Feeling suitably chastened, Bruno was pulling into his driveway when his phone vibrated. He checked the screen. It was Annette, the Sarlat magistrate.
“Filing the mistreatment charge has been delayed, Bruno,” she began. “The procureur in Périgueux and my boss here in Sarlat are arguing about jurisdiction, who brings the prosecution. If you want to hurry things up, I suggest you talk to your friend at Sud Ouest and get some animal-rights enthusiasts involved. Nothing speeds up lawyers like bad publicity.”
Bruno made three calls. The advantage of being a country policeman for ten years was his range of contacts. So his first call was to the local secretary of SPA, the Société Protectrice des Animaux. The second was to the head of Jeunes Agriculteurs, an energetic young man whom he’d taught to play rugby. The third was to Philippe Delaron, the local correspondent of Sud Ouest, and he made sure Philippe had the first two phone numbers and the number of Sarrail’s office. That should work, he thought.
Chapter 6
After his dawn run through the woods with Balzac and a brisk thirty minutes exercising the horses at Pamela’s riding school, Bruno was showered, shaved and dressed in uniform, ready to perform his traditional stroll through the Saturday morning market. But the ritual of coffee and croissant at Fauquet’s, with a corner of a croissant for Balzac, was not to be missed, and only after that did Bruno begin his patrol of the market, greeting friends, enjoying the sight of the stalls loaded with fresh strawberries, cherries, radishes and all the bounty of early summer. Bruno’s nose twitched at the familiar smell of the chickens turning slowly on their row of spits on the rôtisserie. He felt the heat from the grill as he paused to greet Raoul, who wore a thin jersey and a cotton headband to keep the sweat from his eyes.
“Hot work,” said Bruno, shaking hands as he admired the rows of quail, pigeons, chickens and capons on the grill. He always marveled that Raoul managed to sell them all. “It’s good standing here in winter but not so much now.”
“You get used to it,” said Raoul, taking a swig from a bottle of water and then turning to attend to a customer.
Bruno walked on to find his friend Stéphane, who was sitting at a folding table behind his cheese stall with Michel, who sold the best fruit and vegetables, and Germinal, who was selling wines from the town vineyard. The table was placed strategically at the point where their three stalls backed up against one another, and they were enjoying their usual casse-croûte, the meal of cheese and bread and pâté that the market people relished all the more, having started loading their vans before six in the morning. A half-empty glass of red wine stood before each of them. Without asking, Germinal took from his stall another glass to pour Bruno a welcome drink while they passed on the market gossip. He finished his wine, thanked them and moved on, pausing when he saw Meghan scurrying across the bridge toward the market, empty shopping bags in both hands and across her shoulders.
“Bonjour, Bruno,” she said, presenting her cheek to be kissed. “I had to park miles away, behind all the camping cars. And I’m in a panic. We just got a call from Jamie to tell us he’s arriving this evening from Paris with a minivan full of friends. And Kirsty flies into Bergerac airport this afternoon, so I’m going to have to shop to feed them all tonight and tomorrow. Rod’s in his damn studio, working, and I have beds to make, bathrooms to clean. He’s got no idea how much work goes into getting ready for a houseful of guests. What the hell do I feed them all?”
“You know the old rule: When in doubt, roast chicken.”
“Yes, but half Jamie’s friends are vegetarian or even vegan.”
“No problem,” said Bruno, who always enjoyed thinking of menus. “It’s warm enough to eat outside, so give them gazpacho to begin, then a couple of roast chickens from Raoul to save you cooking. You buy some cheese from Stéphane and some cherries and strawberries from the market. The asparagus is great this year, served with melted butter for most of the guests and lemon for the vegans. I saw you already have lots of lettuce in your potager at home, and if you go to the bio stall, they have different kinds of vegetable pâté, hummus and tofu. Get some soy sauce, ginger, mung beans and mushrooms and make a big Chinese-style stir fry. With a bag of potatoes, another of onions and a third of carrots plus lots of fruit, pasta and rice, that will take care of the vegetarians. I’ll help you carry the bags to the car, if you like. Now that that’s settled, let me get you a coffee at Fauquet’s.”
They took a table on the terrace shaded from the sun by a large orange parasol and ordered coffee for Bruno and a hot chocolate and croissant for Meghan. He asked what she thought of the drone video of Château Rock.
“I thought it was great, really stunning, and I loved the styling stuff she did indoors, like a cross between a baronial mansion and a classy hotel. I’ve no talent for that kind of thing, but I can’t wait for Kirsty to see it. She’s different, really gifted that way, got the artistic gene from her dad, I expect.”
“I thought Kirsty wasn’t coming until later, when she’d sorted out her courses.”
“That’s one of the things that’s worrying me,” Meghan said. She looked as if she’d dressed in a hurry or come straight from gardening, in grubby jeans and a checked shirt that had seen better days. This was unusual, thought Bruno; she normally dressed with care. Her hair was straggling from a loose bun, a style that didn’t suit her. Still, she smiled as Balzac rested his head on her knee and gazed up at her with appealing eyes. Bruno knew his dog was thinking of Meghan’s croissant.
“She said she’s made a decision and wants to come and let us know, which makes it sound as though it’s not something that we’ll want to hear. Rod’s already in a bad mood, after the woman from the estate agents said he should forget about asking for three million and set his sights a lot lower.”
“He’ll cheer up when the kids arrive,” said Bruno.
“I’m not so sure,” she said. “He’s unhappy about this divorce, although he says he understands and he accepts it. He doesn’t like being alone, never has. At least now he’s back making music, which I’m very pleased about. But he says he’ll really miss his recording studio when the château is sold. I can tell what he’s thinking—everything seems to be going wrong for him at once and it’s all my fault. I feel guilty, but I owe it to myself to live for me for a change, and not just for Rod and the kids. I got married so young.”
“You’re entitled to your own life, Meghan. Rod told me he understands that.”
“Understanding it and accepting it are two very different things,” she said, her voice sounding tired.
“Maybe there’s a new future for him in music,” Bruno said. “He gave me a CD of his latest songs and I think they’re great. I was planning to come up to ask him if he’d like to give one of our riverbank concerts.”
“That would cheer him up. Why not come and tell him that and then join us all for dinner this evening? Jamie and Kirsty will be really pleased to see you, which might help smooth things over, and I know Rod will be bucked up if you tell him you like the new songs.”
“I’m having trouble making out the words in English,” Bruno said. “But I also really liked that duet he played with Jamie, the concerto. Rod told me the other day he’s hoping he and Jamie can put together some more music this summer, and he’s planning to record Jamie’s first solo CD. And, yes, I’d love to come to dinner tonight, but wouldn’t I be in the way with all Jamie’s guests?”
“Quite the opposite. And bring this little fellow,” she said, caressing Balzac and giving him a piece of her croissant. “Just the sight of him makes everybody smile.”
“In that case, I’ll be there, but let me make the gazpacho, and I’ll bring it with me. That will save you some time.”
“You’re a lifesaver, Bruno,” she said, leaning forward to plant a kiss on his cheek. “It’s funny, but even in that uniform I can never think of you as a policeman.”
“
I won’t wear it tonight. I wouldn’t want to intimidate Jamie or his friends,” he said, smiling.
“Their friends seem interesting, one of them is a girl that Jamie seems very keen on. Another is at the Royal College with Jamie. The others are all at the Paris Conservatoire, where they’ve been rehearsing for these summer concerts they’re doing all over the region.”
“You must have had an interesting youth with Rod and his band,” Bruno said, glad of the chance to ask Meghan some questions that he had been curious about for years. “Were they at the height of their fame when you got to know him?”
“Looking back, I think they were past their peak by then, but I didn’t really know. He was still famous, or at least the band was, and I loved their music. I was just sixteen, although I told Rod I was older when we met. And he told me he was only in his thirties. In fact he was forty-four. The local paper had a competition, and the prize was to meet the band and then to be allowed to go backstage after the show. I was the lucky one and went with my kid brother and we all sort of hit it off and one thing led to another.”
“Were you still at school?”
“I’d just left and was training to be a hairdresser and I was starry-eyed. Me with a real rock star! And I think Rod was ready to settle down. Life on the road is pretty exhausting, and the band was in that phase where they knew they were starting to break up but stayed together for the sake of the money, so the music suffered. Some of them blamed me, which made the arguments worse. I was pregnant by then. We spent days on the bus, going from gig to gig, nobody talking except when some of them started making snide comments when I had to stop the bus to be sick on the side of the road. I never knew why they call it morning sickness. I had it all the time.”
“Was that when you came here, very pregnant with Jamie?” Bruno said.
“Yes. Rod had been here a couple of times before he met me, staying with friends from music. Pink Floyd, Deep Purple, Ten cc—several of them had places down here back then, and doubtless they had some wild times. But Rod had fallen in love with the landscape and the food and wine, and he was fascinated by the caves. He still goes off to visit them, buys books on prehistory, even collects old flint tools. After the rains sometimes he goes walking, looking to see if some new ones have been unearthed.”
“I wish I’d known that,” said Bruno. “I do the same, it’s amazing how beautiful some of them can be, those perfect leaf shapes.”
Meghan nodded politely but seemed to want to get back to her story. “Anyway, when the band broke up, we hit the Périgord trail for a new life together. And it worked, we were happy and raising the kids, but when they went away to school in England it started to change, for both of us. Even though I’d started giving those English classes at the collège, we had time on our hands. Rod was getting visibly older, the château felt almost empty and far too big, needing too much work keeping the place up. That’s why I did that Open University degree, and then I realized I could start a new life on my own. Does that sound selfish?”
Bruno shook his head. “You only have one life.”
“That’s what I tell myself, and I suppose it’s what I’ll tell Kirsty when she lets us know whatever it is she’s decided to do. I’ve got a feeling she wants to stay in France rather than go to university in Edinburgh. She was born here, after all.”
“So she’s a French citizen. She could go to university here.”
“I hadn’t thought of that. But why not?” Meghan sat up and collected her bags. “I’d better get the shopping done. Potatoes, asparagus, strawberries and the rest. At least, thanks to the town vineyard, we’ve got lots of wine at home.”
Bruno was heading back into the mairie when he was hailed. He turned and saw Brosseil waving at him from the bio stall, with a rose in his lapel, wearing patent-leather shoes and dressed as carefully as if he were off to a ballroom-dancing contest. Bruno went across, shook hands and waited while Brosseil put his change into a small leather pouch that he slipped back into a pants pocket.
“The notaire in Périgueux sent me a copy of Driant’s new will along with the other documents that he swore before the three assessors,” Brosseil said. “I thought you’d like to see them.”
“Thank you,” said Bruno. “Do they tell us anything new?”
“Not really, except that Sarrail handled both the will and the sale, which isn’t exactly illegal, but it’s not recommended, for obvious reasons. It also means he’s responsible for ensuring the livestock regulations were observed—and we know they weren’t. We also now have the name of the insurance company that was involved. I also received an invitation for me to visit the retirement home tomorrow afternoon. They’re holding an open house, probably trying to drum up business among the local notaires.”
“They’ve already been doing that with the doctors around here,” said Bruno. “Gelletreau got a free lunch out of it.”
“We notaires only seem to be getting refreshments, whatever that means. From three until six. Obviously we’re seen as less worthy than the medical men.”
“Or maybe they suspect you’re less likely to be seduced,” Bruno replied, smiling. “Are you going?”
“No, but I thought you might be interested in taking a look for yourself, if you think it’s worthwhile following this up. I’m not sure it is. It looks as though they did what was legally required for Driant to file a new will, but it still leaves a nasty taste in my mouth, so I’ve filed a complaint with the notaires’ association over the livestock. There may be one remaining issue: I’ve never heard of the insurance company, Euro-Trans-Med. They have offices in Cyprus, Malta, Monaco and Luxembourg. I’ll look into that when I have a chance.”
“Tell me,” said Bruno. “Even if the new will was legal and Driant was deemed competent by proper authorities, are there any grounds at all for the will to be contested?”
“Yes, if there’s evidence of inherent fraud in the dispositions under the new will, which is why you too might want to check the credentials of the insurance company, or if there is any evidence that Driant was acting under constraint or improper pressure, such as blackmail. But I can’t say I see any signs of that.”
Chapter 7
Thinking he’d better try to wrap up the loose ends in the Driant case, Bruno called the medical center to ask if Dr. Gelletreau was free. He was with a patient, but his shift was about to end, so Bruno strolled across the bridge to the clinic and glanced through one of the well-thumbed glossy magazines as he waited. They mostly contained celebrity gossip and photos of Britain’s royal family and various lesser stars among Europe’s old rulers, including some German princelings he’d never heard of. Bruno wondered whether these publications represented the doctors’ own subscriptions or came from patients. Or maybe there was some central depository that stored magazines until they were deemed sufficiently ancient to be distributed around the waiting rooms of France. Beneath the glossies, he found an ancient issue of Pèlerin, a Catholic weekly he had thought long since discontinued. He was halfway through a moderately interesting article on pilgrimages to Lourdes when Gelletreau appeared.
“You wanted to see me, Bruno?” said St. Denis’s oldest doctor, ushering him into the consulting room, where Bruno explained the concerns of Driant’s family and asked if Gelletreau was confident of his diagnosis of heart failure as the cause of death.
“Short of an autopsy one can never be certain,” came the reply. “But I’m confident, yes. Driant was my patient for years, and he’d had heart troubles, arrhythmia and palpitations. He was on blood thinners, then beta-blockers, and I’d recommended that a pacemaker be inserted. I didn’t think a heart attack was imminent, but in view of his lifestyle I wanted to take no chances.”
“His lifestyle?”
Gelletreau smiled and leaned forward. “Just between us, I can tell you he was a chaud lapin, damn near insatiable, or as much as he could be at that age.” Chaud la
pin, literally “hot rabbit,” is the French phrase for any man who is sexually active, eager and indiscriminate.
“That’s why he joined that club for the troisième âge, so he could meet women, usually widows, who were prepared to accommodate him,” Gelletreau went on. “He was always pressing me to give him a prescription for Viagra, which in view of his heart condition I refused to do. He may have gotten some through the Internet, although I’d warned him against it. You can do a lot for patients, but you can’t force them to take your advice. Frankly, the only thing that surprised me about his death was that he was alone and not in bed. That’s probably how he’d have wanted to go, although I doubt whether that’s what his kids would like to hear. What are they worried about?”
“Apparently he signed up to move to that fancy new retirement home near Sarlat.”
“Really? The one at the château? That’s a surprise.”
“I thought he might have heard of it from you,” Bruno said. “I gather they were contacting all the local doctors to offer their services.”
“It’s a very fine place but probably far beyond the financial reach of most people around here. But Driant knew about it already. He came to see me with a pamphlet about the place that he’d found at that troisième âge club he went to and asked what I thought. I said it was very expensive but that having medical care permanently available was probably a good thing, and it seemed to have a decent social life. They invited me to lunch when they took me on a tour. The food was excellent.”
“It seems Driant went along to look the place over and signed up.”
Gelletreau smiled again. “He probably saw all the single widows there and reckoned he’d found himself a happy hunting ground.”
“So you didn’t recommend it?”
“No, what I recommended was what I prescribed for him, installing a pacemaker to get his heart beating normally. I can’t swear to his dying of a heart attack, but I’d be stunned if there’d been any other cause. It was obvious to me that he’d died at once, otherwise he’d have tried to reach his phone. There was no need for an autopsy, nothing suspicious, just the sad death of a man who lived alone.”
The Shooting at Chateau Rock Page 6
