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

oriental rugs. She offered them the hard-backed chairs that faced her desk, but Bruno said he’d stand.
    ‘Your daughter’s ID card says she’s over the age of eighteen and is therefore free to live and work where she chooses,’ Béatrice said to Junot. He said nothing but chewed his lip and looked at Bruno, who simply nodded.
    Francette knocked and entered the room. She ignored the sad little gesture her father made as she walked past him and followed Béatrice’s invitation to stand with her behind the desk. She had been transformed from the slightly sluttish girl with too much eye make-up he remembered from the supermarket checkout. Her hair had been professionally styled and her make-up was discreet and flattering. She seemed to stand and walk differently and the suit of black silk that she wore flattered her slim figure. Her eyes looked a little tired, but otherwise Bruno had never seen her look better.
    ‘
Bonjour
, Francette,’ said Bruno. ‘How are you?’
    ‘I’m good,’ she said. ‘It’s nice to see you again, Bruno.’ She smiled and stretched out a hand across the desk for him to shake. Even her voice was different, lower in timbre and she spoke more slowly. She turned to Béatrice, who gestured her to go ahead.
    ‘I’ve been told that my father wishes to see me. You can see that I’m fine,’ Francette said. ‘I have a job and I have absolutely no intention of returning home to a drunken father who beats me and my mother. Not now and not ever.’ Her eyes were fixed on Bruno. ‘He ought to be in prison for what he did to us. And I hope my mother summons the courage to leave as well. Can I go now?’
    ‘I’m sorry,’ Junot said nervously, clasping and unclasping his hands. ‘But it’s different now. Your mother will tell you. I haven’t touched a drop in days. I’m sorry for what happened and we miss you at home.’
    ‘I’ll make my own arrangements to see Mother, but not you.’ There was no anger in her voice, just a chill neutrality.
    ‘At least think it over,’ Junot said, his voice cracking. ‘Ask your mum when you see her. She’ll tell you I’ve changed.’ He paused, his mouth working as if he wanted to say something else, but no words came. He looked to Bruno for inspiration, and blurted, ‘We’ve got the potatoes in.’
    Béatrice suppressed a smile and said, addressing Bruno, ‘I think there’s no more to be said.’
    ‘Thank you both for your time,’ Bruno said.
    ‘Please ensure that Monsieur Junot understands he is not welcome on these premises and if he ever returns, I shall call you and expect you to remove him,’ Béatrice said.
    ‘I understand,’ Bruno said, and turned to Francette. ‘It would be nice to see you at the tennis club one of these days. You were pretty good when you were in my classes.’ She gave him a quick smile that reminded Bruno of how she looked as a schoolgirl.
    Junot was trying to say something more, but Bruno guided him to the door and out through the bar. Junot stumbled along beside him, seeming to have lost all will of his own. Bruno led the way to the van, told him to fix his seat belt and drove off.
    ‘There’s nothing more that I can do for you, Louis, and nothing more the law can do,’ he said. ‘Your daughter’s an adult and she’s made her intentions clear. If I’m called to remove you from these premises in the future, you’ll be in very serious trouble. Understood?’
    Junot said nothing all the way back to St Denis. He sat hunched, with his hand to his eyes and his head downcast. When he stopped at a junction and looked left and right, Bruno could hardly miss the glistening tears on the man’s unshaven cheeks.
    Both windows open to rid the van of Junot’s pungent smell after dropping him back in St Denis, Bruno drove up the long hill to his home wondering how Isabelle might be feeling. There had been no answer when he called her from the market. He rounded the corner and saw her sitting in the spot by the kitchen window that was a sun trap, Balzac sniffing round her feet and a glass of something on the table before her. She put down a book as she saw his van and waved as Balzac began galloping to investigate this new arrival. Weighed down with a chicken and vegetables, cheese and fresh bread from the last of the market, Bruno bent to kiss her while fending off Balzac’s lunges for the bag with the chicken.
    ‘I’m much better,’ she said. ‘I had the last of the onion soup for breakfast and then