“I know you’ve been shot,” he said to Kajte. “Can you make it into the dressing rooms where you’ll be out of sight? If not, we can carry you.”
“I got here on my own legs,” she said in excellent French. “I’ll just lean on Teddy.” She grimaced as she got to her feet and then limped down the steps and followed Bruno, who had his own key to the rooms. Inside, between the two dressing rooms for the home team and the visitors, was a passage that led to the big communal bath, a row of showers, and to a small medical room. A massage table stood against one wall.
“Get out of those slacks and let me look at your injuries,” Bruno said. “Don’t worry. I’ve treated worse gunshot wounds than yours.”
“I told her you said you wanted to fix this, if you could,” Teddy said to Bruno, helping Kajte onto the table and easing the khaki cargo pants over her bandages. There were two spots of blood on the bandages, none on her trousers. Bruno took a pair of scissors from the medical cupboard, cut the knot and then unrolled the thick bandages and gently peeled away the medical gauze. Kajte bit her lip but remained silent.
The damage could have been worse. There were three small pellet wounds in one calf and about a dozen in the other, on the back of her thigh and her calf, some of them so close together that they almost met. She must have been turning to run when the bird shot hit her.
“I’m surprised you could run after that,” Bruno said, bending her knee carefully to see the play of the ligaments.
“Adrenaline,” said Teddy, and almost at the same time Kajte said, “He carried me.” They looked at each other and smiled. Bruno felt a rush of sympathy.
“You’ve been lucky,” said Bruno. “Nothing near the knee and the ligaments look to be okay.” He turned to Teddy. “You sure you got all the pellets out?”
“Every one. I counted, one pellet for every hole.”
“Some of them are so close …,” Bruno muttered, peering to see. But none of the wounds seemed deep, and they’d stopped bleeding.
“I used a magnifying glass. We all have them at the dig,” Teddy said.
“You’ve cleaned her up well,” said Bruno, turning at the sound of footsteps on the gravel outside. A girl’s voice called, “Bruno?”
“In here, Dominique,” he shouted back. “These two you know,” he said as she stood by the door, looking into the room. “And this is Carlos, a colleague from Spain who’s been very helpful,” Bruno went on, explaining what had happened while Dominique’s surprise turned into something that looked like disapproval. It troubled him, and so he tried to find the words that would make her want to help. “If we can’t find a way to settle this amicably, Maurice could be in deep trouble. The farmers are going to react angrily, and I suspect your dad will be one of them. Why not explain to your two friends here what that might mean while I treat these shotgun wounds.”
Bruno went back to the cupboard and returned with a bottle of iodine and a tube of antiseptic cream that contained an antibiotic. They used it for the serious cuts and grazes on the rugby field.
“Dad was talking about it last night,” Dominique said. “All the farmers were upset after the attack on the Villattes, and a lot of them blame us at the dig. Some of them wanted to go and fill the dig in, so that’s why I dragged Dad along to the lecture, so he could understand how important it was. But all he could talk about on the way home was blocking off the way into the museum with piles of manure, like they did with the prefecture over milk prices.”
The lid of the iodine bottle was a rubber bulb, with a long tube beneath. He warned Kajte that the iodine would sting, but she bit her lip and said nothing as he used the rubber bulb to squeeze a drop of iodine onto each of the fifteen pellet holes. Some of the brown liquid overflowed and trickled down her leg.
“I hadn’t heard about the shooting,” Dominique went on, watching Bruno at work on Kajte’s leg and then looking at Teddy. “But everybody knows it’s you two and that other Dutch couple who let the ducks out from that farm. We heard you arguing with Kasimir on the way back from the dig yesterday.”
Bruno applied antibiotic cream to each wound and covered them with adhesive strips. There were only two places where the pellet holes were so close together that Bruno thought a bandage would be needed, though not the thick layers that Teddy had applied.
“You should be able to walk more easily now,” he said. “But remember, you’re still in shock. Rest here, stay warm and take lots of liquids.”
“You sound more like a doctor than a policeman,” Kajte said, trying to smile as Teddy helped her put her pants back on.
“I’m a local policeman, not a gendarme. It’s different. Now, this business cannot be hushed up. I had to take a statement from Maurice, the farmer who shot you. He thought you were a fox. That was why he fired so low. He’s devastated to think he hurt somebody and so is Sophie, his wife. They are poor people who barely make ends meet, just like the Villattes, where you and Teddy released the ducks yesterday.”
He held up a hand when she started to protest. “Don’t try to deny it. I’ve got witnesses to your printing the leaflets and the peta.com website you visited, and I assume it’s your blood at Maurice’s farm. I’m going to give you a choice.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, taking Teddy’s hand.
“You can both be charged with criminal damage and you’ll probably spend some time in jail. I don’t think you’ll have much of a career in archaeology after that. Worse still, the museum and Horst and Clothilde will be held responsible by the local farmers, who are furious about these attacks. You heard Dominique.”
“I’m very angry about what they do,” Kajte said.
“I understand that. And you’re entitled to your beliefs, but I live here, I know the farmers and I know the foie gras trade, and I think you’re going after the wrong target. These duck farmers you attacked are the ones who raise their ducks in the old-fashioned way and feed them by hand. They’re not the big factory farms and industrial plants where the ducks are kept in cages and force-fed with pumps. How much do you know about foie gras anyway?”
“I’ve read up on it,” she said defiantly.
“So what’s the difference between the male and female ducks when it comes to foie gras?”
“What do you mean? There’s no difference. They get force-fed and then they’re killed.”
“Not quite. In most places, the female ducklings are killed right away, because their livers are different, too many veins. The customers don’t want that. But at Maurice and Sophie’s farm they don’t do that. They raise the female ducklings too, although they make no money out of it, and they do so in the open air and in good conditions.”
“They still kill the birds eventually.”
“That’s true, but I think you’re going after the most decent people in this business. It’s cowardly because you’re attacking the soft targets, the poor farmers who have no security and no alarm systems, rather than the really bad places where the ducks are caged and slaughtered by the thousand.”
“Bruno’s right,” Dominique said. “I’m as much of a Green as you, but you’ve picked the wrong targets. Also I don’t think you understand just how angry the farmers are. I’m angry too because you’ve blundered into something you don’t understand. I’d say you should be punished and thrown off the dig.”
Kajte locked glances with Dominique and then looked up at Teddy. “I’m sorry I got you into this,” she said, and turned to Bruno. “What was the choice you mentioned?”
“There’s no guarantee, but let’s try to make this work. I’ll take you to the farmers, first the Villattes and then to Maurice and Sophie. You apologize to them, and you pay the Villattes for the cost of the birds that were killed and some compensation to make it clear that you’re sincere. Then you apologize to Maurice and Sophie for the grief and guilt you have caused them. Maybe you should spend a day at each farm to see what they do and how they do it. I don’t care if you remain a member of your animal rights group, but you
should know what you’re talking about.”
“How does that fix things? I’m still going to be arrested.”
“Not if the farmers decide not to press charges and if the magistrate finds that acceptable.”
From his perch by the medical cupboard, Carlos suddenly spoke, addressing Teddy as if he were the more malleable of the two. “It sounds like a good deal to me. I’d take it, if I were you.”
“You said we should pay compensation,” Teddy asked Bruno. “How much are you talking about?”
“The Villattes lost about half-a-dozen ducks at six euros each and a couple of geese, and they had to repair the fencing. Say eighty to a hundred euros. And Maurice lost a couple of cold frames. Buy him some new glass and a good bottle of wine and get Sophie some flowers. Can you afford that?”
“Kajte can afford a lot more than that,” said Dominique. “She’s been telling us she became Green because she feels guilty about her dad, who’s some sort of high-up with Shell oil.”
Kajte looked daggers at Dominique.
“I think we should take Bruno’s advice,” Teddy said, kneeling down to be at eye level with Kajte. “I didn’t get into this to get shot at and hurt some poor farmers.”
“I can’t say I’m thrilled at being shot either,” Kajte retorted. She looked up at Bruno. “What happens to this trigger-happy Maurice if we do what you say?”
“There’ll be an inquiry, but he’s got a good lawyer and he’s already given a statement. You were an intruder, at night, and under French law he has the right to defend his property. What’s more, he called the police in, which is more than you did. Maurice should be in the clear.”
“You’re getting off lightly,” snapped Dominique.
Bruno sighed. It had been a mistake on his part to invite her. She and Kajte clearly disliked each other. But it had been worth a try, to bring in a local and a colleague of their own age who might be able to convince them to follow Bruno’s plan.
“What now?” asked Teddy.
“I have to make a few phone calls, and then take you to the Villattes’. I’ll arrange for Maurice and Sophie to be there.”
“I haven’t agreed to anything yet,” said Kajte. Teddy’s face fell.
“You’ll have a few minutes to make up your mind while I make these calls,” Bruno said. “When I come back, either you do it my way or I arrest you both and take you to the gendarmerie and charge you with criminal damage. Carlos, will you kindly stay here with them while I use the phone?”
Bruno walked out onto the rugby field, thumbing in the number of Annette’s mobile phone.
“I just got your message,” he said. “I was out on patrol in a place with no reception.”
“I was calling to apologize,” she said. “I didn’t want to interfere with your attempt to settle things, but Capitaine Duroc insisted.”
“How did he find out about it?”
Annette explained that Duroc had visited her office that morning, making conversation over a cup of coffee. She’d mentioned what Bruno had told her about tracking the students down through the computer. A crime is a crime, Duroc had said, and insisted on her accompanying him to St. Denis to make an arrest.
“Duroc doesn’t seem to like you,” she added. “I’m sorry if this makes things difficult.”
“What’s done is done,” Bruno said. Annette had let herself be bullied by Duroc, a man who made no secret of his belief that country policemen like Bruno were an anachronism in modern France and should be replaced forthwith by gendarmes. “Have you got the fax I sent you?”
“No, I haven’t been to the office yet. What’s it about?”
“Those students went after another duck farm in the early hours of this morning, and the farmer thought it was a fox and fired his shotgun. Then he called me. There was some blood at the scene so one of them may have taken a few pellets.”
“You mean someone has been shot?” Annette’s voice was shocked. “This is awful. Duroc was right, I should never have listened to you. If we’d arrested those students yesterday this would never have happened. And why do you only tell me this now rather than when I saw you at the dig? Are you doing some kind of cover-up?”
“Hold on, Annette. Let’s be sure of our facts. Nobody has reported in to the medical center with shotgun wounds. But you were informed as soon as it happened. I took the farmer’s statement and faxed a copy to your office in Sarlat. It’s not my fault if you don’t check your in-box.”
As soon as he said it, Bruno knew that the last sentence had been a mistake. After all, she had called him to apologize.
“I’ve been hearing from Capitaine Duroc about the way you operate,” she said, her voice crisp. “He told me that you’re always taking the law into your own hands, looking out for St. Denis and the mayor first. You’re not going to get away with that with me.”
“It’s St. Denis that pays my salary,” he said, irritated that she was listening to a fool like Duroc. Then, making himself speak normally, he asked, “Where are you now?”
“I’m in St. Denis, at the campsite, waiting for this Dutch girl to turn up so Duroc can arrest her. I’d have thought you wanted your precious foie gras farmers protected. Does this shooting involve the same farmer?”
“No, they went for another farm. But this one’s a prominent member of the local hunting club, which includes the mayor and the subprefect, so he has some well-placed friends.” Bruno felt that he at least owed her the warning that this could get complicated. Any local magistrate would understand that kid gloves were required. But Annette was not local, and worse still she was inexperienced, not knowing the importance of personal networks and friendships in country areas.
“The hunting club has legal insurance so you can be sure he’ll be well defended,” Bruno said. “You’d better handle this by the book.”
“And you’d better understand that I always handle things by the book,” she said briskly. “But if he’s wounded somebody, then your farmer’s going to be in very serious trouble, whoever his friends are. I’m going to call Duroc.”
“If you do, warn him that the Police Nationale have already taken the case. They won’t take kindly to the gendarmes butting in. You’ll find all the details in Maurice’s statement, and there’s a copy with Sergeant Jules at the gendarmerie, who also has the gun. I took it in there this morning when the farmer voluntarily surrendered it. He has a hunting license so the gun is legal. If I were you, I’d wait until I’d checked the statement and wait to see if anybody has called in with a gunshot wound. Otherwise you could be bringing a case with no victim.”
“I don’t need a victim. I’m the magistrate and I know the law. And I’m not impressed by local worthies trying to bend it.”
“Very well.” He gave it one more try. “Please remember this looks like your first case in your new district. For your own sake, you’d better make sure it’s a success. I’ll call you as soon as I know whether any of the local doctors have seen anyone with shotgun wounds.”
“I’ll expect your call.”
She hung up, leaving Bruno staring at his phone and asking himself how he could have handled Annette so badly. Could he still try to resolve this case amicably when the magistrate was on the warpath? It sounded as if Annette was now prepared to drop everything and focus on the shooting. He called the baron’s mobile and found him still with Maurice and Sophie. The mayor had already been and gone, and Louis Pouillon, the retired magistrate, had just arrived. Could he get them all over to the Villattes’ farm, where Bruno would join them shortly?
Telling the baron that he planned to try settling the affair without formal charges, he asked him to warn Maurice and Sophie that he was going to bring two young students to apologize for all the trouble they caused. Then Pouillon took the phone.
“Bruno, I have the statement and I’ve looked at the scene,” said the retired magistrate. “I think we’ll be fine. I can tell you there’s no way that this would have led to any charges in my day.”
“I’m not sure your successor will take the same view. That’s why I want to get everyone together and agree no charges will be brought by anyone. I’ll be bringing the two culprits, a pair of foreign students, and they are going to apologize and pay compensation for the ducks.”
“That makes sense.”
“It might not make sense to the new magistrate, or to Capitaine Duroc. You remember him?”
“The big one from Normandy with the Adam’s apple? I remember him always trying to boost his arrest record, trying to file charges that I’d then have to drop.”
“I expect him to turn up at Maurice’s farm any minute with the new magistrate, so I suggest you all follow the baron to another farm, the Villattes’ place, where these two young fools did mischief the other day. I’ll meet you there in a few minutes.”
11
They had stopped briefly at the florist’s, where Kajte had used her debit card to buy two imposing bouquets. The moment he saw Sophie clucking and fussing like a mother hen over the limping Dutch girl, Bruno felt confident that his plan might just work. Her youth and good looks were half the battle with the men, and Teddy helped when he said that he hoped this incident would not mean he would be unwelcome on the rugby field. Responding instantly to Sophie’s genuine good nature, Kajte managed to display the combination of humility, apology and grace that was required to win over the less gullible Sandrine. Pouillon and the baron quickly announced their satisfaction at this solution, and the flowers and the compensation money helped seal the deal. The baron went out to his car and returned with a bottle of his homemade vin de noix to toast the agreement.
Bruno checked his watch and declined. He and Carlos had a number of families of Spanish origin to visit, a chore that Bruno felt would pay few dividends, but he wanted to be able to report it done at that evening’s security meeting. He’d see J-J at the meeting and tell him the attacks on the farms had been resolved. Annette, Bruno hoped, could be left to Pouillon. The important thing would be to keep Maurice and the students away from Duroc and his insistence on formal arrests. Maurice and Sophie agreed to stay at the Villatte place rather than go home, and the baron suggested that Kajte and Teddy come back to his small château.
The Crowded Grave Page 9
