“I would rather no word of this emerges until it is a fait accompli, preferably after my death,” he went on. “But certainly I’d like this all to be confidential until after a reputable tribunal has declared my bequest and my will to be valid and made while I am of sound mind.”
“Is that because you’re concerned that Madame Bonnet will contest the will?” Bruno asked.
“Yes. I have no doubt that she and her family are looking forward to inheriting it all, selling off the paintings and living on the proceeds. For some time she’s been pressing me to hire a professional housekeeper rather than employ her. More recently, she suggested that I should move into a retirement home.”
“I see,” said the mayor, rising. “I’ll consider your generous offer and consult in confidence one or two close colleagues. In the meantime, I think we can arrange for you to meet some professionals who can establish that you’re in complete possession of your faculties as they witness your legacy.” He shook Bourdeille’s hand and asked Bruno to wheel him downstairs and out to the waiting vehicle.
“I’d rather not return home just yet, I get out so seldom,” Bourdeille said when he and Bruno were in the elevator. “And Madame Bonnet is not the most agreeable of companions. Would you join me for coffee in the local café?”
“With pleasure,” said Bruno, and wheeled Bourdeille into Fauquet’s. The old man ordered two coffees with a glass of Calvados and a pain au chocolat for each of them. When they came, he put three lumps of sugar into his coffee and bit greedily into his pastry, washing it down with a swig of the apple brandy.
“This is a treat,” he said, around a second mouthful.
“Tell me,” said Bruno. “Your relations with Madame Bonnet don’t seem to be going well. Are you being mistreated at home in any way?”
“Nothing obvious,” he replied, finishing his Calvados. “She nags me and there are some petty humiliations when I ask for help in going to the toilet. I’m now required to wear a diaper, which is too infrequently changed. She seldom cooks these days, so I’m fed packaged meals like frozen pizzas, which I loathe, and quiche Lorraine that tastes like cardboard. The best meal I’ve had in weeks was when Claudia cooked for me before she went back to Paris.”
“You could book that special taxi to take you to decent restaurants.”
“There’s little pleasure in dining alone, and I’ve outlived most of my contemporaries and those I considered friends. That’s why I enjoyed Claudia’s company so much. I even enjoyed our brief meeting this morning, unpleasant though the topic of our discussion turned out to be. Claudia’s company reminded me how agreeable a polite conversation with an intelligent partner could be. I haven’t had much of that since Paul died.”
“Have you ever tried taking a holiday, a week in Paris seeing your old colleagues at the Louvre?” Bruno asked. “You could revisit your favorite paintings, go to the opera, take your old pupils to lunch. It’s much easier than it used to be to get around in a wheelchair.”
Bourdeille sat back, looking surprised. “That’s exactly what Claudia said,” he said. “I was even thinking of taking her up on the idea, but then her death intervened.”
“You could still do it. You could even find a specialist guide for people who have trouble getting around on their own, and you can certainly afford it.”
“That’s something to consider. I’ll reflect on that. Aren’t you going to drink your Calvados?”
Bruno shook his head.
“In that case…,” Bourdeille said, taking the glass from in front of Bruno. “Am I correct in thinking that the mayor seemed rather less excited than one might have expected about my proposal?”
“He’s a very cautious man, not given to rushes of enthusiasm,” Bruno replied. “And he’ll need support from the town council. The important thing is that he said he will convene the meeting of lawyers and doctors to validate your will.”
“Very well.” Bourdeille put a twenty-euro note beneath his saucer. “Perhaps you could take me out to that ingenious vehicle that brought me.”
Chapter 17
Bruno had been back in his office for less than ten minutes when Hodge called to say that he had just had breakfast with Claudia’s mother. She wanted to know if it would be convenient for her to see the well at Limeuil where her daughter had died. Bruno said he would meet them there and called David, the chief gardener, to warn him of the visit. He then called J-J to inform him.
“It’s fine with me,” J-J said. “But you’d better check with the magistrate who’s deciding what charge to file against the builders. It’s that rally-driver friend of yours in Sarlat, Annette. She handles building-code offenses.”
Annette was already at the site in Limeuil when he called her and said of course the girl’s mother could come. Bruno joined her at the well with David, the mayor of Limeuil and a local insurance agent. Annette was taking pictures on her phone while the mayor and the insurance man argued in low voices. David and Félicité stood to one side in their gardening clothes, looking as if they’d rather be somewhere else. Bruno shook hands with the men and Félicité, embraced Annette and asked whether the builders would be joining them.
“No, I’m going to see them separately,” Annette said. “David tells me you took photos of the well before the young woman was pulled out and you thought there might be a question of negligence. They deny that in the statement they gave to J-J, saying they understood the gardens would be locked overnight.”
“They weren’t locked until after the lecture ended, and when I checked the perimeter I saw several places where a youngster could climb in. They didn’t even put a lid on the well, let alone lock it.”
“I was just telling the magistrate that we usually keep it locked permanently,” said David.
“The building code says work on a well should be cordoned off when the site is unmanned,” said Annette. “Is this her?” she asked.
Bruno turned to see Hodge and Claudia’s mother coming up the path. Today Madame Muller was wearing slacks, a tweed jacket and a silk head scarf. The same leather sneakers were still on her feet, but she looked better than she had the previous day, as though she had had some sleep. Bruno made the introductions, and she accepted the mayor’s flowery condolences politely, her eyes flickering to the well and back.
“You must have been one of the last people to see my daughter alive,” she said to David, but he blushed and said he hadn’t been at the lecture.
“I was on the door for the lecture and I saw her that evening, madame,” said Félicité. “I’m very sorry for your loss. She and I lived at the same house, and I liked her a lot. She was very kind and friendly and I’ll miss her. At the lecture, I was told your daughter was not well and had gone home. The next day I found what we think was her jacket hanging in the coatroom.”
“Thank you,” said Madame Muller, giving Félicité a grimace that she probably intended to be a smile. “Perhaps at some point you might show me the room where she stayed.” She stepped forward to peer over the rim of the well. “I was told there was a cat. Does it live here?”
“I haven’t seen it since it was pulled from the well on Monday morning, along with Claudia,” said David. “It was a kitten and there are many cats in the village. They often come up here at night.”
Madame Muller turned around, addressing Annette. “Are you the magistrate who will decide when to release her body?”
“No, madame. My job is only to draft an initial report on the site of her death, and the procureur will make the real decision. He’s my boss. But we still must wait for the police to say whether they believe it was an accidental death or if they recommend further investigation. At that point the case will probably be handed to a senior magistrate.”
“You mean there’s a suspicion it wasn’t accidental?” she said, her voice rising sharply. “That Claudia could have been murdered?”
“No, madame, not at all. It simply means we don’t know at this stage, but what we have so far seems to suggest an accident. But as you see, the well was not secured as it should have been. That could lead to charges against the builders.”
“I would certainly hope so.”
“I’m very sorry for your loss, madame, and we’ll try to resolve this as quickly as we can and to minimize your inconvenience.”
“Inconvenience is not what I’m feeling at this time, mademoiselle.”
“I understand,” Annette said, biting her lip and blushing with embarrassment. “Forgive my clumsy choice of words. I meant that we will do our best to resolve this as quickly as we can.”
“Can I see the lecture hall, please?” she asked. Félicité stepped forward, but Bruno put a hand on her arm and asked David to escort Madame Muller. Hodge followed them, casting a curious glance at Bruno as he left.
“I need to ask you about the procedure when you closed the castle after the lecture,” he said, leading Félicité off to one side, out of earshot of the others. “Did you count the people out?”
“No, I had to stay to tidy up, clear away the plastic glasses and napkins and straighten the chairs. By the time I came out of the castle, almost everyone had gone, just a few people still chatting outside. Florence and one of the English people were asking the lecturer about something, and then one of the locals came down from the bushes. I think he’d been for a quick pee—he said something about the toilet in the castle being in use.”
“Are you sure this man had stayed till the end of the lecture? He didn’t slip out sooner?”
“No, I was by the door, so I’d have seen him leave. And I know him, it was the guy from the canoe rentals, Dominic.”
“And did anyone come out from using the toilet in the castle?”
“I don’t recall, but there were one or two people coming and going, putting on their jackets, making sure they had everything. When they’d all gone, I went back to the castle and checked that the place was empty and there was nobody in the gift shop. I turned out the lights and locked the main door. Then I locked the garden gate behind me and went home.”
“Did you go into the garden near the well at any point?”
“No.” She shook her head firmly.
“Does that mean you didn’t see that the builders had left the well unguarded?”
She shook her head again. “No, I didn’t see that.”
“Had the builders been working that day before the lecture?”
“It was a Sunday, so I doubt it.”
Bruno let her go and then went back to ask Annette if she had a copy of the statement the builders had given to J-J. She pulled it out of her file and handed it to him. He read that the builders had worked on Saturday because they usually took Mondays off. So the well had been unguarded all of Sunday when the gardens were open to the public. He pointed this out to Annette, who said she’d been asking David that very question. He’d been on duty on Sunday and must have seen that the well had been left open.
“That could make him negligent, too,” she said. “Look, the mother and the FBI man are coming back.”
“Were you here Sunday when the gardens were open?” Annette called to David as he approached from the castle.
“I was here, yes, but down in the lower garden working with the bees, and then I cleaned the water garden.”
“So you weren’t guiding the visitors?” Annette went on.
“We don’t usually do that, unless there’s a school group and a special tour. People find their way around with the map.”
“Would you know if the well was left open like this on Sunday?” Annette’s voice was becoming aggressive.
“No, I had no occasion to come up here,” he replied, looking bemused, as if surprised by her line of questioning. “The men may have been working. They worked on Saturday.”
“Who else was here from the garden crew on Sunday?”
“Antoine, he was working in the herb garden.”
“Do you make an inspection tour at the start or the end of the day, looking around the whole garden?”
“Not always. I’ve usually been pretty much everywhere in the course of a day. We do a check on the paths before closing and ring a bell, but you’d need several people to do a proper search every evening.”
“So you aren’t sure if the men were working Sunday, or if the well was left unguarded like this from Saturday when they stopped work?”
“No, I’m not sure,” he retorted, his lips tight and his voice rising. “But that’s not my job. I’m the gardener, not a security man. And I’m not a builder, nor do I know anything about building codes.”
“Calm down, David,” interrupted the mayor. “He’s right, mademoiselle. I drew up David’s job description. He’s the chief gardener, and he acts as guide to the place on special request. And he and the other staff volunteer to be here when we have special events like the lecture.”
“Did the job descriptions you drafted assign anyone to check that all the visitors had gone at the end of each day?”
“No.”
“What about the devis your builders would have given you before they started work. Was there anything in there about security and building codes?”
“It’s a standard form that says the builders undertake to carry out and complete the work according to professional norms and standards,” said the insurance man, waving a copy of the contract he’d plucked from the file in his hands. “That means following the building codes.”
“So they are liable,” said Annette sharply. “Not the gardeners and not the town council or the mairie.”
“I’d say so,” the insurance man replied. “Not that I’m a lawyer or any kind of expert, but it seems that way.”
“I think we’d better leave you to your discussion,” said Madame Muller, who’d been watching this exchange from her standpoint beside the well. Hodge was standing behind her, a worried look on his face. Ignoring him, she turned to lean over the lip of the well and gaze down into the depths where her daughter had died. It was an awkward pose, her hands at her sides and her body bent, and deliberately refusing to touch any part of the stone rim. This lasted for several seconds. Then she stood up straight and stared directly at Bruno, her eyes bright. “You went down this well to look for her?”
“Only a little way, enough to be worried at what I thought I saw. That was when I called in the pompiers.”
“Thank you,” she said. “I’m glad somebody here was behaving responsibly. I just wish you’d arrived sooner.”
She turned on her heel and began to walk away. Hodge shrugged, and then mimicked to Bruno making a phone call and followed her.
“One second, madame,” Bruno called and went to join her. “Claudia’s teacher from Yale, Professor Porter, let me know that he’s coming here at the family’s request and has asked to see me. Did you ask him to do that?”
“No, it must be my ex-husband. That’s interesting,” she said, sounding surprised. “I know that Claudia respected Professor Porter very much, so I have no objection to your telling him what you can. Still, I’d better check with my ex’s office and let you know.”
Chapter 18
When Bruno returned to St. Denis, two people were sitting on the wooden bench inside the reception area at the mairie. Claire tossed her head at Bruno in a way that signaled they were waiting to see him. The man was in his fifties with thick gray hair that hung to his collar, dressed in corduroy slacks and a tweed jacket over an open-necked denim shirt. He looked tired and his clothes were crumpled as if after a long flight. Beside him was a handsome woman in her forties wearing a smart suit with a round collar. Bruno was no fashion expert but thought it might be Chanel. Her dark hair was pulled back into a severe bun and her eyes were cold. A small and boxy handbag of patent leather hung from a chain over her shoulder,
and she held a briefcase against her stomach as if it required protection.
“M’sieur-dame, bonjour. Professor Porter?” Bruno inquired.
“Yes, and you must be Chief of Police Courrèges.” His French was good, and they shook hands. “And this is Madame de Breille, who represents the family’s interests.”
“Bonjour, madame,” Bruno said. “You represent Claudia’s mother or her father?”
“Bonjour, monsieur. I represent Monsieur Muller.” Her accent was cut-glass Parisian. “I believe you are this commune’s garde champêtre who found Claudia in the well?”
Bruno raised an eyebrow. Garde champêtre was a very old-fashioned and somewhat contemptuous way to describe his work. He turned to Claire. “Is the council chamber free?” She nodded.
“My office is small, so let’s go in here.” He pulled out a chair that faced the long window with its view over the river for Madame de Breille and went around the table to take his own seat with his back to the view and all the light on the faces of his two visitors. He pulled out his notebook and a pen and pushed two of his business cards across the council table.
Porter returned his own card emblazoned with his university’s crest, and the woman presented a card that listed only her name engraved in flowing script.
“No phone number? No e-mail? No company address?” Bruno said, surprised.
“I’m particular about those with whom I share private details,” she replied coolly.
“I presume you have some letter of authorization from Monsieur Muller?” he asked.
“There wasn’t time. Kindly stop being so officious and just get on with your job, monsieur.”
Bruno sat back in his chair, looking at her steadily. She held his gaze. “Do you have some other means of identification, madame?”
She rolled her eyes.
Bruno stood up. “Professor Porter is of course welcome to stay, but I’m afraid I don’t share police details with people I can’t identify.”
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