The Resistance Man (Bruno Chief of Police 6)

silent, J-J shrugged and said: ‘Give me your ID card.’
    Edouard took out his wallet and handed it across. J-J put it beside the iPad and said conversationally: ‘Over seventy per cent of people use four-digit codes for their PIN numbers that are taken from their birth date. Let’s try that.’
    He tapped four numbers but nothing happened. He tried another combination and the screen opened. Edouard stared at him as if witnessing some magical trick and then shook his head. He looked at J-J scrolling through various icons on the screen and seemed to reach a decision. Another little act of defiance, thought Bruno, another confession now due to come.
    ‘He said he keeps his phone turned off except that he calls me every day at eight in the morning and eight in the evening,’ Edouard burst out. ‘You can see that from the dialling logs.’
    ‘And do you have any little code between friends to say that all is well and the stupid police haven’t yet caught on?’ J-J asked.
    Edouard began to babble, as if he could not wait to tell them everything that he knew or suspected. But Bruno noted that everything he said was about Paul, not a word about himself, about Arch-Inter or even about Francis Fullerton. Maybe Edouard was made of sterner stuff, after all, giving up whateverhe thought the police wanted to know. But perhaps there were other secrets still unspoken and still protected behind this flood of confession. Maybe it was time to push Edouard a bit harder.
    Bruno waited until Edouard stopped talking and then spoke thoughtfully, as though thinking aloud. ‘Why don’t we get the art squad back in here to have another crack at him? They’ll be really angry that they missed all this so they’ll drop the kid gloves this time. We’ve got enough to hold him so we might as well let them have some credit.’
    ‘I think we can bring in more than just the art squad,’ said J-J, swivelling the iPad so Bruno could see the images of naked boys on the screen. ‘This looks like a different kind of art to me. I’m disappointed in you, Edouard, I didn’t expect this. Tell me, Bruno, how old do you think these kids are? These two are under-age, I’ll take my oath. Josette, who runs the paedophile squad in Bordeaux these days? Is it still that old brute Pontin?’
    ‘It’s still him,
chef
, the last I heard.’ She rose and turned to look at the images. ‘Definitely under-age, I’d say.’
    ‘Inspector Pontin’s a legend in this business,’ J-J said conversationally, scrolling through more photos. ‘You’re going to have a very interesting time with him, Edouard. Oh dear, this little boy can’t be more than thirteen. Old Pontin won’t like these pictures at all. And you a professor at the university. Well, I think we can say your teaching career’s over. And do you have any idea what happens to paedos in prison?’
    Edouard had drawn up his legs and shrunk into a crouch on the chaise longue, his hands over his face.
    ‘Last chance, Edouard,’ said Bruno. ‘Maybe there’s some more help you can give us on finding Paul.’

27
    Bruno had the Mayor’s formal permission to be late for work so that he could collect Pamela from hospital. Even so, he was outside the Moulin bakery when it opened at seven. In his Land Rover was a thermos flask with fresh coffee, in the cooler a half-bottle of champagne and some fresh-squeezed orange juice, butter and his own home-made blackcurrant jam. He bought three croissants, three
pains au chocolat
and a baguette, all still hot from the oven, handed them to Fabiola in the passenger seat and drove to the Sarlat hospital to give Pamela a special breakfast before taking her home.
    It had been the Mayor’s idea. When Bruno had called him late the previous afternoon from Bordeaux to say he was driving back to Périgueux with J-J and Edouard, their prisoner, the Mayor insisted on driving to Périgueux to collect him. When Fabiola had called Bruno’s mobile to say they could bring Pamela home the next day, the Mayor suggested Bruno should leave the town to police itself until Pamela was safely installed back in St Denis.
    The Mayor had taken him to Jacqueline’s for supper and found her on the phone, doing an interview with
France-Inter
on her article in
Le Monde
.
    ‘Just before the two of you returned, I had a rather moredifficult call from Paris,’ Jacqueline said when she put down the phone. ‘It came from the minister of the interior, a deeply unpleasant man with whom I