The Coldest Case

by Martin Walker

  Alain was a senior warrant officer at the air defence control training centre at the Mont-de-Marsan airbase south of Bordeaux, better known as the home of two fighter squadrons equipped with Rafale interceptors, France’s most advanced warplane. The youngest of five children, Alain was just a year or so older than Bruno and they had grown up together when Bruno, aged six, had been taken in by his aunt from the church orphanage. It had not been a happy home and Bruno had long suspected that the main reason for his welcome was the more generous welfare payment his aunt received as a famille nombreuse at a time when the French state was trying to increase the population. The food, he recalled, had been better at the orphanage.

  ‘You look like you’ve had some grim news,’ the Mayor said as Bruno returned to the table with the apple pie and ice cream. His friends nodded sympathetically when he explained the news of his aunt’s stroke.

  ‘I don’t recall any of your family coming to St Denis to visit,’ the Mayor went on, as Bruno served them.

  ‘My aunt came for a weekend in the early days and it was plain she didn’t like it, being woken by the cockerel, the silence for much of the time and the lack of town noises,’ Bruno said, half-smiling and feeling a mixture of affection and regret. ‘She was never a reader and she couldn’t get over the fact that I had no TV,’ he went on. ‘She thought the Dordogne valley was pretty and liked the castles but refused to visit any caves, thought they’d give her claustrophobia.’

  ‘What about your cousins?’

  ‘We’ve mostly lost touch. The youngest, Alain, is roughly my age, and we always got on well. He came for a weekend when I was playing in one of those old-timers’ rugby games against the youth team and he liked it a lot. He’s thinking of settling near here when he gets out of the air force in a couple of years.’

  ‘There’s a programme I worked for when I was in the Senate, to let long-service veterans spend their last year training to be teachers,’ the Mayor said. ‘That might suit him. And we’re always short of teachers in rural areas, particularly men.’

  ‘I’ll mention it when I see him at the hospital,’ said Bruno. ‘But I know he’s been thinking of setting himself up in business. He learned to be a radar tech and electrician and now teaches air defence systems so he’s good with computers.’

  ‘Is he married?’ asked Gilles.

  ‘Not yet. Like me, he can’t find the right woman.’

  ‘You find them all right, Bruno,’ said Gilles, grinning. ‘You just don’t seem to be able to get them to the altar. It must run in the family.’

  3

  Bruno was anticipating a depressing visit when he arrived at the hospital the next day. His ancient Land Rover had no air con so he had driven the forty minutes from St Denis with all the windows open, the radio giving news of forest fires in Provence. The car park seemed to radiate heat from the relentless sun and he was sweating freely by the time he reached the hospital doors.

  Although looking forward to seeing Alain again, he felt oppressed by memories of his childhood. He had been the charity kid, expected to be grateful for his status as the least regarded relation in his aunt’s overcrowded home. There had been some happy moments. In childhood, there were impromptu games of soccer in the street, a birthday party with a special cake, and his growing friendship with Alain. They served to remind him of the wretched times, the way Bernard the bully, seven years older, would cuff him with casual regularity and sneer at Bruno’s dead mother as a whore.

  In the hospital, he found his aunt in a small ward of eight people, all elderly. The place smelled of disinfectant and cleaning fluids with an underlying hint of urine. She was the only one with a visitor, Alain. Bruno kissed his aunt on both cheeks, gave her the flowers he’d brought and received a grunt of acknowledgment in return. He embraced Alain, found a spare chair, sat down on the other side of the bed and announced that he was pleased to see his aunt looking better than he’d expected. She grunted again, waving the fingers of one hand in frustration at being unable to speak. Her face seemed to have been divided into two halves, one normal and the other melting like so much candle wax. The left side of her mouth and her left eye were drooping and the skin seemed to sag with them.

  Bruno wondered how sad he truly felt. He knew he had little real affection for his aunt, a woman he usually remembered as tired or angry, always ready to swat one of her brood of kids with a soup ladle or hairbrush or whatever came to hand. He could not recall ever being hugged by her but he knew he was supposed to feel grateful that she’d taken him in from the orphanage.

  With an effort, Bruno thrust away these thoughts and he and Alain exchanged small talk, trying at first to include her with news of the family, her care in the hospital and the kindness of the nurses. Being unable to join in seemed to upset her so they sat quietly, each of them holding a hand. Bruno had her left hand and it was cold and seemed almost lifeless. Soon she drifted off to sleep and snored quietly.

  ‘It’s good to see you, Bruno, despite this sad occasion. It’s been far too long,’ Alain said. ‘And thanks for coming.’

  ‘Good to see you, too,’ Bruno replied. ‘You’re not looking bad for a man of your advanced years.’

  ‘Just eighteen months older and wiser than you, Bruno.’

  Bruno laughed, genuinely pleased to see his cousin. Even though Alain liked soccer while Bruno was a devoted rugby man, Bruno still knew they had a lot in common. They looked roughly the same age. Each of them had kept his hair and looked trim and fit. Alain’s hair was fair while Bruno’s was dark and Bruno was four or five centimetres taller. Alain had a heavier, almost stocky build but Bruno thought there was a family resemblance in their features.

  ‘Are you still getting out into civilian life in, what is it – two or three years?’ Bruno asked.

  ‘Less than two years to go. That’s still the plan, even though it’ll mean I have to start buying my own clothes,’ Alain said. ‘But it looks like it’ll be a very different life because I might not be leaving alone.’

  ‘You’ve met someone?’ Bruno asked eagerly.

  ‘A tech sergeant at the base, her name’s Rosalie Lamartine,’ Alain said, his eyes lighting up as he spoke of her. ‘She’ll have done twenty years when my twenty-five are up so she’ll get a decent pension. It’s a bit difficult with the rules against fraternizing with people of different ranks but we’ve spent some weekends together and had a wonderful two-week vacation in Senegal just before Christmas. That’s when we each knew this was it.’

  ‘I’m really happy for you, Alain. That’s great news. I’d better start saving for a wedding present.’ Bruno punched his cousin lightly on the arm and they both laughed. ‘Are you planning to marry once you’re out?’

  Alain nodded. ‘Maybe before, if Rosalie gets the promotion she expects. Then we’d be the same rank and we could get hitched and qualify for married quarters. She’s young enough to have kids, which is something we both want. She’s terrific, good-natured and funny, I think you’ll like her.’

  He took out his mobile phone, punched the keys and proudly showed Bruno his favourite photos of his new love. Tanned a little more pinkish-red than brown and dressed in a light blue bikini that barely covered her ample figure, she was smiling at the camera while holding up a fat slice of watermelon. Bruno noted the dark hair and laughing brown eyes, good cheekbones and generous mouth and nodded in approval. She was an attractive woman.

  ‘You’re a lucky man,’ said Bruno. ‘She’s glorious. Le bon Dieu has sent you a real gift.’

  ‘Yes, she’s wonderful, and the troops like her.’ Alain’s eyes were glowing as he studied the photo. ‘And here she is in uniform. She carries her rank easily.’

  He called up another photo of the same woman in standard camouflage dress, her eyes fixed on the assault rifle she was stripping. Her hair was piled up beneath her beret, showing off her neck. In another photo, still in uniform, she was chatting w
ith some soldiers with an expression that was firm but not unfriendly.

  ‘Bring her to St Denis for a weekend so I can get to know her,’ Bruno said. ‘You can have the honeymoon suite, a whole top floor to yourselves, and I’ll keep my basset hound from coming up to roust you out at dawn. I’m afraid I can’t answer for the cockerel.’

  Alain laughed. ‘It can’t be worse than a bugle calling reveille. And I’ll look forward to seeing your place again and trying your cooking. I’ve told her a lot about you and we saw a couple of articles in Sud Ouest about some cases you solved. Rosalie was impressed but said she was happy she’d got the handsome cousin.’

  Bruno grinned. ‘Are you still thinking of setting up as an electrician when you’re out?’

  ‘Maybe, I’m not sure. Rosalie is interested in a new programme, training to be a teacher during your last year in the military, while staying on full pay.’ Bruno recalled the Mayor mentioning this. ‘So we could be back to civilian life in just over a year. She’s thinking of going to a vocational school which is also something I could do. That would mean two salaries plus two pensions. We’ve thought of settling somewhere near Bergerac, maybe in the wine country around Pomport.’

  ‘It sounds like you have it all worked out,’ said Bruno, feeling just a hint of envy. Still, Alain’s good fortune meant there was hope for Bruno yet.

  ‘How about you?’ Alain asked. ‘Any woman in your life or are you still carrying a torch for the policewoman in Paris? Isabelle, is that the one?’

  ‘I see her from time to time and I still feel like a besotted teenager whenever I’m with her but we both know there’s no hope of settling down. She’s devoted to her career.’

  ‘Maybe one of the bridesmaids will catch your eye at our wedding. I’ll count on you to carry the ring and to make a speech.’

  Bruno was trying to think of a suitable reply when a student nurse approached them and said the specialist was free to see them. She directed them to an office down the corridor.

  ‘Are you the next of kin?’ asked the middle-aged woman behind the desk. A stethoscope hung around her neck and there were shadows under her eyes. She looked close to exhaustion but she’d straightened up and smiled when they entered.

  ‘I’m her son and this is my cousin, her nephew,’ Alain said. ‘But we’re more like brothers, really.’

  Bruno felt himself almost absurdly pleased to hear Alain’s words. He’d never thought of himself in that way. They could have been brothers: he and Alain were similar types, Alain in the air force and Bruno in the army and then the police. They were both men whose chaotic childhoods had steered them towards the structure and routine of military life. He was still glancing sideways at Alain when the doctor began to speak.

  ‘My name is Dumourriez and I’m the specialist who’s been treating your mother since she was admitted yesterday morning. I’m afraid I have bad news. We gave your mother a scan this morning and the results are not at all encouraging. She’s had two heavy strokes and there are signs of serious brain damage. I’m sorry but don’t expect her to be capable of rational speech again. Her heart is in very bad shape and she wasn’t in good health to begin with. I don’t think we’ll be able to do much more than to make your mother comfortable for the time she has left.’

  She paused and picked up a file from her desk and opened it to a page that Bruno recognized as a printout of a scan.

  ‘Your mother certainly won’t be able to return to the retirement home where she was living, they aren’t equipped to care for her. We can’t keep her here so she’ll have to go either to a geriatric ward or, if her condition continues to decline as I expect, then she should go into a hospice.’

  ‘You think she’s dying?’ Alain asked, but his tone made it clear it wasn’t a question. He seemed resigned to it.

  ‘We’re all dying, I’m afraid,’ the doctor said with a shrug and a clearing of the throat that might have been a resigned laugh had she not been so visibly tired.

  ‘But I’m sure she grunted when she recognized me and she squeezed my hand when I sat beside her,’ said Bruno.

  ‘That was probably an automatic reaction. Please don’t get your hopes up. And she’s getting on for eighty. That’s a pretty good age and it’s clear she didn’t have an easy life. I wish I had better news for you.’

  The doctor rose to signal that the meeting was over. She ran a hand through her greying hair, pushing it back from her face. Bruno wondered how many such conversations she had gone through that day, that week. She handed Alain a sheet of paper.

  ‘Here’s a list of the local hospices,’ she said. ‘I’ve marked the two that have a vacancy. I recommend the first one if you can get her in. Under the new rules, we’ve already had to inform the retirement home that your mother won’t be going back there so you’ll need to clear out her belongings.’

  ‘What new rules?’ Bruno asked. He kept his voice neutral but there was something in his tone that made the doctor look at him properly for the first time. Under the red jacket that Bruno donned when he wanted to appear civilian, the doctor took in his uniform shirt and the police pouches at his belt.

  ‘Gendarme?’

  ‘Municipal, from St Denis,’ Bruno replied, lifting the left side of the jacket to show the police badge attached to the chest pocket of his shirt.

  ‘The Conseil Générale of this département brought in the new rule last year,’ the doctor explained. ‘Here in the Dordogne we have one of the oldest populations in France; one in seven is aged seventy-five or older. That means an unusual degree of pressure on retirement homes, geriatric wards, hospices – and on people like me. For you, monsieur, it means significantly less crime, since most crimes are committed by younger people.’

  ‘Not for white-collar crimes, madame,’ Bruno replied. ‘But I think we understand the extraordinary pressures you’re under. Thank you for what you did for my aunt,’ he went on. ‘When do you expect to move her to a hospice?’

  ‘Tomorrow, two days at most. I’ll keep her under observation, see if there’s any reason for hope, but I have to say I doubt it.’ She glanced at the file open before her on the desk then looked up again to address Alain. ‘We have contact details for your sister, Annette, but you might give me your mobile phone and email, just to keep you informed. Please could you jot them down here.’ She pushed the file towards him.

  4

  Bruno’s aunt never regained full consciousness and died a few days after she was moved to the hospice. The funeral was a quiet affair, just Bruno, Alain, Bernard and Annette, and half a dozen of her friends and former neighbours. Some more residents from the retirement home turned up for the brief buffet lunch that was held after the cremation. Her other two children had sent wreaths, pleading that they were unable to get time off for the funeral. Nobody except Bruno seemed much surprised by this.

  ‘I haven’t had time yet to go through her things,’ said Annette when only the family remained. ‘Not that there was much after she came to the retirement home. There was a photo album, some clothes I’ll give to Action Catholique, a couple of cushions she’d embroidered and a few photos in frames, her own wedding and mine, along with pictures of you and Alain in your uniforms. Not a lot to show for eighty years.’

  Bruno smiled ruefully at the thought. He had half-hoped that there might be something of his mother’s in his aunt’s belongings. On his visits to her, he had pored over the battered photo album, trying in vain to find at least a picture of the young woman who had given birth to him, and left him as a newborn baby at a church door and then disappeared. His aunt had refused to discuss her sister, saying she was long dead, and Bruno had to move on and learn to live without the woman who had abandoned him. Sometimes there was a wistful tone in his aunt’s voice when she said this. Bruno thought that in her way, and when she had the occasional moment to herself, she missed her little sister.

  The death of this last con
nection to someone who had known his mother made Bruno pensive as he drove back to St Denis. He’d always resisted the idea of tracking her down. Occasionally he had fleeting thoughts about her and about his unknown father. He’d have liked to know what she looked like, and what strange fate had driven her to abandon him before a week was out. But he knew the search would probably leave him more frustrated than when he started.

  As he slowed down to enter Ste Alvère, the vibration of the phone at his waist pulled Bruno’s thoughts back to the present. He glanced at the screen, saw it was J-J and pulled over to the side of the road to take the call.

  ‘You are not going to believe this, Bruno, but we have a new lead on Oscar,’ J-J began, sounding more than excited. He went on to explain that France had some special forces troops in Mali, helping the local army deal with a group of jihadists there. All active-service military personnel had their DNA on file, like the police, but for security reasons special forces had their DNA hidden along with their identities. One of the soldiers had been killed in action recently and his DNA was put back onto the database.

  ‘Don’t tell me,’ said Bruno. ‘This special forces guy was Oscar’s son or his nephew. Or something.’

  ‘Right first time. He was Sergeant-Chef Louis Castignac, born in Bordeaux, and he was Oscar’s son. We’re checking on the next of kin he listed with the army so we may be able to find his mother and any other family. And more good news. Virginie has arrived from Paris. She has a room in the student hostel and she’s already started work in the lab on Oscar’s skull.’

  Bruno sat staring through his windscreen, hardly aware of the half-ruined medieval tower that dominated the view. Sergeant-chef had been his own military rank and, like Louis Castignac, Bruno had served in France’s former colonies in West Africa. Perhaps it was the funeral and seeing the family that gave him a sudden sense of kinship with Louis and made him think of the relatives who would be mourning the dead soldier. Now in the midst of their grief they were going to be caught up in a murder inquiry from long ago. J-J would be relentless in trying to solve the case that had frustrated him for thirty years. He recalled someone saying that history was a cruel goddess who drove her chariot over heaps of dead. Justice could be cruel, too, in her own way.