The Coldest Case, Martin Walker [famous ebook reader txt] 📗

really worry me. The first is the wood along the ridge above the town vineyard and all the way past Limeuil to Terrasson. The second is on the road up to Audrix along to the road that leads down to the forest of Campagne itself. The third is the woodland north of St Denis up to the Miremont crossroads and east to Les Eyzies. We’ll need fire-watch volunteers, at least two people at each post, with binoculars and fully charged mobile phones running shift systems night and day. Bruno, can you round up some volunteers from the tennis and rugby clubs? And anybody who has a drone. They could be useful.’

‘I’ll do that as soon as we’re finished here,’ Bruno replied.

‘If you could do the same for Les Eyzies, Juliette, I’d be grateful,’ Albert went on. ‘Fire-watch volunteers can use phone and church and water towers, whatever gives us good views. We’ll have helicopters available to check out each warning. And one last thing – beware of broken bottles. Fires are easily started by glass. At the right angle, it can become a lens that concentrates the sun’s rays.’

As he turned to go, Albert paused. ‘Oh, and finally, everybody. Double check your fire insurance.’

17

Bruno had to excuse himself from the usual Monday evening dinner with his friends at the riding school. He worked late into the night collecting keys to church and water towers, rounding up volunteers to watch for fires, his only meal a cold half-pizza from a stack of boxes delivered to the pompiers. His own home was in one of the high-risk zones so when he got home after midnight, he collected a box full of essential documents. He filled another box with his most cherished books and bottles of wine. He would leave them and Balzac at the Mayor’s house in town. Then he fell into a deep sleep as soon as his head touched the pillow.

He woke with the cockerel’s crow, skipped his usual run, and packed a suitcase of clean clothes. He went out to load up his Land Rover and felt the heat of the day building unusually early. The wind was from the south, warm but now menacing, and there was not a cloud in the sky. He sent a blanket email to all members of the rugby and tennis clubs calling for fire-watch volunteers, adding that they could sign up at the fire station. Then he cooked himself a hearty breakfast, a cheese omelette with cherry tomatoes on the side and two big slices of toasted bread from the tourte to go with it. This might be his only meal for some time. He squeezed his remaining oranges and made a big pot of coffee, sufficient for a mug with his breakfast and to fill his vacuum flask for the day to come.

On the radio, France Bleu Périgord was reporting the emergency, the Prefect’s speech and the new fire regulations. The final item on the morning news made him sit up when he heard J-J’s name and the familiar voice of the People’s Pierre claiming that the veteran detective had developed a pathological obsession with a case he failed to solve at the start of his career.

‘Now as this elderly policeman’s career approaches its end, Jalipeau is riding roughshod over human rights in a desperate bid to find a plausible victim for his personal vendetta,’ Pierre said, sounding as though he were addressing a public meeting. ‘He is even using doctored photographs and dubious evidence of witnesses claiming to recall events that happened thirty years ago.’

‘You are representing one of the suspects in the case, and I understand you took him to meet Commissaire Jalipeau,’ said the interviewer.

‘That’s right. My client went to the police station voluntarily only to be ambushed by a woman he’d never met who was claiming some kind of relationship with him around the time and place of the murder. This farce was staged by Commissaire Jalipeau for reasons best known to himself. I can only presume he was hoping to shock my client, heavens know why.’

‘These are serious allegations against a well-known and much admired senior police—’

‘I quite agree,’ Pierre interrupted. ‘I have had great respect for him in the past, but his latest antics are beyond belief. Do you know he is using some unqualified young archaeologist to try to rebuild the face of the victim from a thirty-year-old skull? This is crazy, it’s close to witchcraft. No serious lawyer could stand for it.’

‘So what are you going to do?’

‘I’m filing a formal complaint with the Commissioner of Police requesting that Jalipeau be suspended or at least removed from this case. Moreover, I will today petition the court on my client’s behalf for relief from vexatious abuse. In a free country, the police cannot be allowed to get away with this kind of behaviour.’

‘And now, it’s going to be a hot day and watch out for those forest fires. If there’s a pool or river near you, this might be a great day for it. But remember folks, no barbecues. By order of the Prefect. Turning to sports news . . .’

Bruno turned it off, finished his breakfast and washed up. He loaded Balzac into the Land Rover, drove into town and left Balzac in his office. It was too early to deliver him to the Mayor. Passing the maison de la presse, he saw Gilles emerge with the day’s newspapers.

‘Can you spare me ten minutes?’ Bruno asked him. ‘My house is in the danger zone so I’d like you to drive up there with me, and you bring back the Land Rover to park by the Mairie and I’ll bring the police van back.’

‘No problem,’ said Gilles. On the drive there, he said that Fabiola was already at the medical centre but at least their house should be safe.

‘I’m worried about Pamela’s place,’ Gilles went on, and Bruno realized with a sudden sense of guilt that he hadn’t thought of that; not