The Resistance Man (Bruno Chief of Police 6)

over his eyes. ‘How silly that all seems now that I’ll never see him again.’
    Seeing his wistful expression, Bruno chided himself for being too intrusive. He finished his drink and rose to his feet.
    ‘I’ll be up early again tomorrow to exercise the horses, so I may not see you before your move to Sarlat. We’ve got each other’s numbers and we’ll doubtless meet through Annette. Just toss the sheets and towels in the washing machine before you leave.’
    ‘One last thing before you go,’ said Yves. ‘I don’t know if it could help but when I first mentioned to Francis that I’d be directing in Sarlat this summer he said he knew the area. Apparently he’d been renting a place somewhere around here, he said near Les Eyzies, ten years or more ago. He’d taken the place with some friends and met a young French boy. Therehad been some trouble with local people, I’m not sure whether it was a fight or just the usual gay-bashing and they’d all left in a hurry.’
    Bruno felt a little shock of recognition and a renewed sense of his failure in an unresolved case whose memory could still occasionally trouble his nights. ‘Did he tell you the name of the French boy?’
    ‘No, never. But when we were at his place in London one evening he showed me some poems he had written. They were very intense, not to my taste. But there was one about listening to a lover speaking French.’

15
    On his early-morning drive to Pamela’s house, Bruno considered with some care how to refer to his evening with Isabelle. As they saddled the horses he said lightly that he’d been summoned to ‘a working dinner with your favourite policewoman from Paris’. To his relief Pamela did not react. She was much more interested in his news that Crimson was expected to return to St Denis that day, that his belongings had been found and that the local burglaries would now cease.
    ‘That poor man, coming home to a ransacked house,’ she said. ‘Tell him to join us for dinner, Bruno.’
    Invigorated by the ride and glowing from his shower, Bruno led Balzac on a leash through the temptations of the Saturday morning market. The young basset hound stopped first to sniff and then gulp down the scraps of paté and crusts of brioche, the offcuts of great hams and rinds of cheese that kindly stallholders tossed in his path. Finally Bruno thought, Enough. He scooped up his puppy to carry him past these well-meant offerings and fastened his leash to the leg of the chair opposite the one where Gilles was sitting. His laptop was open before him and all the day’s newspapers were piled alongside it. As Bruno turned to wave for his coffee at Mira-belle, the schoolgirl who earned pocket money as a waitresson Saturday mornings, Gilles began feeding Balzac chunks of his own croissant.
    ‘You’ll make him fat,’ Bruno said as he shook hands. ‘I’m going to have to stop bringing this dog to market. What’s the news from Paris?’
    ‘Not much, which is why I’m down here hoping for some more,’ said Gilles. ‘Is this guy Crimson arriving today?’
    ‘So I’m told, and we’ve found his stuff. The
Police Nationale
will be putting out a press release later today saying that all of Crimson’s belongings have been recovered. If you’re still running news on your website you can have the scoop. You’ll even beat
Sud Ouest
. We found them in a Corrèze barn belonging to the murdered English antiques dealer.’
    ‘When you say “We” does that mean you were present?’
    ‘Yes, but don’t say that. Let J-J take the credit.’ A coffee and croissant appeared in front of him and Bruno nodded his thanks to Mirabelle, one of Florence’s favourite pupils.
    ‘Let me tweet this first and then you can give me some more detail for the website.’
    Twenty minutes and another coffee later, Bruno had made his rounds of the market. He climbed the steps to the upper square and gazed down on his town and his people. Farmers’ wives with shopping bags were coming out of the bank and teenage girls in market-day finery were giggling together by the bridge and deliberately not looking at the boys. Everything was normal and all was calm, except that there was an armed killer on the loose.
    His cheerful mood evaporated as he considered what he might do if Paul Murcoing suddenly appeared on the bridge carrying his stolen guns. He was paid to protect St Denis. Reluctantly,because he preferred to do his job unarmed, Bruno descended the steps, walked