The Resistance Man (Bruno Chief of Police 6)

house. But we got all the stuff back from Fullerton’s place in the Corrèze. We very nearly caught up with you both there.’
    Paul nodded. ‘So what brings the St Denis policeman into this?’
    ‘Apart from the burglaries being on my turf, I was at your grandfather’s deathbed. He had one of the Neuvic banknotes in his hands as he died. I’m keeping his Resistance medal for you and the photos he had of himself in the Groupe Valmy.’
    Bruno’s legs had stopped trembling and he felt the first glimmer of relief that this encounter was turning into a dialogue, just as the book on hostage negotiations said it should.
    ‘One of the photos was of the Neuvic operation. And after he died I found some photos of you and him together. I’ve got one in my shirt pocket. I thought you’d like to have it. Can I get it out and show you?’
    ‘Just keep your hands in the air. Does that mean you were the one who organized the funeral?’
    Bruno nodded. ‘Your grandfather got a good send-off. Half the town was there with a military honour guard and we sang the
Chant des Partisans
. Did you get close enough to see anything of it?’
    ‘Not as close as I’d have liked. But I heard the music.’
    ‘I went to see your aunt, Joséphine.’
    ‘So I heard. You bought a couple of my pictures, got them cheap, just as you did with the Neuvic banknotes.’
    ‘I paid what I was asked.’
    Paul considered that and nodded. He glanced down at Balzac, who was sniffing around his ankles. ‘That’s a nice basset, what’s his name?’
    ‘Balzac.’
    Paul smiled, that same smile Bruno had seen in the surveillance photo at the printing shop. Bruno understood why the shop girl had been charmed.
    ‘Tell me, why did you bring Balzac?’
    ‘Because I know you like animals.’
    Paul laughed. He looked calm and self-possessed, with none of the nervous stress Bruno had expected. Bruno found that at last he was able to swallow as his own tension began to ease.
    ‘You’re a strange kind of cop. What’s your name?’ ‘Bruno, Bruno Courrèges. I’m the town policeman at St Denis, as your sister said.’
    ‘Bruno, I’ve heard that name before. I seem to remember seeing something in the papers about pulling a Chinese kid out of a fire, and that thing in the big cave, was that you?’
    Bruno nodded. Paul eyed him curiously.
    ‘How did you get on to me?’
    ‘A postman remembered the van and the France-Chauffage sign you faked, so I went to the sign shop, where they had a security camera. Then I took your picture to the
Zone Industriel
in Belvès and met one of your admirers, a woman called Nicolle. She recognized you from the photo. So then I had a name and we began to check known addresses and went to see your aunt and began looking for Yvonne.’
    Paul laughed. ‘I haven’t thought of Nicolle in a while. So it was all because a postman saw the van. Would that have been somewhere near the place where Francis was killed?’
    ‘On the track to the house. He was leaving after delivering some post, you were heading towards it. I presume Francis was still alive then.’
    ‘Assume all you like.’ He paused and then cocked his head as if remembering something. ‘How long have you had this job?’
    ‘Ten years, and yes, I was the cop who came to investigate the attack on that holiday place ten years ago when you and Edouard Marty were beaten up with the older English guys. You were the one taken to the clinic with the broken nose where you gave a false name and address, and either Francis Fullerton drove or he was the one with the broken arm.’
    Paul nodded slowly and studied Bruno without speaking. The Sten did not waver. ‘Are you armed?’ he asked.
    ‘I have a small gun in an ankle holster. A snub-nose revolver. It couldn’t reach you at this range. I wouldn’t have worn it but senior colleagues insisted. They think you’re a murderer. I’m not so sure.’
    ‘Why do you say that?’ Paul sounded genuinely curious. ‘The papers and the radio are all saying I’m guilty.’
    ‘Partly it’s the hospice where you volunteered, partly it’s your paintings, but it’s mainly because I can’t bring myself to believe you killed Francis in a
crime passionnel
. I think you loved him but I can’t see you being jealous in that way. And I can’t see you beating him to death like that, so brutally.’
    ‘Well, you’re right about that.’ He gave a short laugh. ‘All of it.’
    ‘Tell me what happened, Paul. If you didn’t do