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

Belgian border. The last coal mine there closed just before I was born. No jobs, shit schools, Dad died and Mum was a drunk who kept bringing home men who liked my pretty face – what else was I going to do? When I was fifteen I headed for Paris with my best friend. You can imagine the rest. The friend got into drugs. She’s dead now.’
    ‘And the arrests?’ Bruno made an effort to his keep his voice dispassionate.
    ‘The first time was working for an escort agency. They rounded up all the girls from the agency records but they couldn’t make the charges stick. Maybe they were paid off.’
    ‘And the second?’
    ‘I’d moved on to an exclusive
maison de passe
, not quite Madame Claude’s but close. We were known as Chez Foufounette.’
    Her eyes twinkled as she said it. Foufounette was the most affectionate of French slang words for the female genitalia.
    ‘No mistaking the speciality of the house.’ He couldn’t help grinning.
    ‘You’d be surprised,’ Béatrice replied, laughing in return. ‘Some of the clients even surprised me. That ended when a deputy from the
Assemblée Nationale
reckoned he’d caught a dose and complained to the Mayor. We were raided but some of the other clients ensured it was hushed up. One of them offered to make me his mistress and set me up in my own apartment. I said I’d be delighted to be his mistress but I’d like a job. He started me in public relations and it went from there.’
    ‘And then you met the Count.’
    ‘And then I met César. He’s a very sweet guy, takes good care of his old mistresses. So he knows all about my past. You can’t put pressure on me that way.’
    ‘I don’t intend to. I really just wanted to ask if Junot had been here. But I also have to ask whether this place has anything to do with your old profession.’
    ‘You mean whether our corporate clients are able to enjoy female company? As I said, you’re no innocent. We don’t exactly discourage it. The girls can always say no.’
    ‘Is that how Francette got that thick lip?’
    ‘No, it was like I told you.’ Her good humour had suddenly gone. ‘Francette fell because of a clumsy guest, not exactly sober. At least, that’s what she told me. I wasn’t in the room.’
    ‘Might Junot have known what his daughter was doing here?’
    ‘Not unless Francette told him. We’re very discreet.’
    ‘Yes, I can tell,’ he said, rising. ‘Thanks for your time. Tell me, is Eugénie also part of your stable?’
    ‘Why? Are you interested?’ Her eyes twinkled at him again and he wondered if it was genuine or something she turned on and off at will. ‘As it happens, she isn’t, but maybe she’s spoken for.’
    The
déchetterie
of St Denis was run by an old
sous-officier
of the paras, a giant of a man known as Jacquot, who ruled over the municipal rubbish dump as if it were a parade ground. Woe betide any citizen who dared to mix their plastics with their leftovers or their dead batteries with their garden waste, or whose car moved a centimetre outside the painted guidelines that led to each of the huge containers. Bruno parked outside and walked in to shake hands and ask about plastic sheeting or any other kind of wrapping that might have been dumped on Saturday night or Sunday.
    ‘We’re closed then,’ said Jacquot.
    ‘Yes, but we both know people throw stuff over the fence. They can see which container is which.’ Jacquot on occasion hid in his little wooden hut to spy on malefactors and take photos of their crimes. A couple of well-publicized fineshad curtailed that practice but not stopped it altogether.
    ‘We’ll start with plastic,’ said Jacquot, leading the way and placing a stepladder against the container. He had a long pole with a sturdy hook on the end to sift through the rubbish.
    ‘There was a box in the cardboard bin I wanted to take a look at later, hadn’t been folded. That always makes me think there’s something stuffed inside. They think I don’t notice but I’ll get them later. See my new box of tricks?’ Jacquot pointed to the top of his hut and Bruno saw a small camera.
    ‘Was that working over the weekend?’ Bruno asked.
    ‘Of course it was. Why do you think I installed it?’
    The sides of the container for cardboard were too high for Bruno to peer in.
    ‘I’ll have to get inside,’ said Jacquot. ‘Bring that other ladder over, the one leaning against my hut.’
    He climbed in, pulling a knife from his belt, and Bruno followed him up