The Resistance Man (Bruno Chief of Police 6)

him. He rang me Monday and asked if he could take the place a couple of days early. It was empty that week and he seemed like a nice enough chap so I agreed.’
    ‘Very trusting.’
    Dougal shrugged. ‘It’s the way I do business. He’d already paid for the original booking with a bank transfer. I’ve made you a copy so you’ll have his bank details.’
    ‘Did you see him at all?’
    ‘Yes, he came to the office here the day before yesterday just after five to pick up the keys and paid for the extra days in cash. You can see where I marked it.’
    Dougal led Bruno to the giant wall chart. It dominated the large, airy room in the old public laundry that he had rescued from ruin and converted into offices. The houses he rented were listed from top to bottom on the chart and from left to right were columns for each of the weeks of the season. Crimson’s name was not among them, although Bruno noted that the other burglary victims were listed along with the
gîte
where Fullerton’s body had been found. Bruno ran his finger along the right line and saw Fullerton’s name with a tick in the small box beside it to show the rent had been paid and another to show the cleaning had been done and sheets and towels installed and the swimming pool cleaned. There was a small hand-drawn arrow pointing to the current week, and a scribbled note that said: ‘Three days paid.’
    ‘I used to keep this on the computer as a spreadsheet,’ said Dougal. ‘But then I put it up on the wall so that the cleaners and other maintenance people could see when they were assigned to each property.’
    ‘So anybody who worked here could see at a glance when a house would be available for rent, which meant the owners were away?’
    ‘That’s so. You must be thinking that was how the burglars chose their victims, but most of my people have been with me for some time. I know them pretty well and trust the ones working for me now. Still, I can print out a list of all the employees if you want.’
    Bruno said he needed that and then a thought struck him. ‘What if an owner doesn’t want to rent out his house but still needs a cleaner or gardener or pool maintenance? Do you offer that as a separate service?’
    ‘We do, mainly for the pool maintenance. There aren’t many takers for the cleaners and gardeners. Most people have their own connections because it’s cheaper. They pay cash whereas we have to pay the social charges for our employees. It damn near doubles the overall wage bill.’
    ‘Is Monsieur Crimson one of your clients? His house is not on the list.’
    Dougal led Bruno around his desk to another wall with another chart that listed the separate pool and garden and cleaning services and pointed to Crimson’s name.
    ‘He comes to us for pool and garden work. He used to have cleaning as well but then Ga
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lle realized she could do better on her own than working for me. We always make our people work Saturday mornings because that’s the changeover day for most rentals. She said she wanted the weekends off.’
    One of his daughters brought in two cups of coffee from the espresso machine in the kitchen as Dougal called up the Crimson file on his computer. Bruno greeted her, asked after the children and then copied down the names and contact details of the gardener and the pool-maintenance man.
    ‘Any of your staff that you have doubts about?’ Bruno asked when Kirsten had gone.
    ‘Not any more. One or two turned out to be unsatisfactory in the early days but we weeded them out. We do take on some part-timers at peak periods but usually people we’ve used in the past. I’ll add their names to the list.’
    ‘Could anybody else come in here off the street and look at the charts?’
    ‘It’s possible. We get a number of casual visitors, salesmen mainly, or people trying to rent out their houses, and we use this as a waiting room if I’m busy elsewhere. But if they don’t know our system, I’m not sure whether someone off the street would be able to read the charts in the way you mean.’
    Bruno gathered his printouts, thanked Dougal for his time, and walked round to the Post Office to look at the delivery rosters. Jean-Louis, the deputy manager, checked who had done the routes that would have covered Crimson’s house and the
gîte
where Fullerton had been murdered.
    ‘Pierre and Pascal,’ he said, looking out of his office window to the yard where the yellow postal vans were parked. ‘They’re both on break