The Resistance Man (Bruno Chief of Police 6)

shop, part of a modern printing company that also did photocopies, business cards, posters and advertisements for billboards. The entire operation seemed to run on computers and the manager had prepared for him a plastic folder with several frames already printed from the security camera tapes. He also emailed copies to Bruno’s office computer so Bruno could forward them to J-J and the Gendarmes.
    They showed a young man in his twenties wearing dark blue overalls and a dark baseball cap that shadowed part of his face. The nose was clear enough, although the mouth and jaw were obscured by a moustache and small beard. There was one clear shot of his features, when a banknote slipped from his hand to the floor. The girl at the desk must have said something because he looked up smiling, almost flirtatious. Bruno felt a tug of memory, sure that he’d seen that face before but unable to place it.
    ‘Who was the woman I talked to on the phone?’ he asked the manager. He was steered to a girl with spiked hair and a nose ring who sat at a table at the front of the store that looked half reception, half cash-desk. He showed her the photo to check that it was the mysterious Monsieur Lebrun that she remembered.
    ‘Do you remember what you said that made him smile?’ he asked.
    She laughed. ‘I asked him if he always threw money at girls’ feet and he gave this sexy smile and said it helped him see their legs better. I was sure he was going to say something else, maybe ask me out. But then he bit his lip, paid his bill and left quickly. It was a bit odd, that’s why I remembered him.’
    Armed with the printouts of the photos, Bruno pondered his next move as he returned to his van. He could go through the rogues’ gallery, the books of photos of people who had been arrested, although he assumed J-J’s team would be doing that. If the guy had used the ZI address and postcode, he was probably familiar with it. He started the van and headed for the old hilltop
bastide
of Belvès.
    He always enjoyed visiting the
bastides
, those fortified towns built in the Middle Ages along the shifting frontier between the French parts of the region and the lands held by the English. Built on grid patterns around a central market square, with a church that could act as a fortress, they still dotted the region. Together with the caves along the valley with their prehistoric art, their Roman ruins and Renaissance châteaux, the
bastides
were a constant and satisfying reminder to Bruno that he and everyone else who lived around St Denis was part of an endless stream of history. He also relished the irony that while the
bastides
had been built to defend and reinforce the power structures of the Middle Ages, they had in fact helped to erode the feudal system. As incentives to get the peasants to move to these towns, where kings and barons hoped to make money from taxing the markets, they were offered freedomfrom serfdom. Along with the power of the English longbow and the crossbow to decimate the charges of the feudal knights in armour, the
bastides
had undermined the social and political order that the knights were dying to defend. That was often the way with political solutions, Bruno reflected; they produced dismayingly unexpected results.
    Perched on its hilltop and still clustered around its central square, Belvès boasted a fine market and an antiques fair where Isabelle had bought Bruno the grand dining chair he still used. He smiled to himself at the memory as he circled the old town and headed for the
Zone Industriel
below. He paused only to make a courtesy call to the local municipal policeman, who replied that Bruno was most welcome on his turf and would he have time for a
p’tit apéro
after his visit? Bruno accepted the invitation with pleasure.
    The Zone was part of the urban sprawl that in Bruno’s view defaced more and more of the countryside he loved. There was always a giant supermarket, a do-it-yourself discount store, huge furniture and sports shops and low-cost petrol pumps. Behind this commercial centre stood the vast warehouses and small factories, each a single storey high and built with vinyl siding and cheap metal roofs. The industrial zone had a sliding metal gate, which opened automatically as the security guard saw the police van. There were cameras on the roof of the guard’s kiosk, dotted around the buildings and on tall lighting poles that could illuminate the parking lot where the giant removal tracks were