The Resistance Man (Bruno Chief of Police 6)

by Martin Walker

  Paul nodded slowly and studied Bruno without speaking. The Sten did not waver. ‘Are you armed?’ he asked.

  ‘I have a small gun in an ankle holster. A snub-nose revolver. It couldn’t reach you at this range. I wouldn’t have worn it but senior colleagues insisted. They think you’re a murderer. I’m not so sure.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’ Paul sounded genuinely curious. ‘The papers and the radio are all saying I’m guilty.’

  ‘Partly it’s the hospice where you volunteered, partly it’s your paintings, but it’s mainly because I can’t bring myself to believe you killed Francis in a crime passionnel. I think you loved him but I can’t see you being jealous in that way. And I can’t see you beating him to death like that, so brutally.’

  ‘Well, you’re right about that.’ He gave a short laugh. ‘All of it.’

  ‘Tell me what happened, Paul. If you didn’t do it, who did? Give yourself up and come along with me and we can find out what really happened. You haven’t got much time. We know about the British credit card and we’re blocking it. You’ll have no more money. There’s a helicopter nearby with a team of Gendarmes Mobiles aboard. You know how they’re trained. They’ll take one look at that Sten and they’ll shoot first and ask questions later. Think about Yvonne, do you want them gunning her down alongside you?’

  ‘It needn’t be like that,’ Paul replied. ‘Thanks for the warning but this isn’t over.’

  ‘So what now?’

  Paul looked at Bruno thoughtfully. ‘It’s a pity there are no documents. That story needs to come out.’

  ‘Gilles from Paris Match is a good reporter. Once he gets his teeth into something, he keeps on chewing.’

  ‘You know him?’

  ‘We’ve been friends for a long time. We met in Sarajevo during the siege. He was a reporter. I was in the army.’

  ‘Interesting, Grandpa would have approved. Now since I don’t want to make more trouble by shooting you, I’d like you to put that phone down and take your shirt off. Leave the photo in the pocket.’

  ‘I’m wearing a flak vest and a wire.’

  ‘That’s what I expected, so take them off. I imagine you’ve got a cordon forming around this area while you engage me in friendly chit-chat.’

  Bruno complied, wincing as he ripped off the tape that held the transmitter to his back, and laid them on the ground in front of him. He opened the button on the shirt pocket and slightly withdrew the photo so Paul could see it.

  ‘Now, sit down on the ground. Keeping your hands well away from that ankle holster, take your shoes off. Use your feet to prise them off, that’s right. Now take off that ankle holster. If you try to open it I’ll shoot you. Don’t get up. Just raise your arms and put your hands on your head and keep them there. Now start shuffling back on your bum and call your dog to join you. Keep on backing away.’

  Bruno called Balzac from sniffing at his abandoned shoes and wriggled back down the slope. Paul kept the Sten gun aimed at him as he stepped off the bike and put Bruno’s shoes, phone and the transmitter into his rucksack. He left the gun in its holster. Finally he took the photo from Bruno’s shirt pocket and then remounted his bike.

  ‘Good luck, Bruno. Sorry your feet are going to get a bit torn up, but stay in touch with Gilles. I may have something to communicate and I’ll do it through him.’

  ‘Can you at least tell me who killed Francis?’ From far in the distance, Bruno could hear the first, faint chattering of a helicopter.

  ‘It wasn’t me. I was there, but I didn’t kill him. I couldn’t have, despite what he was doing to us.’ Paul cocked his head, hearing the rotor blades.

  ‘That’s the Gendarmes Mobiles,’ Bruno said. ‘For God’s sake, think of your sister. This doesn’t have to end with you both dead.’

  Paul shook his head, looked up the hill and whistled and after a moment his sister appeared. He stuffed his gun into his rucksack, shouldered it and rode off along the side of the hill, disappearing into the woods, his sister following close behind.

  Bruno lowered his arms at last, and they felt so light they seemed to want to rise again of their own accord. His body was sending waves of relief through his frame that the danger was over while his mind felt disappointment that he had failed to bring Paul in. He took a deep breath and stretched. The Gendarme chopper was still too far away to be seen.

  He went back for his shirt, flak vest and the ankle holster, wincing as the sharp pebbles bit into his stockinged feet. Feeling a curious mixture of elation and humiliation, he hobbled very carefully down the motocross circuit to the track that led back to where Jofflin’s car was waiting. When he saw it he waved and then heard the engine start up. He’d met Paul, given him the photograph with his grandfather, tried his best to persuade him to surrender and heard him say he didn’t kill Fullerton. He might not have brought him in, but he’d held the suspect in place for over twenty minutes, which should have been long enough for whatever plans J-J had prepared for an ambush. That wasn’t a bad afternoon’s work.

  30

  J-J had not been happy. His car had got stuck on a trail in the woods far behind the motocross circuit and required a breakdown truck to come and tow it out. His phone couldn’t get a signal and the helicopter with the Gendarmes Mobiles had beaten its way back and forth along the ragged edges of the woods and never seen a soul, let alone two cyclists. He grudgingly accepted the return of his revolver and flak jacket, listened to Bruno’s account of the conversation with Paul and only smiled when he saw Bruno’s bare feet. The ruined socks had been thrown away, but Balzac had gleefully rescued one and carried it dangling from his mouth.

  Jofflin drove Bruno and Crimson back to Crimson’s house, where Bruno borrowed a pair of socks and put his old shoes back on. Thanking Crimson for his trouble he drove back to his office to report to the Mayor, who warned him that Delaron was asking questions about unusual police activity.

  ‘You met this young man, Paul?’ the Mayor asked.

  ‘Yes, and we had an interesting conversation given that he was holding me at gunpoint. He wouldn’t explain what had really happened, just that he was at the scene but hadn’t killed Fullerton, despite “what he was doing to us”. That’s the bit I don’t understand. I’ve no idea what Fullerton was doing, nor who Murcoing meant when he talked of “us”. But he was very self-confident, as though he knew something that would ensure it all worked out for him. I never saw anyone who looked less like a hunted man on the run.’

  ‘What happens now?’

  ‘I tried to tempt him out of hiding and bring him in and it didn’t work. I suppose now it’s up to J-J and the Mobiles, which means there’s a strong chance that he gets killed and we never learn the truth.’

  ‘It’s out of your hands now. And I imagine you haven’t heard the news. The minister of the interior has resigned, pleading reasons of health, which is a most unusual development this close to the elections. Jacqueline is delighted and rang to say she’s putting some champagne on ice to celebrate. Gilles will be joining us, since she now sees him as a worthy fellow conspirator. She made a point of saying that you were also invited along with Balzac and what she called your various womenfolk. I think that was meant to be a joke.’

  ‘I suppose you can never be sure with a woman like Jacqueline.’

  ‘Bien entendu, it makes life much more interesting.’

  Back in his office, where a full in-tray and a pile of unopened mail awaited him, Bruno opened his computer and groaned as he saw screen after screen of emails. It would take him days to clear the backlog. He looked out of his window. The cars at the roundabout had stopped for a line of cyclists to pedal through. They were all on racing bikes with dropped handle-bars rather than mountain bikes and none of them was wearing a green vest, but he studied them anyway, wondering how far away Paul and Yvonne could have gone by now.

  His desk phone rang, and he looked at it glumly. What would it be this time? A lost cat, a denunciation of some poor unemployed guy working for
cash, perhaps a complaint about the new parking restrictions.

  ‘Bruno, it’s Jack Crimson. I’m at home and Florence is here along with Brian Fullerton. But so are Paul Murcoing and his sister and they’re pointing guns at us.’ He was trying to make his voice sound calm, but Bruno could almost feel his tension through the phone line. ‘They’re holding us all hostage …’ Crimson’s voice cracked but he went on: ‘And he wants to speak to you.’

  ‘Bruno, I told you this wasn’t over,’ came the now familiar voice. ‘This is why.’

  ‘Putain, I didn’t think you could possibly get into worse trouble but now you have.’ Bruno’s mind was racing as he tried to recall the check-list of procedures for a hostage situation. ‘What do you want, Paul?’

  ‘A presidential pardon, a safe passage out of the country for Yvonne and me and the promise of a public inquiry into the Neuvic money. I’ll release Crimson when those conditions are met.’

  ‘What about the others, Fullerton and Florence? You don’t need them; you could let them go.’

  ‘After what you told me about the Mobiles? I don’t think so. Call me back on Crimson’s landline in one hour from now or things start to get unpleasant. I have three hostages, don’t forget, and I only need the one.’

  He rang off. Bruno immediately dialled J-J, walking briskly back to the Mayor’s office as the call connected. He saw the Mayor’s startled face as for the first time in his career Bruno entered without knocking. His eyes on his Mayor, Bruno said into the phone: ‘J-J, I’ve just had a call from Paul Murcoing at Crimson’s house. He’s taken Crimson hostage at gunpoint along with two other guests.’

  The Mayor rose, looking stunned, and then sank back into his chair as Bruno recounted Paul’s conditions.

  ‘J-J, I’ll meet you there at Crimson’s house and I’ll arrange for a doctor and an ambulance to be on standby. I have my mobile phone and for anything else the Mayor will be here at the Mairie. I’ll patch my phone through to his office and rig up a tape recorder.’

  ‘Mother of God,’ said the Mayor as Bruno rang off and called Fabiola’s cell phone.

  ‘I’ll be right back with the recorder,’ said Bruno and left for his office. When Fabiola answered, he briefed her and asked her to arrange an ambulance, and for someone to check on Florence’s children. One of her pupils was probably babysitting but could not be expected to stay all night. He opened his safe and took out his gun and a spare magazine and put on his holster and uniform jacket. He forwarded all his calls to the Mayor’s extension and took the recorder back with him along with two spare cassettes and rigged it to the Mayor’s phone.

  ‘I’m going to Crimson’s house where I’ll meet J-J,’ he said. ‘You’re the communications backstop. Get Roberte in to answer your phone rather than Claire, she’s more level-headed. Fend off all calls that aren’t related to this hostage situation and make sure you keep your mobile charged and ready, since I’ll use that to stay in touch with you. Is that clear, sir?’

  ‘Yes, Bruno.’

  ‘Please make a note to call me in exactly fifty minutes to remind me that’s when Paul is expecting me to call him again.’

  The Mayor looked at his watch, took the top from his fountain pen and scribbled a note to himself on a clean pad.

  ‘And nobody, nobody is to talk to the press. If Delaron gets hold of this we’ll have a circus.’

  Bruno was already dialling again, the special number that he was only to use in emergencies.

  The phone was answered but there was no reply, just a silence. ‘This is Bruno Courrèges in St Denis and I need to speak to the Brigadier urgently.’

  ‘Bruno?’

  Oh God, it was Isabelle’s voice. Of all the people in the Ministry she had to be the duty officer of the day. Firmly squashing all the emotions and recriminations that flooded through him, he kept his voice crisp and neutral.

  ‘Crimson has just been taken hostage at his home,’ he began, and explained the details.

  ‘Putain, the Brigadier’s not here. He’s gone to the Elysée and there’s complete chaos here. You heard our minister just resigned? I’ll try to patch you through but if he’s with the President he can’t take the call.’

  ‘Stay on the line to see if he answers and if not, keep calling him until you can brief him. I’m on my way to Crimson’s house where J-J will join me. We have some Jaunes in the vicinity with a chopper but they’re trained in anti-terrorist response, not hostage rescue. So do your best to keep them out of the way.’

  ‘You got it. If the Brigadier doesn’t answer in ten seconds leave it to me. And Bruno, please take care.’

  He waited the ten seconds but the Brigadier did not pick up. He rang off and then began to dial the Gendarmerie when the Mayor coughed and said: ‘Er, Bruno?’

  He stopped at the door, about to trot down the Mairie stairs, phone to his ear.

  ‘I’ll look after Balzac, don’t worry.’

  The pup was sitting on the rug beside the Mayor, looking up at Bruno in perplexity. Was his master going for a walk without him?

  ‘Thank you, sir, I know he’s in good hands.’

  He ran down the stairs as the call went through, hoping that Sergeant Jules would answer rather than Yveline.

  ‘Gendarmerie, St Denis,’ came a female voice, but it was Françoise.

  ‘It’s Bruno. Is Jules there? It’s an emergency.’

  ‘He’s right here. I’ll put him on.’

  As he got to his Land Rover Bruno explained to the unflappable Sergeant Jules that he wanted all available Gendarmes deployed to form a distant cordon around Crimson’s house. They were to stay out of sight and keep all traffic away unless it was official.

  ‘It’s a hostage situation, so you know the procedure. I’ve informed J-J. Perhaps you could inform the Prefect’s office and the Proc. We’ll probably need more Gendarmes from St Cyprien on standby if this goes through the night. Tell Ivan to start making sandwiches and pots of coffee. If you call the Mayor he’ll arrange for someone to bring them out. Where’s Yveline?’

  ‘It’s her day off. She said she was going shopping in Périgueux.’

  ‘Call her and brief her and suggest that when she gets back she holds the fort at the Gendarmerie but I need you and the rest of the squadron out there as soon as you can.’

  ‘Understood. I’ll see you there. I’ll get Ivan to make ham and cheese, they’re always the most popular.’

  Bruno grinned. He could always count on Sergeant Jules for the essentials. He put his phone in his breast pocket and tried to concentrate on his driving while despite himself his brain kept building mental maps of Crimson’s house and grounds, access points and vulnerabilities. He told himself it was for the eventual arrival of the hostage rescue squad. He knew the rough technique: plastic explosives on front and rear doors simultaneously, as flash-bang grenades went through each of the windows and a ladder team broke into the upper floor.

  But he remembered wooden shutters on Crimson’s ground-floor windows, which made the flash-bangs more of a problem. Drenching the place in tear gas and smoke was the usual alternative but it was risky. The other options were even worse: snipers, starvation and stealthy entry.

  When he arrived at the entrance to Crimson’s drive, Bruno was alone. He parked out of sight, leaving the sidelights on. Avoiding the drive he slipped through the woods at the side of Crimson’s property to scout the sides and rear of the house. The shutters had all been closed and he could see no open windows on the upper floors. Inside the garage was Crimson’s rented car and Brian’s car was parked in front of the doors. Florence’s bicycle leaned against the side wall. There was good cover by the garage for an assault team to form up, and only a single window, probably for a staircase landing, on the nearest wall. The Mobiles could cover that window with a silenced gun, put up two ladders and break in that way. That’s how he would do it.

  Bruno crept close to the shuttered windows, each of which showed chinks of light from inside, but there was no sound f
rom the rooms at the rear. One of the mountain bikes was leaning against the kitchen door, something that might give them a warning if it was moved. Gently he felt along the frame and his fingers touched a taut piece of string that led through the keyhole into the house. There would probably be a bell or something on the other end that would make a noise if the bike was moved.

  At the front of the house, in the room he recalled as Crimson’s study and which had earlier that day been his makeshift operations room, he heard the murmur of voices. The sound was not clear enough for him to tell who was talking but he was sure he heard a woman’s tones and it sounded like Florence. At least he knew where some of them were. The other bike lay against the front door. Paul had probably rigged a warning system on that one, too.

  As he withdrew to the fringe of trees and back to his Land Rover he was sure he was forgetting something. Had there been another door into the house? Perhaps he could find a way to break silently through the French windows. He cast his mind back to his previous visits and remembered the descent to the wine cellar and the hatch for the fuel-oil delivery. He crept back to the rear of the house and felt for the metal plates and the padlock that sealed them. Bolt-cutters could take care of it. Damn, he should have made a sketch of what he could recall of the interior for J-J. There would be five in the house, Paul and Yvonne, Crimson, Florence and Brian.

  Crimson had explained that Florence would be coming to his house after school to hear what had happened with the trap they had set. But why was Brian Fullerton inside? Had he not been supposed to be flying back to England today with his brother’s ashes? Bruno had heard nothing about any delay in the release of the body, but that must be the explanation, and Brian had become friendly with Crimson. Maybe he’d simply dropped by to say goodbye and walked into the kidnapping. Bruno knew from Pamela’s trips that the Ryanair flight left at around five, so Brian would have missed his flight back from Bergerac by now.

  Bruno stopped, struck by something he had not considered before. That flight usually landed around four, so how had Brian arrived in Bruno’s office on Friday morning? Brian said he had changed the flight to Bordeaux the consulate had booked for him and flown into Bergerac instead. And he added that he’d come straight to Bruno’s office from the airport and had not even checked in to his hotel.