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

bonhomie of a decent man feeling ashamed of himself. In silence, the two of them walked back to the minibus just as the Mayor extracted Father Sentout and Florence from the knot of reporters and cameras. As Foucher joined them, Brunomade a point of shaking his hand, and saw, as he’d expected, a streak of oil on the man’s palm.
    ‘Well done, Father, a wonderful performance,’ said the Baron as the priest took his place in the middle row of the bus.
    Amid a flurry of congratulations and recollections of this and that event and much courtly praise of Florence, they drove off and to Bruno’s surprise they passed through St Denis and headed out on the back road to Les Eyzies. He’d assumed the Mayor had arranged a lunch in the
Mairie
as he did on other civic occasions. Instead, it looked as if they were heading for a restaurant. It was when they turned off on the road to St Philippon that Bruno realized they were heading for the Count’s hotel.
    Discreetly he opened his phone and looked again at the text from Isabelle that he’d received when he went into the cave some two hours earlier. It was succinct in Isabelle’s usual style and he saw it had come from a mobile phone number he’d never known her use before. Perhaps she was taking precautions. It read: ‘Béatrice 2 arrests prostitution Paris. No convix. Faxing.’
    There were several reasons why an arrest might not lead to a conviction, nor even to a formal charge, particularly with prostitutes who were often dismissed with a warning. Magistrates tended to look askance at a case where the only witness was an undercover
flic
from the morals squad, particularly when the same
flic
appeared in a dozen cases one after another. In some stations a woman could buy herself out of trouble with services rendered, usually sexual but sometimeswith information. But Bruno had never heard of such an arrest being made without cause.
    A loud horn sounded repeatedly behind them. The driver pulled in and a white Jaguar swept past them, Foucher at the wheel, the Count beside him, and Béatrice and Eugénie waving cheerfully from the rear seat. It was going to be quite a party, thought Bruno, until he saw Father Sentout looking after the disappearing car, his face white and his lips moving as his fingers worked on his rosary beads. Had he been stunned to recognize someone in the car or was he just feeling the reaction from his exertions in the cave?
    ‘We finally manage to get you here for an informal occasion, although you’re still in uniform.’ Béatrice handed Bruno one glass of Pol Roger and a second to the Baron, who kissed her on both cheeks and called her ‘
ma belle
’. At a sign from the Mayor, Bruno excused himself and squeezed past J-J’s bulky form to join the Mayor and the Count, who were talking business with Foucher. Or rather, the Count was explaining the problems with Thivion in much the same way that Eugénie had outlined the impact of the financial crisis and the attempt to salvage something from the wreck.
    ‘If you want to slog through the paperwork, you’re welcome,’ the Count concluded. ‘You’ll find I lost money on the deal.’
    ‘As much as Thivion?’ Bruno asked politely. He knew his role when the Mayor summoned him to an encounter such as this. He was to ask the questions the Mayor would have put, except that his Mayor wanted to remain above anycontroversy so that he could intervene later as the sensible man of compromise and agreement.
    ‘Thivion would not have lost a centime if they’d followed my advice.’ The Count remained affable, refusing to rise to Bruno’s bait. Suddenly the Mayor excused himself and crossed to join an urgently beckoning Father Sentout, leaving Bruno, the Count and Foucher.
    ‘The Mayor in Thivion is a fool,’ said Foucher. ‘I spent hours with him, trying to explain that the worst option was to cut back on the quality of the project. But he refused to guarantee the loan we needed, so we had no option. I’m not proud of the way it turned out but we did our best.’
    ‘I suppose you know I’ve been trying to see you both,’ Bruno said. The Count nodded and said he thought he knew why. Bruno put down his glass and took a folded print of Athénaïs’s photograph from his breast pocket and showed it to him. ‘Your grandmother has identified this woman as her great-niece, your cousin Athénaïs. Do you agree?’
    The Count gave the photo a casual glance. ‘I believe I do, although I haven’t seen