And indeed they were, half a circle of blue had come back into view below her fluttering eyelids and then the first black of the iris. She was looking at him and Bruno felt his heart swell with happiness.
“Say it again, man, it’s doing her good. Go on, keep telling her about that kiss all the way to St. Denis.”
29
They landed in the open stretch of meadow behind the medical center, and as soon as the rotor blades jerked to a halt the paramedics rushed toward them wheeling a stretcher trolley. It already had a fresh plasma bottle attached. As they began to slide the stretcher from the floor of the chopper one of the attendants gently pressed Bruno’s arm to lift it from his desperate grip on Nancy’s thigh.
“It’s all right now, we’ve got her,” he said, and suddenly she was gone. Bruno stayed on his knees, eyes closed, mouth dry from never ceasing to talk to her and his arm still locked in position, rigid as an iron bar.
“Come on, man,” said the medic who’d worked on Nancy throughout the flight. “Time to go. You deserve a nice cold beer. Your arm will be fine in a minute.”
Bruno clambered clumsily out, blinking in the sudden sunlight. He saw J-J, looking solemn, hands behind his back, Yveline at his side in full uniform, her hand up to her brow in a salute. Behind them were more people, Pamela, Florence and the mayor at their head. Fabiola was certainly in the clinic working with all her skill to repair Nancy’s mangled leg.
J-J came forward, looking apologetic but determined. “Sorry, Bruno, but you know the rules. Your weapon, please.”
Bruno undid his holster and handed over the handgun, knowing the regulations mandated an inquiry whenever a police officer had fired while on duty. It wasn’t the first time.
“My FAMAS rifle is back at the battleground, outside Trémolat, and so are Nancy’s weapons. There’s an army lieutenant in charge there, cleaning up.”
“I understand. I’ll need a statement from you before the end of the day,” J-J replied. “It’s just a formality, we know they fired first. The communications people were monitoring the audio feed from the chopper.”
He slapped Bruno on the back. Yveline dropped her hand from her salute and squeezed his arm, making him wince. He nodded and smiled, wondering how much more of this there would be. Then came the flash of a camera, Philippe Delaron again, and for the first time Bruno was aware of how he looked and how he stank.
It was as if he’d just come from a slaughterhouse. The blood was drying on his hands, but his sleeve, his pants and the front of his tunic were sodden with Nancy’s blood. It would probably be on his face as well, along with blowback from the weapons and the smoke particles. Well, let them see that gunfights are squalid, messy things, he thought; they should know that human bodies like Nancy’s are thin and vulnerable bags of skin that pour out blood when pierced.
And suddenly there was tiny, elderly Maya, still full of fire and energy. Careless of her expensive clothes, she came forward and hugged him tightly, her face no higher than his chest.
“I’m sorry about your car, Maya,” he said. “It’s gone.”
“The hell with the silly old car. Pamela told me what you did, so thank you. It looks like St. Denis has saved me all over again. How’s the American girl? We saw her rushed into the clinic.”
“The medic said she’ll be fine.”
And then Pamela was there, her lips held tightly together, whether in anger or to stop them from trembling, he couldn’t tell, but her eyes were soft with compassion. She leaned forward to kiss him, keeping her body well back from the gore that covered his front.
“Ah, dear Bruno, it always has to be you. I only know what Yveline told me, but that sounded dreadful enough,” she said. “You’ll never change, damn you.” But there was affection in her voice. Then she whispered in his ear, “There’s a message from Annette—the procureur has assigned a juge d’instruction. They’re going to bring charges against Deutz. I think you may have to arrest him, but you have to call her.”
Christ, he thought, that on top of everything else. Yacov was now at his side, grabbing his hand to pump it firmly. A woman’s voice gave a shout of command and he heard a stamp of boots as a group of gendarmes came to attention. Yveline had them lined up, holding back people who were craning to see Bruno and making a path for him to the mayor’s car. Its rear door was open, and the mayor embraced him warmly. Newspapers were spread all across the rear seat to keep the blood off and he climbed in, leaned back and closed his eyes. Pamela got into the passenger seat, and the mayor started the big Renault and drove slowly through the crowd.
“You can shower at my place, it’s closest,” the mayor said. “Pamela has a change of clothes for you, then the brigadier wants you at the château. Apparently there has to be a press conference, and we both have to be there. I’ll stay in touch with the clinic to let you know of any change.”
Bruno pulled Nancy’s envelope from the pocket where he’d stuffed it, opened the seal and read her note:
If you’re reading this, please call my dad in Virginia, 703-463-1766, and tell him what happened. He speaks French. In my room at the château you’ll find my annotated copy of Deutz’s full report, the unsanitized version with the names and photos of the jihadists he worked with in the maximum security wing. I have now identified Deutz’s case study number 7, Ali, as the Caïd, the guy who hit you with the cattle prod. Deutz’s report claimed this Ali was now under control, which is why he was released. Please let my dad know, and the brigadier. We have to discredit Deutz’s work; it’s dangerously wrong. I can prove he’s been letting out the wrong people. And if we get through whatever has you reading this, I’d very much like to meet up again. My private e-mail is my name, surname first, followed by the month and day of my birth, on gmail.com. You’re a cop, a good one; you can find that out. So if I don’t hear from you, I’ll understand, and wish you a great life. Bisous, Nancy.
Merde, thought Bruno, what a piece of work that Deutz turned out to be. He didn’t want to think about the personal part of the message, not yet. He was about to stuff the note back into his pocket, but this jacket would have to be thrown away. He pulled his wallet from his hip pocket, folded the letter and put it with the banknotes. He felt the car slow and begin the turn into the mayor’s driveway.
Pamela helped him strip off his clothes and handed him a small bag containing a razor, shaving cream, a fresh toothbrush, shampoo, soap and a tube of the liniment she knew he used after a rugby match to rub into his bruises and aching muscles. She claimed to like the menthol smell of the stuff.
He leaned against the tiles as the hot water splashed over him and watched Nancy’s blood diluting as it spilled down his belly and legs and swirled around the drain. He braced himself, used the shampoo and soap, scrubbed the dried blood from his encrusted fingernails and started to feel better. He turned on the cold water for a thirty-second blast and then climbed out and toweled himself dry, gently on the bruises and abrasions in his skin. He combed his hair, shaved and brushed his teeth, gargling to get the dry cordite taste from his throat. Finally he rubbed the liniment into his shoulders and neck, into his thighs and the small of his back.
He opened the door and Pamela was standing there, reliable Pamela, with his clean uniform in hand. He could smell coffee. He’d give a fortune for a cup. He turned down the mayor’s offer of a cognac. He didn’t want to confront Deutz smelling of booze.
“Have you told the mayor about Deutz and Fabiola?” he asked Pamela. She nodded and handed him a cup of coffee and a phone. “You have to call Annette,” she said firmly.
“No,” he said. “I can’t discuss this with the proc’s office until I’ve talked to the brigadier. If the decision has been taken to bring formal charges, that’s fine, but the brigadier needs to know that we’re about to put a bomb under his tribunal. You call Annette and tell her that. I have to get to the château.”
Back in the mayor’s car Bruno noticed that somebody had cleared away the fouled newspapers from the backsea
t. As they drove away he spotted J-J’s car parked discreetly down the street, pulling out to follow them.
Pamela turned from the front passenger seat, looked at him brightly and said, “I’ve found a horse, a Selle Français, just like yours, only a mare. Only six years old, amazingly cheap, from a stable near Agen that’s just gone bankrupt. I’m driving down tomorrow to see it, if you’d like to come.”
“I’d love to, if the brigadier lets me go,” he said.
“I think you deserve a day off after what you’ve been through today,” the mayor said. “And if the terrorist threat is over, so is the brigadier’s authority over you. You’re working for me again.”
Somebody must have warned the guardhouse at the château because they were waved straight through, but not before passing the media gauntlet of camera lenses and shouted questions. The brigadier was waiting on the outer steps and came down to shake Bruno’s hand. “Well done, and I’m very glad to see you in one piece,” he said. “A pity you didn’t leave any of the bastards alive for us to interrogate.”
“That wasn’t our main priority at the time,” Bruno replied.
“Obviously. I’m not criticizing. I think Rafiq can rest in peace now. What’s the latest from the hospital? The Americans are flying a jet into Bergerac to take Nancy to their big military hospital at Ramstein, and they want to know when she can be moved.”
“I was told Fabiola—Dr. Stern—is still working on her. We’ll know as soon as she has anything to tell us.”
“Right, this press conference, the minister is very keen …” Bruno held up a hand.
“Wait, sir,” he said. “You need to know that the procureur has just signed off on charges of multiple rape against Deutz, and I’m supposed to be in attendance for the formal arrest to take place here as soon as possible. I told the proc’s office that I had to brief you first because of the tribunal. Now it’s between the two of you.”
“Did you know this was coming?”
“No. I knew that inquiries were under way, but I just heard of this coming here.”
“Putain de merde, is this for real? Is he guilty?”
“I believe so. One of the women is Dr. Stern, and I trust her implicitly. And there is corroborating evidence.”
“Well, at least we’ve got a verdict from the tribunal. They’re unanimous. Sami is not responsible for his actions and not fit to stand trial. They recommend he remain under medical supervision, but that’s where they divide. Deutz wants him in a prison hospital, under his supervision. Weill and Chadoub think he should be an outpatient and that his parents should remain as his tuteurs.”
“That’s not practical,” Bruno said. “We stopped those killers from Toulouse, but eventually there’ll be more coming. They can’t afford to let Sami stay alive after all the publicity about his cooperating with us.”
The brigadier nodded and looked at his watch.
“May I make a suggestion?” Bruno asked. The brigadier looked at him quizzically.
“You could announce that Deutz has been suddenly taken ill and has been placed on medical leave, but that his work with the tribunal was complete and is much appreciated. Get that out tonight and let the announcement of the arrest come out tomorrow. But cut him loose while you can. He’s facing five years, minimum, maybe twice that if all the other cases stand up.”
“Is that the best you can do?”
“Yes, short of leaving the bastard alone in a locked room with a loaded revolver.”
“We’re not in the nineteenth century now, Bruno.” The brigadier tried to sound crisp, but his heart wasn’t in it. “Merde, I suppose there’s no choice. I’d better call the minister and tell him why Deutz will be suddenly taken ill.”
“Can I tell Sami’s family what happened to those guys from Toulouse? I think they have a right to know.”
“Go ahead, but don’t tell them about the tribunal decision. I still have to draft the report. And not a word about Deutz to anybody.”
The sergeant of the guard trotted up, came to attention and announced, “The procureur de la République is demanding access, sir.” He handed the brigadier the procureur’s laminated and outsize identity card, crossed with red and blue stripes.
“Sergeant, you’ll have to buy me five minutes,” the brigadier snapped. “Go back and give the procureur my compliments, say I’m tied up on a call to my minister and apologize profusely but under the security precautions in force tell him you have to double-check his identity. Then get on the phone and call his office, but whatever you do, get me those five minutes.”
While the brigadier speed-dialed a number, Bruno saluted and headed briskly up the stairs, leaving Pamela and the mayor looking baffled at the foot of the steps. As soon as he rounded the first bend in the stairs, he slowed his pace, feeling the aches in his muscles.
As he came out onto the wide balcony, he was surprised to see that the sun had not yet sunk. It had been getting lower in the sky as he drove the Rolls-Royce to Trémolat only what, he checked his watch, barely ninety minutes ago. Where had the time gone? Two minutes of battle, ten minutes before getting Nancy into the chopper, five minutes to St. Denis, the greeting at the medical center, his shower and change and the drive here.
“Bruno, Bruno,” came a familiar singsong voice, and Sami was coming toward him, Balzac squirming in his arms in the effort to reach his master. Sami looked behind Bruno and said inquisitively, “Fabiola? Nancy?”
“Not today, Sami,” he said, embracing the youth, surprised by the strength he could feel in his skinny frame. The jogging and the food had done Sami good. His arm around Sami’s shoulders, he walked across to shake hands with Momu and touch cheeks with Dillah.
“Good news,” he said. “The three men from the Toulouse mosque who were hunting you are in custody.” He didn’t want to say in front of Sami that they were dead.
“Does that mean we can go home? Dr. Weill told us the tribunal had completed its work,” Dillah said. She gestured to the other end of the balcony where Weill and Chadoub were enjoying the last rays of the sun. They raised hands and smiled in greeting.
“I hope you’ll be home very soon. That’s good news about the tribunal. Did Dr. Weill say what they had decided?”
“No, but he gave us a wink and a very big grin,” said Momu.
“That sounds promising. I really hope it all works out. Excuse me while I greet the doctors.” Bruno walked across to the two of them. “Thank you most sincerely for your work here,” he said, shaking their hands.
“Is the security threat over?” asked Chadoub. “Can the family go home now?”
“That’s not my decision, but you probably heard that we took these security precautions at the château for a reason. The immediate threat has now been removed.”
“The soldiers coming from the guardroom were clustered around a military radio and talking about what sounded like a battle,” Chadoub went on.
Bruno nodded.
“If you think that’s the end of it, you don’t know these Salafi types,” she said. “They’ll send more killers.”
“That’s a concern, certainly. Have you seen Deutz?”
“After we heard about the battle, he went down to talk to the soldiers, pumping them for more details. Do you know what happened?”
He evaded the question. “Are you staying here tonight?”
“I think so. We’re expected to sign the final report, which is being drafted as we speak. We’re unanimous, you’ll be glad to hear, but there’s still a question about Sami’s future treatment.”
The door behind their chairs opened, and Deutz appeared wearing a suit and tie, probably expecting to speak at the press conference. He bustled onto the balcony, words spilling out from him. “You won’t believe what’s been happening, three terrorists shot dead just down the road. That pretty American Nancy was involved and was wounded and the local policeman Bruno was in the thick …”
“He’s right here,” said Weill, and then turned to the sound of commo
tion coming up the stairs from the other door at the far end of the balcony.
Deutz gaped at Bruno, and then came forward and grabbed his hand and began to pump it and murmur congratulations until Bruno wrenched his hand away. He didn’t want to be touched by this man, so he turned to watch a confused knot of people tumbling through the door from the stairs.
The procureur was shouting “Outrageous” as a soldier hung halfheartedly on to his sleeve. The brigadier was spluttering about national security while Annette, beside him, spotted Bruno and gave a cheerful wave. Yveline, still in uniform, brought up the rear. The brigadier shook his head in despair and sat down at the nearest table. The soldier wisely went back toward the door.
“Dr. Deutz,” called the procureur, striding across to confront him before glancing at Bruno. “I’m glad to see you here, Chief of Police Courrèges. I’m sure you know your duty.” He darted a withering glance at the brigadier.
Curious at these new arrivals, Sami crept up and stood beside Bruno, Balzac still in his arms. Momu and Dillah had turned in their chairs to watch this sudden drama.
“Yes, I’m Deutz, what can I do for you?” He stood casually by the battlements, silhouetted against the setting sun, posed so that he was one of the few who did not have the sun in his eyes.
“Pascal Deutz, you are accused of multiple crimes of rape under Article 222.23 of the Penal Code,” the procureur said, brandishing a warrant. “You will be taken into garde à vue overnight in Sarlat and interrogated in custody there by the assigned juge d’instruction Bernard Ardouin, who will be the investigating magistrate.”
Deutz did not move from his place but glanced quickly at Annette and Yveline and then at Bruno and the brigadier. He raised his eyebrows and then gave an elaborate shrug and put his hands in his trouser pockets. He looked to be the most relaxed man on the balcony.
“You are charged with the violent rape and actual bodily harm on or about February 4, 2007, of Fabiola Stern,” the procureur began.
The Children Return Page 28