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

Julien called from the knot of men leaving the café and heading for the entrance to the
Mairie
. ‘The Mayor’s called a meeting and Father Sentout’s with him. It looks like he’s going to give us the OK for the exorcism.’
    Back in Fauquet’s café, the reporter from
Paris-Match
was still sitting at the same corner table. He’d finished
Le Figaro
and
Le Monde
and was now on the financial stories in
Les Echos
.
    ‘
Bonjour
, Gilles. How goes your inquiry into the dead woman?’ Bruno asked, taking a seat opposite the journalist.
    ‘I’m pretty sure I know who she is. I should get confirmation later today.’ Gilles looked pleased with himself. ‘Hollywood is nine hours behind us, so sometime this evening.’
    ‘Hollywood?’ Bruno had not expected that. ‘I have a showbiz story for you. I’ve just come from a meeting with the Mayor and Father Sentout. There’ll be a service of exorcism in the cave on Monday morning at ten, and outside those of us who were in the room, you’re the first to know.’
    ‘Is it open to the public and will media be there?’ Gilles pulled out a computer notebook and started to log on.
    ‘Yes and yes,’ Bruno replied. ‘How do you get your little scoop out?’
    ‘Twitter first, then the website.’
    ‘And now tell me about Hollywood.’
    ‘Give me a minute here,’ Gilles said, tapping away on his tiny keyboard. ‘Get yourself some coffee. Are you free for lunch?’
    Bruno shook his head and thought of his promise to Junot. ‘Duty calls,’ he said. Gilles was still tapping at his computer when Bruno got back with his coffee, and at the same time talking into a tiny microphone attached to a stylish earpiece. He made some decisive clicks, closed his notebook, removed the earpiece and beckoned to Bruno to join him.
    ‘Here’s the deal,’ he said. ‘I’ll give you the name so you can start your own checks, but on condition that nobody else gets it before I break the story. I’ll tell you when that’ll be, probably this evening. OK?’
    Bruno agreed.
    ‘Then come and sit beside me, watch the screen and put the earpiece in,’ Gilles said, shuffling sideways on the bench to make room as he loaded a video program.
    ‘Is this her?’ he asked.
    An attractive blonde, naked from the waist up, appeared on the screen. Her eyes were closed and she was making grunting noises and rocking up and down. Two male hands came from beneath her and began to massage her breasts. She opened her eyes and stared hungrily into the camera, took one of the hands from her breast and lifted it to her mouth and began to suck on the fingers.
    ‘
Mon Dieu
,’ said Bruno. ‘It’s her, and it’s a porn film.’
    ‘Soft porn, 1990s vintage. No pubic hair, no genitals, no penetration. Very tame stuff. Her name on the credits is Athénaïs de Bourbon, which I think we can assume is a stage name. Here she is again.’
    He loaded another video. This time Bruno heard American accents speaking fast. On the screen appeared a suburban living room where three expensively dressed women were sitting at a coffee table drinking what looked like martinis. One of them was the woman in the porno film.
    ‘She had a bit part in a soap opera which was pretty big back in its day, using the same stage name. She played a French teacher. I assume that job fell through and she started doing soft porn to pay the bills.’
    Gilles brought back the porn film and froze it on a frame where the woman looked relatively normal, her eyes open and her mouth closed. He juggled with the mouse, blackedout the breasts and turned the frame into a close-up showing only the face. Bruno started at her, fascinated.
    ‘I tracked down her agent but the guy who dealt with her is dead. I spoke to a colleague who said none of them had seen her in years. But he’s going into his office this morning California time to check his files and try to find the real name that was on her work permit.’
    ‘Whatever they have, a work permit or a resident’s green card, it should have a fingerprint. Get them to fax it over to me at this number.’ Bruno handed over his card. ‘If they have a record of her dentist, we’ll need her dental records for full confirmation.’

21
    In Bruno’s van, Junot could not sit still. He gnawed at his fingernails and asked endless questions, demanding reassurances. Sometimes his feet drummed, or was he pretending to drive, echoing Bruno’s moves with clutch and brake? Bruno indulged him, let him ramble