Bruno 02 - The Dark Vineyard

by Martin Walker

  Bruno felt a chill as the brigadier turned away to pull a laptop from his case, plugged it in and settled down before the screen. Duroc and Bruno were dismissed. Duroc went to the front desk to order a car to fetch Alphonse and Dominique. Bruno walked thoughtfully back toward the mairie, thinking about that room full of computer experts in Paris trawling through e-mails and tracing phone calls and probably listening in to numbers of interest. By now, that would probably include Dominique’s cell phone. His instinct was to give Stéphane a warning call. But any sign that Dominique was prepared, or that she had called in a lawyer, would just deepen the suspicions about her.

  12

  Bruno felt miserable as he took the short stroll from the gendarmerie to the fire station, but his spirits were restored by the cheery greetings he received from the throng on the pavement outside the nursery school. As they always did this close to noon, young mothers with their strollers and shopping bags massed and gossiped and showed off new babies as they waited for the morning classes to end and their children to pour out of the front door in a happy, shrieking horde. If the birthrate alone were the sign of a town’s health, Saint-Denis was in fine shape, Bruno thought as he tipped his peaked hat to the assembled mothers and stepped into the road to pass them.

  Ahmed was in the fire station, as arranged, and the two of them went up to join Albert in his office to try Bruno’s experiment. It had been Ahmed who had taken the alarm call on the night of the fire, and although the call had not been recorded, Bruno thought it was worth taking a chance on Ahmed’s hearing and his memory.

  “I don’t know how much I can help, Bruno,” said Ahmed as they stood by Albert’s crowded desk. “I told you it sounded to me like there was a cloth over the mouthpiece. The voice was muffled, hard to make out.”

  “But you remember what the caller said?”

  Albert pushed toward Bruno the notepad he had on his desk. “Here’s what Ahmed scribbled down as he took the call.” It was just a list of single words—“Fire. Barn. Field. Behind woods. St.-Cham. road. Before St.-Cyp. turn.”

  “That’s pretty much all the caller said,” Ahmed confirmed. “Then when I asked for his name and address he just said he was calling from the Coux phone booth and hung up.”

  “Well, try to remember the voice and then listen to this,” Bruno said, picking up Albert’s phone and calling the voice mail message box at his office. “The quality isn’t brilliant, and you’ll hear me talking a bit, but there’s another man’s voice and I want to know if it sounds like the caller from Coux.”

  Ahmed took the phone and listened, closing his eyes in concentration. “Can you play it again?” he asked when the short conversation at Cresseil’s farm was over. “It’s a bit faint.”

  Bruno hung up and dialed again. This time Ahmed’s eyes were open and his lips moved as if he was reciting the words to himself. Albert sat motionless behind his desk, his eyes fixed on Ahmed, the only sound the tinny crackles that leaked from the phone at Ahmed’s ear. Bruno realized he was holding his breath in response to the tension that was building in the room.

  “One more time,” Ahmed said, handing the phone back to Bruno. “There’s something familiar about the voice. Maybe it’s just someone I’ve met once or twice. But try again.”

  “As often as you like.” Bruno dialed again.

  “You think it’s him, don’t you?” said Albert. “You think it was the caller who set the fire.”

  “Maybe,” said Bruno, handing Ahmed the phone for the third time.

  Again, the voices leaked from the phone into the silence and tension of the room. From outside the window came the voices of the children liberated from school, followed by the howl of the noon siren.

  “I can’t swear to it,” said Ahmed. “But I think it’s him. It’s the way he says the word ‘fire.’ But when he says he knows you and he’ll see you at rugby practice … maybe I heard that voice there at the rugby club. He’s one of us, isn’t he, from Saint-Denis?”

  “Don’t worry, Ahmed. I won’t ask you to testify in court about this,” said Bruno. “I’m just trying to narrow things down a bit.”

  “Maybe this will persuade the mayor to let us have a new phone system in the next budget,” said Albert. “One that records calls automatically.”

  “Not until I get my new van,” said Bruno.

  As he climbed the familiar steps of the mairie Bruno had the uncomfortable feeling that he was losing his grip on the affairs of his town. It wasn’t just the arrival of the brigadier but also the coming of Bondino and the scale of the change the venture might bring to Saint-Denis. But his immediate problem was the brigadier. It felt like a personal humiliation, knowing that Dominique and Alphonse, friends of his, were now to be hauled in for a less-than-gentle grilling by the big guns from Paris. And his own hardening suspicions about Max made the fate of the other two seem all the more unfair.

  Bruno paused at the top of the stairs, reflecting on the prospect that matters were likely to get a lot worse. This wouldn’t stop with Alphonse and Dominique, nor with Max, when the brigadier got around to him, as he surely would. Once the Paris politicians got worried, the people of Saint-Denis became just so many pawns. His anger brought back the old bitterness that he’d hoped to leave behind when he left the army. It was all part of the same rotten system. The people of Saint-Denis were going to be treated poorly, just as he and his fellow soldiers had been used and abandoned when they were sent into Bosnia as barely armed peacekeepers when there was no peace to be kept, no orders to fight, no honor in the duty. There had been only humiliation and mortar rounds and the sniper who put a bullet into Bruno’s hip.

  He stayed there at the top of the stairs, staring at the old and faded tourism poster that had been banished to the stairwell in one of Claire’s redecoration projects. The top half depicted the prehistoric cave paintings of Lascaux and the lower half an idyllic view of the valley from the ridge above Saint-Denis. Between them was the phrase “Valley of the Vézère, cradle of mankind for 40,000 years.” Whole civilizations and nations, monarchies and cultures, had come and gone. His own petty concerns seemed minuscule in such a vast historic scale. But this was his town, these were his friends and this was duty. The only way to protect Saint-Denis now was for him to solve the case quickly, and to do it himself. He knew that Max was his obvious suspect. That meant breaking Cresseil’s alibi, eliciting a confession or setting a trap for Max. Bruno let out a deep breath. He didn’t like it, but he knew the course he’d have to take. With a last look at the ancient animals of Lascaux, he pushed through the heavy door into the offices, barely nodding in response to Claire’s cheery greeting from the reception desk. He knocked on the mayor’s half-open door and leaned into his office to ask about working with the brigadier.

  “Better cooperate,” the mayor said. “I already approved your assignment to work with J-J, and it’s the same case. And after that remark by Bondino about finding the arsonist, the sooner we do so the better. I’m glad you came by because I wanted to ask about this adoption request. I don’t want to stand in Cresseil’s way, but it may be a problem. Cresseil’s land is part of the slope Bondino wants us to help him buy. Perhaps you could find out informally what Cresseil plans to do. From the look of him, I’d guess he’ll be in the retirement home before the year is out. And maybe you could talk to Bondino’s people about a job or a scholarship or something for young Max. If he wants to go into the wine business, it could be a good opening for him.”

  Heading back to his office, Bruno pondered the mayor’s words. The prospect of a Bondino scholarship for Max could be an attractive idea, unless he was arrested, but it also carried the implicit threat by the mayor that he would block the adoption request. Clearly the mayor had decided to go ahead with the Bondino project. If it worked, it could secure the economic future of Saint-Denis for generations. So why did Bruno feel so wary of the plan? Was it just his dislike of change, or was it his affection for Saint-Denis as it was? Absentmindedly, he booted up his
computer. The first e-mail was from Isabelle in Paris: “Coming to Périgord. Are you free this weekend?”

  Bruno was taken aback by the sudden rush of emotion that flooded him. I’m not some teenage innocent in the grip of his first affair, he told himself. I’m going to be forty. We had a very grown-up conversation about how her career ambitions and my love of this place could never blend happily. And now she’s coming to visit and my heart is beating faster and I want to stand up and cheer.

  He read the e-mail again, analyzing the eight-word message for some deeper meaning. There was not the slightest hint of affection, only the raw data. Did she want to spend the whole weekend with him? How should he respond? In similar neutral terms, or should he say something personal? Did he really want to repeat the cycle of joy and then melancholy with Isabelle? His fingers rested lightly on the keyboard. He had to send some kind of reply. He closed his eyes in thought and then quickly opened them and tapped out, “Wonderful news. For you, of course I’m free. Bruno.” And without letting himself pause to think about the phrasing, he hit the Send key.

  13

  When Bruno arrived at Cresseil’s property, a familiar white Porsche was parked in the yard. Dupuy and Bondino were standing on the porch facing the seated Cresseil and Max, who stood protectively at Cresseil’s side, his hand reassuringly on the old man’s shoulder. Cresseil’s venerable dog was growling and trying to stand, his hackles raised but his rear legs crumpling at his master’s feet. All their faces had turned to watch Bruno’s arrival. He had interrupted a far from amiable scene. Leaving his hat in the van to appear less official, he walked in silence up to the porch, ignoring Dupuy and Bondino, shook hands with the old man and Max and then knelt to let the dog sniff his knees and his hands before he consented to be stroked by a friend. Only then did Bruno look up at Dupuy and Bondino to offer a curt greeting.

  “These men were just leaving,” said Max angrily. Cresseil looked very tired, but nodded firmly.

  “Well, monsieur, I trust that you will consider our proposal,” said Dupuy. “Perhaps I might call again when you’ve had time to reflect.”

  “No considering needed,” said Cresseil. “The answer is no today, and it will be no tomorrow. You won’t be welcome if you come here again.”

  Bondino was about to speak when Dupuy quickly steered him back toward their car.

  “You,” said Bondino, addressing Bruno. “You talk to them. Make them understand. Tell them how it is.”

  Bruno, now wishing he had worn his hat, stood and faced them impassively. When Max started forward to say something, Bruno put a restraining hand on his arm; Max was trembling with emotion. As Bondino and Dupuy approached Dupuy’s Porsche, Bondino pushed Dupuy away from the driver’s door and climbed in to take the wheel. Looking back at Bruno, Dupuy shrugged and walked around to the passenger door. Bondino was already revving the engine aggressively. Dupuy had barely taken his seat and had not even closed his door when Bondino took off, sending gravel flying as the wheels tried to grip the road, the expensive car lurching and bouncing up the rough lane.

  “What is this shit?” said Max, speaking directly into Bruno’s face. “They said the mayor is with them and they want our land. And why do they expect you to talk sense into us?”

  “Maybe I’d better sit down,” said Bruno mildly. “Is there another chair? Then you can tell me what’s going on.”

  “They said they were going to buy us out. Not asking. Telling,” said Max.

  “Max, a chair for our friend,” said Cresseil, leaning back and reaching for his pipe. “And I’d like a glass of something. You too, Bruno?”

  Max breathed heavily, but he went inside and came out with a chair, which he scraped noisily on the stone of the terrace before going back to fetch two glasses of wine.

  “The boy’s right,” said Cresseil, puffing on his pipe. “They also said there was no point in my arguing because the mayor would make sure I sold the place, that it was all arranged. Is that right?”

  “No,” said Bruno. “You know the law. This is your property and you can do with it what you want. What did those two tell you?”

  “They made an offer, not to buy the place, but to take an option,” Max said. “The young one showed a fat wad of notes, said it was ten thousand euros, just for an option to buy at the end of the year for the market price. We said no, and then they got nasty and said we’d find we had no choice, that the mayor would take care of it.”

  Bruno cocked an eye at Cresseil. The old man nodded confirmation, then looked at Max. “They only got nasty after you laughed at them. That never helps, Max. Always leave a man his dignity.” He turned to Bruno. “So why don’t you tell us what’s going on here?”

  Bruno started to explain, only to be interrupted by Max’s scornful demand to know where the fifty jobs were supposed to come from.

  “And they’d want control over the grapes, the plantings, the winemaking and the selling, all of it,” said Max. “Why do they want to come here? What’s in it for them?”

  “Water,” said Bruno, who had learned a lot from surfing the écolo Web sites. “I read about it in Hulot’s newsletter. You know Nicolas Hulot, the ecology guy on TV. He had a long piece on world water shortages. That’s what this is all about.”

  “What do you mean, water shortages?” asked Cresseil, pulling some eyeglasses from his waistcoat pocket to scrutinize Bruno.

  “Bruno’s right. We have water, but everywhere else it’s getting short,” said Max, suddenly animated. “The Australian wine crop has been halved because of their drought. A big group like Bondino must be thinking about climate change. South Africans are getting worried about water, and the Chilean glaciers are shrinking fast. California has its own water problems, and I read about drought in Spain last year. But we’ve got decent rains, and the river. That must be it.”

  “Well, it would explain why they’re interested,” said Bruno. “But that still leaves the question of whether we all want to go in with Bondino. They’ve got the money to pay top price, if you want to sell. That’s for sure.”

  “It’s my own wine I want to make here, organic wine, quality wine. Not the mass-market stuff they’ll produce.”

  “This will take some thinking about,” said Cresseil, putting away his glasses. “The boy and I will talk.”

  “There’s something else you might want to think about,” Bruno said, leaning back in his chair and preparing to lay the bait in the little trap he had prepared. “Max, if you really want a career in wine, you could do worse than start off with Bondino, get them to train you, send you off to their operations in California and Australia.”

  Max said nothing, but his eyes never left Bruno’s face. This was what Bruno was counting on. He’d seen Max playing rugby dozens of times, observed how the young man applied his intelligence to the game, thinking even in the heat of the match. Bruno was sure that Max would be thinking now, turning over the options in his head.

  “Think of Jacqueline,” Bruno went on. “She’s studied wine all over the world. You’d certainly have the leverage to make Bondino back you. When you really know the trade, that’s the time to come back and make your own wine, as organic as you like. A couple more years at the university, get your diploma, and then you’d be pretty useful to the Bondino group. Think about it.”

  “That Jacqueline! She’s the only thing he thinks about,” said Cresseil, chuckling. He turned to Bruno and winked. “The boy thinks he’s in love. Can’t say I blame him.”

  “The problem is, it might not go like that,” Bruno went on, closing the trap. “I was surprised to see Bondino here because the last I heard, he was threatening to pull out. It’s the fire that worries him. He told the mayor that if we can’t manage our affairs properly, if we can’t find out quickly who set the fire and arrest him, then the deal is off. He’ll go somewhere else with his ten million, and some other bright young students will get to make their start in the wine business. You might even find Jacqueline signing up with Bondino.”
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  Max looked thoughtful, but Bruno wasn’t done yet.

  “Just one more thing, Max.” He pulled a small tape recorder from his pocket and pressed Record. “Just read those words aloud into the recorder, if you would.”

  He handed over the paper on which he’d copied down the notes that Ahmed had taken on the night of the fire. “And then you too, Cresseil. We have to get every man in Saint-Denis and its environs to do this, to see if one of them was the caller.”

  Max’s face was unnaturally blank as he read the paper, but in a halting voice he spoke the short list of words. Then Cresseil followed suit.

  “There’s no point in having us do this,” Cresseil said when he had finished. “I told you Max was here with me.”

  14

  The plat du jour at Ivan’s was kidneys in red wine with petit pois, which Bruno felt was a small compensation for Ahmed’s being unable to confirm that Max’s voice on the new recording had been that of the anonymous caller. Bruno was just wiping up the last of the sauce with a slice of bread and was about to finish off the small carafe of Bergerac red with the baron when his phone rang. It was Dominique, sounding excited.

  “Bruno, I’ve just had a text message from Aquitaine Vert, the kind they send out to all their members. They’ve organized a demonstration at the agricultural station here this afternoon at five. A couple of busloads of people are coming from central Bordeaux, leaving at two-thirty, and more buses are coming from Périgueux and Sarlat.”

  That would be well over a hundred people, Bruno calculated quickly, plus whoever came in their own cars and however many came from Saint-Denis. It could be a couple of hundred, and there was nowhere for buses to park or people to gather near the research station, which was right on the road. They’d be blocking the main road to Les Eyzies just as the rush hour was starting. Come to think of it, that was probably the disruption they wanted to draw attention to their protest.