The Resistance Man (Bruno Chief of Police 6)

yesterday’s date. Under the seat was a magazine called
Antiques Weekly
and he noticed some maps and other papers in the door pocket. He took a pair of evidence gloves from his pouch. One set of papers seemed to be a rental agreement for the van for three weeks from a branch of Avis in some town called Croydon. The renter was named as FrancisFullerton. Tucked into the Avis folder was a ticket stub from the 7 a.m. Eurostar train the previous day. Bruno checked that the registration number on the ticket matched that of the blue Ford. The other sheaf of papers was from Delightful Dordogne, the local holiday rentals agency run by Dougal, a retired Scottish businessman. The
gîte
was rented to a Francis Fullerton for two weeks, starting as usual with such agreements on a Saturday. So why had Fullerton arrived early?
    The rest of the van was empty and Bruno went back to the body. Some mixed euro and British coins were in a trouser pocket and he found a British passport in the denim jacket. He walked back to the Clio, where Albert and Valentoux were leaning against the side, smoking. Valentoux was still carrying his plastic bag.
    ‘What’s in there?’ Bruno asked, gesturing at the bag. In the distance, he could hear a siren. The Gendarmes seemed at last to have found the place.
    Valentoux lifted the bag and looked at it in confusion, as if he’d never seen it before. He handed it to Bruno. ‘I was going to welcome him with lunch.’
    Inside was a baguette, a
saucisson
, cheese, fruit and tomatoes and a bottle of champagne, no longer cold. Nestling at the bottom was a small wrapped package. Bruno asked him to open it.
    ‘I’d rather not, it’s a gift,’ said Valentoux, and then caught himself. He took the package, tore open the silver bow and the gold wrapping paper. Inside was a gift box which he opened to reveal a Laguiole folding knife with a wooden handle and corkscrew and a leather pouch. ‘Francis had always wanted one.’
    ‘What time did you get here?’
    ‘About one thirty, maybe a bit later. I left Paris before seven this morning to avoid the rush.’ He tossed his cigarette to the ground, crushed it with a violent twist of his foot, then took a pack of Marlboro Gold from his jacket pocket to light another. Then he offered the packet. Bruno shook his head but Albert took one.
    ‘Did you come by the autoroute? You should have a receipt.’
    Valentoux went round to the side door of his Clio and took two pieces of paper from the well between the front seats. One was an autoroute
péage
receipt for that day and the other from a petrol station in Limoges, timed at 11.28 a.m. that morning. That was consistent with his arrival at about half-past one. Bruno nodded and put them in his notebook.
    ‘His call to the emergency service came at 1.43 p.m. and he was transferred to us. He sounded panicked, said he thought his friend was dead,’ said Albert. ‘I got here about twenty minutes later and called you.’
    ‘What brings you down here?’ Bruno asked Valentoux.
    ‘I’m going to be working here for the summer at the drama festival in Sarlat. We were going to start with a small holiday together, just the two of us.’ His French was educated, the accent Parisian.
    ‘How long had you been friends?’ The approaching siren was louder now, distracting Valentoux.
    ‘We were more than friends. I met Francis in London in January.’
    ‘How did you meet?’
    ‘I was guest director at a small theatre in Islington. He came to the opening night party with one of the actors.’
    Bruno showed him the passport photo and Valentoux said that it was Francis Fullerton. He threw a quick glance at the blanket-shrouded body and shuddered.
    ‘What do you know about him?’
    ‘We spent a lot of time together in London and then he came to visit me in Paris last month. He’s in France quite often.’
    ‘Why’s that?’
    ‘He’s an antiques dealer. He buys British antiques, mainly furniture, and brings them here to sell at French
brocante
fairs. Then he buys French furniture here to take back to England. He seemed to do well out of it, never short of money and always generous.’ Valentoux’s voice caught as he said this.
    Bruno was about to ask why the blue van was empty and where Fullerton’s clothes might be when his phone rang. It was J-J, returning his call. Bruno turned away to give J-J a briefing and directions and then a familiar Twingo came in sight at the end of the lane, followed by the flashing blue light