“Thanks to you,” he said. “I hope the boy gets as much pleasure from horses as they’ve given me.”
“I know he’s been in trouble, but he’s a sweet boy, Bruno. The horses like having him around, and so do Miranda and I. He’s even started having an afternoon cup of tea with us when he gets here from school.”
Ah, the British, thought Bruno, smiling to himself. It’s just as we were taught in school: they believe everything can be resolved with a nice, hot cup of tea.
“I’m happy to hear that he’s doing well, and I’m grateful you’ve taken him on,” he said. “I understand you can’t pay him yet, but could he be useful in the long term? I mean, maybe you could get him to paint the gîtes and do some maintenance? I think his dad might be ready to do some odd jobs like that, and it would be good for them to work together.”
“Let’s wait and see. In the meantime, I’ve had a couple of phone calls about your new romantic interest. I’m told she’s called Martine, is that right? Daughter of a local family who’s briefly back from a high-powered career in the big city?”
“I only had an after-dinner drink with her at Ivan’s last night,” he said. “You know how people talk.”
“Passionate embraces in the rain is what I heard,” she said, arching an eyebrow and giving him one of those ominously cool smiles that she did so well. “That sounds rather serious. And now you’re blushing.”
“A good-night kiss in the rain is hardly a passionate embrace,” he said, irritated with himself as so often before that he could never control his blushes. “I’m a bit pressed for time, so I’d better take Hector out before I have to go and see J-J about a case he’s on. Fabiola probably told you there’s an investigation into Hugon’s death.”
“She said there would be an autopsy, but you know how discreet she is about her work. But if you’re pressed for time, I’ll take Hector out with the others when Miranda gets back. I always enjoy riding him.”
“Thanks so much for that. See you tomorrow.” He blew her a kiss and was about to drive back toward town when her mobile rang. Her face went grave as she listened, and she put out a hand to keep him close.
“Bruno’s standing right here beside me,” she said, after a while in English. “Hold on while I brief him.”
“It’s Miranda,” she said, reverting to French for Bruno’s sake. “One of the girls has fallen off her horse and been injured. It could be serious. Some boy was throwing stones at the horses, and one of them hit Denise in the eye. There’s a lot of blood, and the other girls are panicking. Miranda fears the girl could lose her eye.”
“Find out where Miranda is exactly and tell her I’ll get there as soon as I can,” he replied. “In the meantime I’ll call the urgences.” He pulled out his phone and punched in his speed-dial number for the pompiers.
When Pamela gave Miranda’s location, Bruno knew the pompiers could never get there in a vehicle. It was at a ford across a small stream, deep in the woods behind Audrix. He told Albert, the chief fireman, to get to a hunter’s cabin known as La Mique, after a local specialty, a dumpling that one of the hunters always made there. From there the pompiers would have to proceed on foot with a stretcher, following the trail to St. Chamassy.
“I’ll take a horse, it will be faster,” he told Pamela. “Is Hector saddled?”
“No, but my Primrose is, I was about to take her out. I can exercise Hector for you later.”
“You stay here and start phoning,” he said as they strode toward Primrose’s stall. “Alert Fabiola and then call the injured girl’s parents and tell them to meet us at the clinic. Then you’d better call the other girls’ parents and reassure them. Does Miranda know who this boy was?”
“I didn’t ask.”
“No matter,” he said, swinging himself into the saddle. “I’ll find out. I’ll leave Balzac with you.”
Bruno set off at a trot and then into a canter. Both he and the horse knew these trails, and they were mostly too narrow and tangled for any faster pace. He picked up his pace when they came to a firebreak in the woods, Primrose seeming to understand the need for urgency, but then they had to slow again as he descended the narrow trail that led to the stream and then walked the horse upstream to the ford where he found the girls. La Mique was another three or four hundred meters down the path.
“Thank God you’re here,” said Miranda. She was sitting on the bank, the injured girl on her lap. Someone had tied a rough and bloodstained bandage around the girl’s head, but the rest of her face was as white as snow and she was shivering.
The other girls were huddled together on the bank, watching and silent. One of them was crying, and Félix was trying to comfort her. He was wearing an old shirt from which the sleeve was missing. That had probably been the source of the makeshift bandage, Bruno thought. Someone, probably the boy, had sensibly looped the horses’ reins together and tied them to a branch.
“Bruno’s here,” one of the girls shouted, and the injured one moved her head when she heard it. Bruno went across and knelt beside her, recognizing her from his tennis classes. She was ten years old, the daughter of one of the bank managers in St. Denis.
“Hello, Denise, everything is going to be fine,” he said, taking her hand and leaning down to kiss the part of her brow that wasn’t covered by the bandage. Her clothes were soaked from the stream and from her own blood. Head wounds always bled badly, he remembered. He took off his jacket to cover her and give her some warmth, noting that Félix’s old denim jacket was already covering her chest. “And you’re being very brave, Denise. The pompiers are on their way, and Dr. Stern is waiting at the clinic to fix you up, and your parents will be there, too. Just lie still in Miranda’s arms, and you’ll be fine. I need to learn what happened, but if you want me, just call, okay?” He felt her hand squeeze his by way of answer.
“It was a big boy, a young man, waiting in the trees until we were mostly across the stream, and then he came out and started throwing stones,” Miranda said. “Denise was last in line, just ahead of Félix. He’s been great, taking care of the horses and calming the other girls down and then tearing his shirt for the bandage. And he tied up the horses without being told. I don’t know what we’d have done without him.”
“Will you know the young man again?” Bruno asked.
“Certainly, I’d know him anywhere.”
“How many stones did he throw?”
“Three,” came Félix’s voice. “The first one missed, the second one hit me, and the third one hit Denise. I know who it was, and I think he was aiming at me.”
“Tristan?” Bruno asked, and Félix nodded. Some of the other girls confirmed it. Tristan was well known among the schoolchildren.
“Where were you hit?” Bruno asked the boy.
“Here.” He pointed to his thigh. “I’m going to have a big bruise. It’s lucky, really. If it had hit the horse, she might have shied, and I’d have come off into the stream like Denise did. She screamed as she hit the water. Besides that wound, I think she hurt her shoulder badly when she fell.”
“You’ve done very well, Félix,” Bruno said, clapping him on the shoulder. “I’m proud of you, and I’ll make sure Pamela and your parents know what a fine job you did here. Do you know the way back to the riding school from here? Pamela is waiting there, and we’ve asked the parents of these other girls to meet them there.”
The boy nodded again, then said, “Yes, Bruno, I know the way.”
“And do you think you could lead the rest of the girls back to the riding school while I wait here with Denise for the pompiers?”
“If you take over Denise, I can lead them back,” said Miranda before Félix could answer. “We really need Félix to bring up the rear just in case any of the girls fall behind. But I need to get the rest of these girls home. Their parents will be waiting and going frantic. I doubt if they’ll want their daughters to come out riding again and we’ve got that damn mortgage to pay. Oh, God, why did this have to happen?”
Bruno put his hand on her shoulder to calm her. “Denise is what’s important now.” He knelt down to talk to the girl.
“Will you be okay waiting here with me while Miranda takes the other girls home?” he asked, and heard a faint “Yes.” Gently he took her from Miranda, and as he enfolded her in his arms he saw that one shoulder was hanging low. It looked like she’d broken her collarbone in the fall. Bruno’s face set hard as he thought of what this meant. Tristan was sixteen, old enough to be judged as an adult.
When Miranda had the remaining girls in their saddles, Bruno asked her to take Primrose back on a leading rein. He’d travel with Denise to the clinic. Shortly after the others had gone, Félix turning in the saddle from his post at the rear to wave a good-bye, Bruno heard noises from the undergrowth at the far side of the stream, and Ahmed and Alain appeared carrying a folded stretcher. Ahmed had done the paramedic course required for the urgences service, and after splashing and stumbling through the ford he quickly examined Denise.
“The bleeding’s stopped,” he said. “Whoever applied that bandage did a good job. But her collarbone is broken.” He took off his shoulder bag and found a sling and long bandage that he used to strap Denise’s arm in place. They strapped Denise into the stretcher for the hike back to the ambulance and the fast drive to the clinic. Bruno was able to put his jacket back on, still slightly damp and with some smears of blood on the collar. From inside the vehicle, Bruno could hear the siren howling, and he had to brace himself as Alain made fast turns. It reminded him of driving with Annette. Then they were at the clinic, Alain pushing his way through a small crowd gathered on the steps so Bruno and Ahmed could get the girl inside and into Fabiola’s examining room. She was waiting there with Denise’s parents. She had changed from her usual white coat into scrubs and operating gloves, her hair tucked into a skullcap and a surgical mask hanging around her neck. Bruno had been aware of a camera flashing as they carried Denise in. That meant Philippe was taking pictures for the paper. This was getting more and more serious for Tristan.
“Don’t go yet,” Fabiola said to Ahmed as they put Denise down. “You may have to drive her to the hospital in Périgueux. But let’s get her out of those wet clothes and take a look.”
Denise’s mother fought back tears as she bent down to kiss her child and take her hand. Her father wrung Ahmed and Bruno by the hand with a muttered “Thanks,” and Bruno told him the one to thank would be young Félix.
Fabiola cut the girl’s clothes off with scissors, strapped her arm back into place and wrapped her in blankets. Then she removed the bandage and wiped Denise’s face and neck and shoulder clean of blood, though more of it had clotted in Denise’s hair. “I don’t think it’s as bad as it looks,” Fabiola said, for the parents’ benefit as much as for Denise. “The main cut seems to be in the eyebrow, and there’s a tough bone there that took some of the force. The cheekbone is also cut but not as deeply. It’s strange that there is no mark on the brow.”
“She was wearing a riding helmet,” said Bruno, remembering seeing it on the bank beside Miranda. “They must have taken it off to apply the bandage.”
Fabiola took a small flashlight from the cabinet at her side, gently opened the swollen eye and shone the light inside.
“The flesh around the eye is bruised and scratched, but the cuts aren’t too deep,” she said after a careful examination. “The pupil is reacting to the light but not as normally as I would like, and I think she’s got a concussion. Do you know if she lost consciousness?”
“No, but we can ask Miranda or Félix,” Bruno said.
“Do you remember everything that happened, Denise?” Fabiola asked.
“I remember a pain and falling and being in Miranda’s arms and then Bruno came,” the girl said, sounding sleepy.
“Good girl,” Fabiola said and continued her examination. Finally she looked up at Denise’s parents. “I can’t be sure and I’m hoping there’s no damage to the eyeball, but I’m worried about a possible detached retina. I don’t think her sight will be affected, but I’d like to be sure, so the ambulance will take her to Périgueux, and I’ll arrange for an eye specialist to be waiting. Depending on what he says, we may have to send her on to Bordeaux. In the meantime I’d better give Denise a local anesthetic and stitch that cut on the eyebrow and then make sure the collarbone is properly set.”
Bruno excused himself, and seeing that the hall outside was full, he let himself into Fabiola’s surgery to make some calls. The first was to Yveline, to brief her and ask her to meet him at the supermarket where Tristan’s father worked before heading to Tristan’s home. Then he alerted Annette, as the magistrate in charge of prosecuting juveniles. Bruno was determined to leave nothing to chance. He rang social services in Périgueux, but as soon as they heard Tristan was over sixteen, they said it was no longer a matter for them. Then he went outside to find Philippe, who was on the phone to one of the other girls’ parents who was at Pamela’s riding school, just having been reunited with his daughter.
“You’re sure the youngster throwing the stones was Tristan, the son of the guy at the supermarket?” Philippe was saying into the phone, his eyes on Bruno. “Your daughter is certain of it, and the other girls say the same? Can I quote you on that?” He listened for a moment, nodded and then closed the phone and asked Bruno, “You going to arrest the little bastard?”
Bruno nodded and said, “But there’s something else, a good part to this nasty story. The hero of the hour was Félix. Apparently the stones were aimed at him, and one of them hit him. Tristan has been bullying him for years. But when Denise was hit and fell into the stream, Félix took charge.” He described what Félix had done and told Philippe he could find the boy at the riding school. “St. Denis should be proud of a youngster like that, who kept his head, bandaged Denise and did all the right things. You can quote me on it.”
“I can’t use Tristan’s name; he’s a juvenile.”
“Not anymore, he isn’t,” said Bruno, walking away. “He’s turned sixteen.”
By the time Bruno reached the supermarket, Yveline was just pulling into the parking lot in a gendarmerie van. As they mounted the stairs to Simon’s office, Bruno told her Denise was being taken to an eye specialist in Périgueux. He wanted Yveline to make the arrest. Bruno was not under the same pressure as the gendarmes to meet arrest quotas. They strode together into Simon’s office without knocking.
“I’m here only as a courtesy to you, Simon, since your son is now officially old enough to be arrested as an adult,” Bruno began. “His bullying has gotten out of hand. He was throwing stones at Félix this afternoon, and one of Tristan’s stones hit a ten-year-old girl in the eye, and she may lose it.”
Startled and rising to his feet, Simon began to interrupt.
“Shut your mouth and just listen,” Bruno snapped. “The girl’s on her way to an eye specialist in Périgueux right now. And I’m going to your house with the gendarmes to arrest your boy on a charge of aggravated bodily harm. It’s aggravated because that’s what the law says if a weapon or a missile is used. And I think I should warn you that Tristan very probably faces a custodial sentence in a youth detention center. You may follow us to your home if you want and arrange for a lawyer.”
“But don’t use your phone to do so while driving or I’ll arrest you for that,” said Yveline. “And on no account call your home or your son or try borrowing anybody else’s phone to do so. I’ll be checking your phone records to make sure of that.”
They turned and marched out, leaving Simon to scramble from behind his desk to follow them, firing off questions. Were they absolutely certain it was Tristan? Who were the witnesses? Wasn’t the boy still a juvenile? Had he not been provoked by Félix? Was it not some form of accident, perhaps a silly prank that had gone wrong?
Bruno and Yveline ignored the questions. As they got to her van, Bruno saw Simon fishing his own car keys from a pocket and heading for his car. Bruno suddenly became angry, thinking that there w
as one important question Simon had not bothered to ask.
“You haven’t asked the name of the little girl who was the victim,” he shouted. “She’s Denise, the daughter of Paul-Michel, the bank manager. I imagine that as soon as he stops sitting vigil outside the operating room he’ll call his lawyer. You might want to prepare for a lawsuit, and also for some questions from the press. Philippe Delaron was at the clinic when I brought Denise in, her face covered in her own blood.”
As Yveline drove onto the Limeuil road, where Simon had one of the expensive houses overlooking the valley, Bruno adjusted the rearview mirror to see Simon following behind in his Mercedes, both hands on the wheel but his mouth opening as if he were talking. Of course he’d have a hands-free phone in his car! He should have thought of that. Bruno told Yveline to be sure to check whom Simon had been calling.
Simon lived in a modern house designed to look like a traditional Périgord building, but the tiles and the color of the stone were wrong and the garden contained some unusual decorations, including a fountain disguised as a miniature stone windmill and an old bicycle that had been deliberately overgrown with plants. The shutters were painted a bright blue that might have been more suitable in St. Tropez, and the flower beds looked as if they had been planted by a drill sergeant with an obsession for absolute symmetry. Yveline rolled her eyes at Bruno as they rang the doorbell and heard it chime the opening notes of “The Marseillaise.”
“Bonjour, Bruno,” said Amandine, Simon’s wife, looking startled to see him with Yveline and holding up her hands in a way that Bruno knew meant she was letting her nail polish dry. Then she saw her husband’s car drawing up behind the gendarmes’ van. “What’s this about?”
“We need to see Tristan. Is he in?” Bruno asked.
“Yes, he’s upstairs in his room. Why?”
“We need to question him about an assault on a little girl this afternoon,” said Yveline, trying to move past Amandine who had taken a startled step backward, her jaw dropping, but trying to stop Yveline from entering.
Fatal Pursuit Page 17
