The baron arrived in his veteran Citroën DS, greeted them all and proceeded to distribute more cognac, on the inventive principle that anything Maurice might say thereafter could be dismissed as the ramblings of someone who had taken a little too much alcohol for the shock.
Bruno took the shotgun to Sergeant Jules at the gendarmerie and then went to the general office in the mairie to make more copies of Maurice’s statement. He faxed them to J-J and Hervé, and to the general number at the magistrates’ office in Sarlat, with a covering note addressed to Annette. That gave Bruno an idea. Rather than call the lawyer in Périgueux, he went into his own office to track down a number for Annette’s predecessor.
As a devoted hunter and an occasional customer of Sophie’s foie gras, the old chief magistrate was delighted to take the case. He assured Bruno he would be at Maurice’s house within the hour. Bruno read him Maurice’s statement aloud, and it was pronounced “most helpful.” The problem would be, the former magistrate noted, if someone reported having been shot. Bruno replied that he was making inquiries.
He phoned both of the pharmacies in St. Denis and drew a blank each time. Where else would students, relative strangers to the area, try to find a pharmacy? The one other town they knew was Les Eyzies, where the museum was located. Bruno called the pharmacy there and was told that a tall, young foreigner had been waiting at their door when they opened. He’d bought bandages, antiseptic wipes and surgical gauze and had paid with a credit card. They gave Bruno the name and number, issued by a British bank, Barclays. Its owner was Edward G. Lloyd.
9
By the time Bruno arrived at the site, Clothilde had installed a security guard from the museum, roped off a field for parking and announced a thirty-minute photo opportunity followed by a press briefing back at the museum. He was impressed. She was standing by the site entrance where the cell phone reception was better, talking fiercely into her mobile and dressed in another shirt that he remembered seeing on Horst. She’d been wearing a skirt the previous evening and was in khaki slacks now and work boots. Bruno found himself hoping she’d spent the night with Horst; he deserved it, after the triumph of the lecture. And so, perhaps, did she.
“Congratulations,” he said as she slammed the phone shut and swore, looking around angrily at the site, where the students were all at work. Then she noticed him.
“Oh, Bruno, those bastards at the ministry!” she said, giving him a resounding kiss on each cheek. “They demand to know who authorized me to lend the name of the National Museum to such a publicity-grabbing hypothesis. I told them it was the same people who gave me my doctorate and elected me to my chair, and if they gave me any more shit I’d take up Yale’s offer of a professorship and triple my salary. That shut them up.”
“You’ve taken care of everything: parking, security, photo op and press conference,” said Bruno. “You’ve done my job for me, as well as being part of the biggest breakthrough in history. And you look wonderful.”
“Thank you, mon cher. I just did the things you said needed doing, while fending off those idiots in Paris and half the archaeologists in Europe. And who is this?” she asked, as Carlos came up the path, after parking his rented Range Rover behind Bruno’s car.
Bruno introduced them briefly, describing Carlos simply as a Spanish colleague on liaison duties, and pointed Carlos toward the empty grave, still circled with yellow police tape.
“I was most impressed by the lecture yesterday,” Carlos said. “It seems you have a historic discovery here.”
“We hope so, thank you,” she said. Her phone rang again. She looked at the screen and ignored it. “Those idiots at the culture ministry again,” she said, fishing her car keys from her bag. “I have to get back to the museum.” She waved a vague farewell.
Bruno led Carlos toward the fluttering yellow tape, but first he wanted to look at the pit where the three prehistoric bodies lay. Bruno recognized the Polish student Kasimir working on a subsidiary trench off to one side and nodded a greeting. Carlos gazed down into the deep hole where the three skeletons were now covered in a sheet of thick plastic. Two students were at work with brushes on one of the walls. Carlos looked up at the overhanging cliff and off to each side, as if trying to imagine how the place might have been thirty thousand years ago.
“It might be an idea for the two ministers to come here, after the signing,” he said. “France and Spain, Lascaux and Altamira, the two great centers of prehistoric art, coming together again at the place where modern man emerges, maybe even a joint visitors’ center. It could be an interesting initiative.”
“You sound more like a publicity man than a security expert,” Bruno said, making a joke of it. “It would double the security problem.”
“It’s the kind of things that ministers like,” Carlos said. “It makes them seem like more than just politicians—a touch of history, a reference to art. You’ve seen the papers. This is big news, and I think they might be wondering how to get some of that attention for themselves.”
Bruno nodded; he could see that. He looked around at the site. Some police on the cliff above, with a security cordon down at the road, would probably suffice to secure the place. The cliffs themselves were part of the protection. And here at the site of the pit, they were even protected from the cliffs on the far side of the river. It would be an extraordinary sniper who could hit something from that far away.
Carlos moved on to the trench where Teddy had found the body. There was nothing to see, but Teddy rose from his search for the midden, stretching his back. There was no stiffness in his movements, no bulge of bandages under his jeans. He had gone to the pharmacy on behalf of somebody else.
“I’m looking forward to the rugby to get my muscles stretched,” Teddy said, and then paused, looking at Carlos.
“Hi, we haven’t met,” Carlos said, stepping forward to shake Teddy’s hand. “My name’s Carlos, on a liaison mission from Spain. Bruno is kindly showing me around.”
“From Spain?” said Teddy, looking mystified.
“Where’s Kajte?” asked Bruno.
“Back at the camp. She’s on cooking rotation today.” His voice was normal, but there was something wary in his eyes.
“Why are you digging so far away from the others?” Carlos asked.
“I’m looking for the midden. Most settlements have them, if people lived there for any length of time.” He shrugged. “I’m beginning to think I may be wasting my time.”
“I don’t think anyone at this site is wasting their time, not after last night’s lecture,” said Carlos. “Have you found anything at all?”
“Other than the body of the murdered man, nothing I’d call significant, just some shards of modern pottery, half an old clay pipe and a few recent bones, the usual stuff you tend to find in a field.”
“What’s that black strip in the earth, down by your knee?” Carlos asked.
“Probably a forest fire, but it’s a bit thick for that. It could have been people making charcoal. I found some charcoal shards.”
Bruno had had enough. “I’m afraid it’s not archaeology that brings me here. Where were you in the early hours of this morning, at about five a.m.?”
“Asleep at the campsite,” Teddy replied.
“And Kajte?”
“She was asleep beside me.”
“I’m now questioning you formally, Teddy. Think about your answer because if you lie to me, I can arrest you. Where were you at eight this morning?”
“Going for a walk. We’d just had breakfast, all together, and I walked here.”
“Have you got your credit card with you?” Bruno pressed. “Are you sure it hasn’t been stolen?”
The young man took out his wallet, removed a credit card and held it up. It had been issued by Barclays.
“That card was used this morning to buy bandages and medical supplies at a pharmacy in Les Eyzies,” Bruno said. “Roughly three hours earlier some intruders at a local duck farm were shot at by a farmer. I fo
und blood at the scene, and I’m pretty sure we’ll identify it as coming from your friend Kajte, just as I’m sure we’ll find the bandages you bought wrapped around her legs. Do you still want to lie to me?”
Teddy’s mouth hung open as he fixed his eyes on Bruno. He swallowed hard, his hand tightened on the handle of his spade, then his eyes darted from side to side as if he was thinking of escape.
“I think this young man needs a lawyer,” Carlos said.
“He needs to answer my questions and tell the truth,” Bruno snapped, keeping his eyes on the young Welshman. “Come on, Teddy. Kajte may be more badly hurt than you know. We ought to get her to the medical center.”
Teddy looked, almost desperately, at Carlos once more, as if in appeal. But Carlos remained silent. Teddy’s head then slumped in defeat, and he nodded, swallowed again and seemed about to speak when there was the sound of a police siren in the distance.
“It looks like you’ll either speak to me or the gendarmes, and they’ll ask their questions in prison,” Bruno said. “Come on, man, speak up and tell me where we’ll find your girlfriend.”
“Are you going to arrest him?” Carlos asked, a strangely hesitant tone in his voice. Bruno looked at him. “Obviously, you could and perhaps you should arrest him. But I learned long ago that one should think about the consequences of an arrest, and I was wondering what it might do to the dig, to the museum, to your mayor’s plans.” Carlos’s voice trailed off.
Bruno’s thoughts had been moving along parallel lines. He looked back toward the road where the sirens were now very loud, but the entrance to the dig was hidden by a bend in the track. He heard the slam of a car door and made up his mind.
“Stay here with him, would you?” Carlos nodded, and Bruno trotted back to a point where he could see the entrance to the dig. Clothilde and her security guard seemed to be arguing with a tall, thin gendarme. His blue van, light flashing, was parked blocking the entrance to the path, with a familiar small blue Peugeot behind it. A troop of four gendarmes lined up beside the van, shuffling their feet and not looking happy to be there. To Bruno’s dismay, Sergeant Jules was not among them.
“Merde,” said Bruno, and sprinted back to Teddy’s trench. “It’s Capitaine Duroc and our new magistrate,” he told Carlos. “Can you do me a favor? Walk down to them and introduce yourself, delay things and buy me some time? Tell them I’m here but say I’m checking something at the site. I’ll explain later.”
Carlos raised his eyebrows. “A little conspiracy against the gendarmes? Okay. I’ll look forward to your explanation.”
Bruno spoke urgently to Teddy, still gripping his spade and now looking completely mystified.
“Can you get in touch with her?”
Teddy tapped the mobile phone at his belt and nodded. “But why …”
“No time to explain now. Call her and tell her to get away from the campsite. That’s where they’ll be looking for her next. Tell her to go across the river to the rugby stadium and you’ll meet her there. I’ll need time to try and fix this.”
“What do you mean, ‘fix this’?”
“We both know she printed up those leaflets that were left at the duck farm and that she was shot this morning. I’ve already got enough evidence to arrest her, and probably you too since I know you helped. But if I can work out a private settlement with the farmers, we may be able to stop this from being a criminal matter.”
Teddy bit his lip, started to speak but then stopped. He threw down his spade.
“I’m not saying she did anything, but she’s the kind of girl who believes in things,” he said. “She might want the publicity of being arrested, being shot, being a martyr.”
“It’s not just herself she’s putting at risk, and not just you. It’s Professor Horst’s reputation and Clothilde’s and the museum’s, and it’s going to cast a shadow over this discovery of yours if some of the archaeologists get arrested. Try to impress that on her and I’ll meet you both at the rugby stadium in an hour or so. Here …”
Bruno gave Teddy a business card that carried his mobile phone number. “Call me if you can persuade her. Meanwhile, you’d better make yourself scarce. Can you sneak up the stream and over those cliffs rather than take the road? There’s a marked walkers’ path about one hundred fifty feet back from the top of the cliffs that’ll take you to a shortcut back to St. Denis.”
“You mean, leave right now?”
“Absolutely right now.”
Bruno walked briskly back to the entrance to the dig as Teddy darted away past the overhang and into the trees that fringed the stream. Carlos was leading a small knot of gendarmes slowly up the path, chatting amiably with Annette and Capitaine Duroc. Bruno stopped, waved cheerfully and awaited their approach. He noticed Annette hanging back with her head down. She glanced at him and gave a shrug and something that was half grimace, half smile, as if trying to excuse herself. What had persuaded her to bring Duroc and the gendarmes into this? Bruno wondered. The previous day she had seemed ready to let Bruno handle the matter in his own way.
“I see you’ve met my Spanish colleague,” he said. “But if you’re looking for the people I’m trying to find, the birds have flown.”
“A Dutch female called Kajte?” said Duroc in his Normandy accent. When he swallowed, his Adam’s apple seemed to bounce over the stiff collar of his blue shirt. “Are you looking for somebody else as well?”
“I don’t think she could pull out fence posts on her own,” Bruno replied. “She may have had help.”
“Does anyone know where she is?”
“Yes, she’s not digging today,” Bruno replied. “She’s on the kitchen rotation so she could be shopping or she might be back at the campsite. That’s where I was planning to go next.”
“Do you want to come with us?” Duroc asked, in a reluctant way that suggested he would rather not share the arrest.
“I’ll let you handle the paperwork,” said Bruno. “It could be complicated, her being a foreigner. You might want to check with Dr. Clothilde Daunier of the National Museum in Les Eyzies. She’s in charge of this dig, and she’s responsible for the students. I’m sure the magistrate will agree.”
“That’s seems the right thing to do,” Annette said in a small voice, avoiding Bruno’s eye.
“So you’ll leave it to me?” Duroc asked, a hint of suspicion in his voice.
“I have a security meeting with Monsieur Gambara here.” Bruno nodded at Carlos. “So she’s all yours.”
“I was just asking Monsieur Gambara what brought him to St. Denis.”
“We have a liaison meeting coming up nearby, and I asked Chef de Police Courrèges to show me around the district,” Carlos said. “And after the lecture last night, I particularly wanted to see this famous site.”
“What’s this lecture?” Duroc demanded. “Nobody told me about any lecture.”
“Perhaps the magistrate can explain,” said Carlos. “But the chef de police and I have an appointment elsewhere. Capitaine, mademoiselle, I hope to see you again.”
Without looking at Bruno, he led the way down the path to the cars. With an apologetic gesture, Bruno hastened after him.
“Since I have no idea where we are meant to be going to this security meeting you mentioned, I’ll follow you,” said Carlos when they reached the road. Then he lowered his voice. “They don’t seem to know about the shooting yet.”
Conscious of Duroc’s eyes following him, Bruno took the road for Les Eyzies and then turned off at the railway crossing and followed a farm track to the back road through the woods to reach the St. Denis rugby stadium, avoiding the town center. As he skirted St. Chamassy, his cell phone beeped that he had a message. He pulled off to the side of the road to read it. In the mirror, he saw Carlos pull his Range Rover in behind and gestured from the window that he needed to answer a call. Carlos waved back, and raised a thumb.
“We are at the rugby stadium,” it said, and Bruno breathed a sigh of relief. Then he made a call to D
ominique. He had not seen her at the dig, but when she answered she said that she was working on cataloging at the museum.
“Can you get away for an hour or so? It’s important,” he asked her. “It’s about two of your colleagues at the dig, Teddy and Kajte. I think I’m going to need your help.” Quickly he explained what had happened.
“There are a lot of rumors flying around about those two,” she said, but promised to come.
Bruno drove on and parked behind the tennis club, where his car would not be seen by any passing gendarme, and waited until Carlos pulled in beside him.
“Thanks,” he said, when Carlos climbed out. “I owe you for this.”
“It’s always fun to tease gendarmes,” said Carlos, grinning. “But can you tell me who or what you are trying to protect, and why?”
“Two young fools who have gotten mixed up in the animal rights movement and did that raid on the duck farm. You wanted to talk to them anyway, when you said that one kind of militant can easily become another. Now’s your chance, they’re hiding out at the rugby stadium.”
“Why don’t you want them arrested?”
“Because I don’t want two young lives ruined and I don’t want the farmers here getting angry with the archaeologists and the museum. Horst is a friend of mine,” Bruno said as his mobile phone buzzed on his belt. He checked the screen; it was Annette. He ignored it and led the way across the field to the tiny gate that led from the tennis club to the rugby field and its stadium, where two distant figures sat huddled together.
10
The town was very proud of its small covered stadium. It still gleamed with the coat of paint it had been given in the autumn for the start of the new rugby season. The dressing rooms, built of cinder blocks by local volunteers and painted white, were at one side, and on the other were small kiosks that served beer and grilled sausages on game days. Kajte and Teddy sat hunched together on the stadium steps. The girl’s face was white and drawn with pain. Bruno checked his watch. Nobody would be coming for the training session for hours yet.
The Crowded Grave Page 8
