The Resistance Man (Bruno Chief of Police 6)

wife and I gave each other over forty years ago. I can’t believe you pulled this off, Bruno. I’d been resigned to a long battle with the insurers and then when I landed at Paris, there was Vincent waiting for me with the good news and his helicopter. I can’t believe that you got my wine back.’
    Bruno had never known the Brigadier’s first name, and from the way her eyes widened, nor had Isabelle.
    ‘I’ll want to see you at the Gendarmerie at five this afternoon, Bruno,’ the Brigadier said briskly. ‘I don’t think we need detain you or your dog further. As soon as Monsieur Crimson has unpacked his things, we’ll take the helicopter on to this place in the Corrèze so that he can check on the rest ofhis property and then we’ll arrange to have them shipped back here.’
    Bruno replied with a crisp salute. His attempt at a dignified departure was undermined by Balzac, who was alternating his attentions between Isabelle’s black trainers and Crimson’s English brogues. Bruno finally had to bend and scoop Balzac into his arms to take his leave, aware of Isabelle’s averted eyes and the half-baffled, half-concerned look on Crimson’s face.
    ‘Ring me tomorrow because I owe you the best dinner in the Périgord,’ the Englishman called after him.

16
    His holster back around his waist, Bruno was in his office at the
Mairie
, dealing with accumulated paperwork, when his phone rang. He put down the leasing contract for the big screen on which the council would project the open-air cinema on summer evenings and answered.
    ‘It’s Jacqueline Morgan and I’m not sure whether I’m in your jurisdiction but I thought I’d better tell you first. I’ve been burgled.’
    She was in another commune, so technically a break-in at her house was none of his business, but with the local government reforms linking different communes together the demarcation lines were blurring fast. He could have ducked this job, he told himself as he drove through Les Eyzies on the way to her house. But her tale was intriguing, she had been helpful in sharing her expertise, and any friend of his Mayor deserved his best efforts. He parked behind her white BMW, pulled from the glove compartment a pair of latex gloves and a couple of evidence bags and knocked at the door.
    The first thing he noticed was that Jacqueline had been to the hairdresser. The iron-grey curls he remembered had been tamed into soft waves and given subtle streaks of gold. She was wearing a well-cut dress that flattered her trim figure. Onher feet were the usual trainers but a pair of court shoes stood by the door, as if she’d kicked them off on entering. At their first meeting, she had looked American, or at least she looked like his expectation of an American female academic. Now, despite the shoes, she looked French and ten years younger. When she presented him her cheek to be kissed he detected an attractive scent.
    Jacqueline explained that she had spent the morning at the market in Sarlat and had then met the Mayor for lunch before he went on to the hospital. Bruno didn’t think she was the kind of woman who’d dress up to go shopping in the market, so she must have wanted to look her best for the lunch with the Mayor. He smiled to himself at the thought.
    She’d then driven home to find no sign of forced entry. But the books and papers on her table were not quite where she had left them, and when she’d looked into the kitchen she found the back door open and one of the panes neatly removed. She had checked the rest of the house and a few small items of jewellery were missing from her bedroom, along with some silver, her TV set and laptop from downstairs.
    She led him to the back and showed him the pane of broken glass on the kitchen floor, still mainly attached to a sheaf of greased newspaper. Automatically his hand went to the butt of his gun. That was the technique that had been used at Crimson’s house. Could this be Murcoing’s work again? Or perhaps somebody who wanted to make it look like Murcoing?
    He told Jacqueline to stay inside and went out to check the garden and outbuildings. They were all clear but an army could have been hiding in the wooded slopes of the ridge that rose behind the house. Dirt roads led up through the woods,although he could see no other houses up there. About a kilometre back he had passed a duck and goose farm which seemed to be Jacqueline’s nearest neighbour. A burglar would have had no fear of being seen.