The Coldest Case

by Martin Walker

  ‘I think that’s enough of these irrelevant questions,’ said the lawyer.

  ‘Who is your doctor?’ Bruno went on, ignoring the lawyer’s objection. ‘We should check on this asthma condition. I’d have thought the chemicals you spray on your grapes could be a problem for you.’

  ‘That’s more than enough,’ said the lawyer, rising. ‘Since you have evidently exhausted your relevant questions I see no reason to waste my client’s time further with these irrelevant ones. And in future, any questions for my client should come first to me. Come along, Monsieur Bazaine, we’re leaving.’

  ‘I’ll be in touch,’ J-J said cheerfully as they left. Once the door closed behind them, he looked at Bruno and Sabine. ‘That went rather well. Did you note that he swallowed my suggestion that he was here in the first few days of July? I’d expected him to say he wasn’t even in these parts at that time. He slipped up there but maybe he knew we had enough witnesses who recall seeing him. And he’s clearly nervous about this, otherwise he wouldn’t have hired the People’s Pierre.’

  ‘I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t understand why you’re so confident,’ said Sabine, a little hesitantly. ‘He just stonewalled you.’

  ‘But he gave us enough to start checking and verifying. We’ll find people he was at school with and at the orphanage. We could well find that was where he met Max, even though he denied knowing him. Detective work is mainly about this sort of detailed work, slow but sure, Sabine, that’s my watchword, so cheer up because we have lots to check. Once you’ve taken Tante-Do back, perhaps you could start with those schools he attended, see if there are any class photos and if any teachers are still alive. Then track down his old classmates. Bruno, have a word with that Belleville Mairie, if you would, for the orphanage records. I’ll have my team check his car-wash story and the local doctors for his claim to have asthma, although I don’t believe a word of it. I’ll see how many more identifications we have from the media blitz.’

  ‘I can’t stay long, J-J,’ Bruno said. ‘I have to attend a forest fire rehearsal in St Denis this afternoon.’

  Bruno found a spare desk with a phone, found a number for the Paris Mairie and asked for the Mayor’s secretary, explaining his task.

  ‘I don’t think we can be much help,’ she said. ‘Ever since the old Communist neanderthals lost control of this arrondissement, we’ve had dreadful trouble trying to make sense of the old files. They destroyed a lot, deliberately burning whole sections of the archive trying to cover their tracks or making it difficult for their successors. That included a lot of budget accounts, school records, all sorts of special funds for labour relations, international links, so-called summer schools that seem to have been Communist holiday camps. Even the births, deaths and marriage registrations had huge gaps.’

  ‘What about the Paul Lafargue orphanage?’ he asked. ‘We’re trying to check the background of a suspect in a murder inquiry who claims he went there.’

  ‘I’ve never heard of it, which doesn’t mean it didn’t exist. Hang on a minute, I’m just calling up on my computer the index we made of the archives and I’ve found a reference to it but the note says all the files are missing. Shall I pass you on to our archives department? They may be able to tell you more.’

  The archives people were friendly but unable to be of much help. They did check on the apprenticeships record and found the name of Henri Thorez Zeller. He was listed as attending the local vocational school for four years after 1985 when he’d have been aged sixteen. He’d started doing three days a week of studies and two days working as an apprentice. In his fourth year he was doing one day a week at the school and the rest at his apprenticeship at the public works department. The file said his marks had varied between good and very good and that he’d graduated as a qualified construction electrician in June of ’89.

  ‘Do you have an address for him? Bruno asked.

  ‘The Lafargue orphanage,’ said the archivist. ‘We think it closed a couple of years after Zeller left, when Jacques Chirac was Mayor of Paris and began cleaning up some of the old Communist strongholds. We have no files at all on the orphanage.’

  ‘Any health records for this guy? He’s supposed to have been spared military service because of asthma.’

  ‘I doubt if these guys would have put an asthmatic into public works, even as an apprentice, but we don’t have those records. Maybe the army can help you.’

  ‘Why would all these archives have been destroyed? Any idea?’

  ‘Some of it was inefficiency. But a lot of it was covering up corruption, jobs for the boys that didn’t involve any actual work except what they called political organization. There were solidarity funds which filed no accounts, public housing for Mairie workers who never seem to have paid rent, that kind of thing. And a lot of incompetence was involved as well. Still, your man Zeller was at the vocational school so at least you have that.’

  ‘What about his classmates? Do you have registers for them? I’m particularly interested in the murder victim, first name Max. We know the two of them were travelling together around here in June and July that year.’

  ‘I can have a look and get back to you.’

  ‘Many thanks, and good luck with cleaning up those archives.’ Bruno gave his phone number and email address before ending the call. He wrote a note for J-J on his findings and set off on the return to St Denis. He went home first to check on Balzac, then to his office to run through his emails. Shortly before two, he joined the large group of people already gathered in the hall of the fire station. The fire trucks had all been moved outside to make room. Half the Mairie staff was there along with Yveline and Sergeant Jules for the gendarmes, Fabiola and Dr Gelletreau, the collège director, and officials from the communes up and down the entire valley. He found his police colleagues, Louis from Montignac and Juliette from Les Eyzies.

  ‘This would be a good time to pull off a bank robbery,’ he said. ‘Half the cops are tied up here.’

  ‘Not to mention the TV news cameras,’ said Louis, nodding at a separate stand filled with cameras and reporters, Philippe Delaron included.

  ‘And the military,’ said Juliette, pointing to a tall officer in air force uniform who was chatting with Albert, the chief pompier of St Denis, along with his boss, the woman who had recently taken over as head of the fire service for the département. She mounted a small dais, tapped the microphone to check it was working and began.

  ‘We are now at a very high risk of forest fires and in a highly wooded region like this with lots of scattered housing we could lose dozens of lives, not to mention many millions in property, unless we take some very serious precautions. Each of your Mairies has been sent checklists of things they have to do, from preparing evacuation centres and emergency food and water supplies to mounting round-the-clock fire-watch stations on all the water towers. Doctors, pharmacies, medical centres and social work teams are being sent their own checklists on supplies that could be required and plans for preventive evacuation of at-risk individuals.’

  She stepped down and handed the microphone to the Prefect, who began by saying he supported everything the chief pompier had said. ‘If we get a major fire, I will at once declare a state of emergency under which supplies and key personnel can be requisitioned to deal with the challenge. Any disobedience of evacuation orders will result in an arrest. I should stress now that if such a fire occurs, human life will be our priority so we may suffer heavy losses in livestock. Paris has agreed that special compensation funds will be available and that pompiers from other regions which are not at risk can be drafted here. Mairies will have to make arrangements for their housing and upkeep. From midnight tonight, a special operations centre will be manned at the Périgueux Préfecture around the clock. And just so you know how seriously we are taking this, I will be on the first night shift. Now let me introduce Commander Yvelot of the armée de l’air who will be in charge of wate
r-bombing operations.’

  Commander Yvelot took the microphone. ‘My team will be based at Bergerac airport,’ he began. ‘We’ll have a flight of four dumpers, as we call the water-carriers, on permanent standby at Bordeaux for the region. We’ll also be flying in chemical fire-suppressants. My colleagues are currently building a master map of the region, giving each square kilometre its own identifying code so we can steer the dumpers quickly to threatened points. We plan to issue stacks of these maps for each commune for your fire-watchers, Mairies, police and pompiers. We’ll also have meteorologists on-site to warn us of prevailing winds, which are the real danger to the fires spreading. The bad news is they are predicting warm, dry winds from the south for the coming week, which is why this emergency practice has been called.

  ‘Now, I have to speak in the name of my colleague from the army, Colonel Rostin, a signals specialist who is currently meeting in Périgueux with the local directors of all the telecommunications companies about their roles in maintaining phone links even if we lose some mobile-phone towers. They are setting up a dedicated communications centre at the Préfecture, with direct radio as well as phone links to every Mairie, Gendarmerie and pompier station. Expect one of those teams to be setting up links in your own communes over the next two to three days.’

  ‘One more thing,’ said the Prefect, climbing up onto the platform once more. ‘In terms of handling any fires, local chiefs of pompiers will have absolute authority. If they demand public works staff and equipment to build firebreaks, they must be obeyed. If they have to drain swimming pools to get water or requisition civilian vehicles for evacuation purposes, so be it. All fires in the open air are now banned, which includes domestic barbecues. I hope you now realize how seriously we have to take this threat. Thank you.’

  He stepped down to a long moment of stunned silence.

  ‘Well, at least the schools are out so we have some evacuation centres available,’ said Bruno to his two colleagues.

  ‘We don’t even have our own pompiers in Les Eyzies,’ said Juliette.

  ‘Christ, what about Lascaux?’ said Louis, in whose district the prehistoric cave stood, surrounded by woodland. I’d better find my Mayor and see if we should close it.’

  ‘All St Denis pompiers to me,’ called out Albert. ‘And you, Bruno, and Yveline and Jules and Monsieur le Maire.’

  When they had all gathered, he began, ‘I’ve spent the weekend with some of the lads from the hunting clubs trying to identify the highest risk zones, those woodland areas that appear to be most dry and flammable. There are three that really worry me. The first is the wood along the ridge above the town vineyard and all the way past Limeuil to Terrasson. The second is on the road up to Audrix along to the road that leads down to the forest of Campagne itself. The third is the woodland north of St Denis up to the Miremont crossroads and east to Les Eyzies. We’ll need fire-watch volunteers, at least two people at each post, with binoculars and fully charged mobile phones running shift systems night and day. Bruno, can you round up some volunteers from the tennis and rugby clubs? And anybody who has a drone. They could be useful.’

  ‘I’ll do that as soon as we’re finished here,’ Bruno replied.

  ‘If you could do the same for Les Eyzies, Juliette, I’d be grateful,’ Albert went on. ‘Fire-watch volunteers can use phone and church and water towers, whatever gives us good views. We’ll have helicopters available to check out each warning. And one last thing – beware of broken bottles. Fires are easily started by glass. At the right angle, it can become a lens that concentrates the sun’s rays.’

  As he turned to go, Albert paused. ‘Oh, and finally, everybody. Double check your fire insurance.’

  17

  Bruno had to excuse himself from the usual Monday evening dinner with his friends at the riding school. He worked late into the night collecting keys to church and water towers, rounding up volunteers to watch for fires, his only meal a cold half-pizza from a stack of boxes delivered to the pompiers. His own home was in one of the high-risk zones so when he got home after midnight, he collected a box full of essential documents. He filled another box with his most cherished books and bottles of wine. He would leave them and Balzac at the Mayor’s house in town. Then he fell into a deep sleep as soon as his head touched the pillow.

  He woke with the cockerel’s crow, skipped his usual run, and packed a suitcase of clean clothes. He went out to load up his Land Rover and felt the heat of the day building unusually early. The wind was from the south, warm but now menacing, and there was not a cloud in the sky. He sent a blanket email to all members of the rugby and tennis clubs calling for fire-watch volunteers, adding that they could sign up at the fire station. Then he cooked himself a hearty breakfast, a cheese omelette with cherry tomatoes on the side and two big slices of toasted bread from the tourte to go with it. This might be his only meal for some time. He squeezed his remaining oranges and made a big pot of coffee, sufficient for a mug with his breakfast and to fill his vacuum flask for the day to come.

  On the radio, France Bleu Périgord was reporting the emergency, the Prefect’s speech and the new fire regulations. The final item on the morning news made him sit up when he heard J-J’s name and the familiar voice of the People’s Pierre claiming that the veteran detective had developed a pathological obsession with a case he failed to solve at the start of his career.

  ‘Now as this elderly policeman’s career approaches its end, Jalipeau is riding roughshod over human rights in a desperate bid to find a plausible victim for his personal vendetta,’ Pierre said, sounding as though he were addressing a public meeting. ‘He is even using doctored photographs and dubious evidence of witnesses claiming to recall events that happened thirty years ago.’

  ‘You are representing one of the suspects in the case, and I understand you took him to meet Commissaire Jalipeau,’ said the interviewer.

  ‘That’s right. My client went to the police station voluntarily only to be ambushed by a woman he’d never met who was claiming some kind of relationship with him around the time and place of the murder. This farce was staged by Commissaire Jalipeau for reasons best known to himself. I can only presume he was hoping to shock my client, heavens know why.’

  ‘These are serious allegations against a well-known and much admired senior police—’

  ‘I quite agree,’ Pierre interrupted. ‘I have had great respect for him in the past, but his latest antics are beyond belief. Do you know he is using some unqualified young archaeologist to try to rebuild the face of the victim from a thirty-year-old skull? This is crazy, it’s close to witchcraft. No serious lawyer could stand for it.’

  ‘So what are you going to do?’

  ‘I’m filing a formal complaint with the Commissioner of Police requesting that Jalipeau be suspended or at least removed from this case. Moreover, I will today petition the court on my client’s behalf for relief from vexatious abuse. In a free country, the police cannot be allowed to get away with this kind of behaviour.’

  ‘And now, it’s going to be a hot day and watch out for those forest fires. If there’s a pool or river near you, this might be a great day for it. But remember folks, no barbecues. By order of the Prefect. Turning to sports news . . .’

  Bruno turned it off, finished his breakfast and washed up. He loaded Balzac into the Land Rover, drove into town and left Balzac in his office. It was too early to deliver him to the Mayor. Passing the maison de la presse, he saw Gilles emerge with the day’s newspapers.

  ‘Can you spare me ten minutes?’ Bruno asked him. ‘My house is in the danger zone so I’d like you to drive up there with me, and you bring back the Land Rover to park by the Mairie and I’ll bring the police van back.’

  ‘No problem,’ said Gilles. On the drive there, he said that Fabiola was already at the medical centre but at least their house should be safe.

  ‘I’m worried about Pamela’s place,�
� Gilles went on, and Bruno realized with a sudden sense of guilt that he hadn’t thought of that; not only of the danger to Pamela, Miranda and her children, but that Hector and the other horses might also be at risk.

  ‘Have you spoken to her about it?’ Bruno asked.

  ‘Not yet. I was going to call her when I got home. Maybe she can at least move the horses to another stables.’

  ‘The stables aren’t that close to the woods, but Pamela’s house could be in danger.’

  ‘Don’t forget about her gîtes. Right now they’re full of tourists, probably all Brits.’

  ‘I’ll go up and see her after we get back to town,’ Bruno said.

  Twenty minutes later, he parked the police van at the stables, went to visit Hector and give him his usual carrot and greeted Beau and Bella. He walked up to the house to find her in the kitchen. She was speaking on the phone. She blew him a kiss before saying into the phone, ‘I don’t think anybody really knows how high the risk is. Ah, here’s Bruno. I’ll ask him and call you back.’

  ‘Bonjour, Pamela,’ he said, embracing her. ‘Your stables should be okay, but this house could be in trouble if there’s a fire in the woods behind. This south wind could sweep the flames right down. Let’s take a look.’

  There were twenty metres of garden behind the house, mainly her croquet lawn and flower beds, then a low hedge and another thirty or forty metres of grassland that linked to two big paddocks to left and right. So the woods were probably fifty or more metres from the house, a distance wider than the usual firebreak. The outbuildings that had been converted into four gîtes were even further from risk. The house and gîtes were all stone with tiled roofs so there was little danger of sparks.