. ‘What can you tell me?’
    ‘It’s an Anglo-Nubian, same as the ones I have,’ he replied, bending down to look at the severed head. ‘A lot of people call them the rabbit goat because of those long floppy ears. It’s quite a popular breed, good for cheese because the milk has a high butterfat content, and it’s a sturdy animal. That Roman nose is unmistakable.’
    ‘It’s not one of yours, is it?’
    Alphonse shook his head. ‘It’s got horns, and like most breeders we de-bud them soon after they’re born. I only know one breeder round here who lets the horns grow, and that’s Widow Venturin over by Sarlat. She raises males for stud, where people like to see a good set of horns. That flat, gentle curve is distinctive.’
    ‘If it’s one of hers, would she recognize it?’
    ‘Probably. I’d recognize all mine. They’re very affectionate, the Nubians, and love to have their necks stroked.’
    ‘Could you give her a call, ask if she’s sold any recently?’
    ‘I can do better than that. She’s coming to pick up some of my cheese because she’s running short for the Sarlat market. We often help each other out.’
    Bruno saw Isabelle grin at this unexpected insight into the local goat culture. Bruno handed Alphonse the plastic bag and suggested he take the head with him.
    ‘Hang on a moment,’ he said. ‘Let me just see …’
    Alphonse began peering intently at the raw flesh where the neck had been severed, and then at the back of the head and the brow. Although the chapel was well lit, he asked for more light. Bruno shone his torch onto the head. Alphonse took it from him to peer more closely at the neck.
    ‘That’s nasty,’ he said, leaning back on his heels. ‘It wasn’t killed humanely. There’s no sign of a stun-gun being used and there’s a deep cut in the neck at the main artery. Without seeing the rest of it I can’t be sure, but I’d say this goat was hung up by its heels, bled in the way the Arabs do it before the head was severed. It certainly wasn’t killed at an abattoir, like the law says.’
    Bruno knew that a fair number of pigs were killed that way by local farmers despite the law, because that was the way it had been done for centuries. Indeed, he’d usually attend at least one such event every year, and collecting the blood was important for making the
boudin noir
.
    ‘Does that mean somebody killed this goat for food?’
    Alphonse shook his head. ‘It’s not like a pig, you don’t usethe blood, at least I never heard of anyone doing so. This is an old male, which is not good eating, not like a tender kid. There’s not much demand around here for goat meat, not that I’ve heard, but I’ll ask the Widow. If it’s not one of hers, I wouldn’t know where to look.’
    Alphonse left with his plastic bag in his hand, the two long horns sticking out of the top. Marcel said he’d see him out and Bruno said he and Isabelle would continue on their own. She had already taken samples of the paint from the Madonna and the side wall and candles and put them into evidence bags. Together they made a careful search of the rest of the chamber, behind the Madonna and around the makeshift altar. Their only finds were a long thread of dark wool and a grubby white tassel. Either one could have come from anywhere and been there for years, but they bagged them anyway.
    ‘So if it wasn’t the boys, how did they get in?’ she asked.
    Bruno explained the limited number of entrances and then told her of the passage the Baron had shown him.
    ‘But I already looked and there were decades’ worth of dust there, quite undisturbed.’
    She said she’d like to see it anyway, so he led the way back, taking it slowly to favour her wounded leg. They passed Napoleon’s Bedchamber and the great organ on their way to the three solid stalagmites that rose like the stumpy teeth of some giant prehistoric beast to protect the entrance to the Baron’s secret way. He felt around with his hands until he found the ring and heaved up the trapdoor.
    ‘Follow me down but be careful, the steps are steep andnarrow. Best face