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

pulled out from the station at Le Buisson, heading towards Bordeaux and threading its way through the great vineyards of Pomerol and St Emilion. It had been a sweet morning, waking and taking her a tray with coffee and orange juice and the snuffling of a basset hound to wake her, before some gentle love-making. When they rose, they made a tour of the garden and the chicken coop, where she insisted that the hens remembered her as she gathered the eggs. They had taken a slow stroll through the woods with Balzac and then driven down to St Denis for coffee and croissants at Fauquet’s, with
France-Dimanche
for her and the Sunday edition of
Sud-Ouest
for him. He bought her a baguette to go with the duck sausage and a jar of his own foie gras and one of Stephane’s
tommes
that he had put into a bag along with a bottle of mineral water for the journey. No true Périgourdin thought it safe to travel with anything less, he assured her, as he kissed her goodbye on the station platform.
    The Mayor greeted him with a tall glass of his own
vin de noix
, topped up with ice and tonic water, and they sat in the shade of the willow trees by the river as Bruno recounted his researches. The Mayor played with Balzac as he listened to the long tale from Thivion to Wall Street and Lebanon, from hedge funds to insider trading and the political connectionsthat went with being an
Enarque
and a friend of the President’s son.
    ‘Could the son be part of this fund that’s investing in our holiday village?’ the Mayor asked. ‘They wouldn’t dare try any funny business with us then.’
    The shareholdings were a mystery, locked in Luxembourg, Bruno explained. The only safe way to do business with them was with cast-iron legal guarantees, backed up by penalty clauses and good collateral.
    ‘You mean we should insist on holding some shares in his investment company to guarantee us against loss?’
    ‘Yes, but the problem with an investment company is that its assets are the brains of its people, who can leave quickly,’ Bruno said. He explained that the Count did possess an asset that St Denis could require as collateral, the hotel at St Philippon. The Count was not going to stop bringing in his defence clients, because he’d want to take the place over again once the holiday village was built and the collateral returned. ‘It’s the only way I can think of to ensure we don’t lose on the deal.’
    ‘What if he refuses to go ahead on that basis? It seems a bit harsh, after they’re clearly serious about building us this sports hall. We could lose the whole project.’
    ‘Better that than ending up like Thivion,’ Bruno said.
    The Mayor was silent, caressing the puppy asleep in his lap. ‘I spoke to the Mayor in Thivion. He made it sound even worse than your own account of it. That’s not the kind of legacy I want to leave. Mind you, I’m not sure about this Satanist business. Look what came in yesterday’s post.’
    He handed across an envelope addressed to the Mayor of St Denis-le-Diable. Bruno rolled his eyes.
    ‘It’s a joke of course, from one of my colleagues on the
Conseil-Général
, but it’s one with a bitter taste.’
    ‘One more thing you should know,’ Bruno said, and told him of the tentative identification by
Paris-Match
of the woman in the boat, and his promise to keep it confidential.
    ‘The granddaughter of the Red Countess in a porn film? That’ll make a stir.’ The Mayor shook his head. ‘It’s a sad end to what must have been a tragic life.’
    Bruno’s phone began to vibrate and he saw it was Albert. He was one of the two professionals who ran the town’s volunteer fire brigade, which also served as the medical emergency service.
    ‘We’ve got a bad accident reported on the ridge road to Les Eyzies,’ Albert said. ‘If you’re in town we can go out together while the siren gets my lads in.’
    ‘With you in two minutes,’ he replied, and explained to the Mayor. ‘Can I leave the dog with you until I get back?’
    ‘I was hoping you would,’ the Mayor replied. As Bruno left, the town siren began its eerie, penetrating whine that swooped and fell, a sound that still carried memories of war and dive bombers and even today meant emergency and death. Half-drone, half-shriek, it carried way down the valley. Bruno knew that farmers and shop clerks, accountants and waiters would be heading for the fire station to don their equipment and roll out the big emergency vehicle.
    They took