The fire chief strolled across to Rossillon who was checking the sling ropes of the trebuchet.
‘With your permission, monsieur,’ said the fire chief, taking the sledgehammer from Rossillon, who stepped back and gestured to the fireman to go ahead. The sledgehammer swung back once and then again, the fire chief making sure the camera was on him. Then he knocked away the beam holding the ratchet. The great arm swung over once more, the sling whipping its final thrust and one more oyster sack of water sailed off over the hill, spurred on by a new burst of cheers from the volunteers.
‘And if this doesn’t double the number of visitors to Castelnaud this year, I’ll eat my old képi,’ said Prunier.
But that didn’t stop Prunier from taking his turn with the sledgehammer when Rossillon invited him to launch the next sack. Then each member of Rossillon’s team, men and women alike, was granted a turn at firing the trebuchet before the aircraft returned for another dousing. This time it was judged complete. The great fire of Périgord was out.
25
Bruno was about to leave the place d’armes to take the curving track that led downhill when he saw a face he knew. The man was in the uniform of a pompier which was why it took him a moment to recognize him. It was Henri Bazaine.
‘I thought you were a winemaker. I didn’t know you were also a pompier,’ he said. He didn’t offer to shake hands and nor did Henri.
‘I thought you were a cop. I didn’t know you were also a firefighter,’ Henri replied, deadpan. ‘I’ve been a volunteer in the Bergerac brigade for twenty years and I’ve never known a night like this.’
A beat, as Bruno considered whether or not to speak out.
‘Not even back at the Clara Zetkin orphanage?’ he asked. ‘I presume that’s where you first learned about wine, making Riesling in the Elbe valley. And by the way, that asthma that kept you out of military service seems to have cleared up.’
Henri did not react. He just continued to look at Bruno with the same, studiedly neutral stare. Bruno wondered if General Lannes had been successful in dissuading the Elysée from accepting the lawyer’s offer of a deal. After the dramas of the night, all that seemed a long time ago.
‘Well, thanks for your work last night, you and all the other volunteers,’ Bruno said.
‘Thanks to you as well. Those catapults put new heart into everyone. Let’s hope the politicians learn the lesson of climate change from this fire, before we have more nights like this,’ Henri replied.
‘I agree with you on that,’ Bruno replied. ‘But don’t get your hopes up. Democracy is a wonderful thing, but politicians don’t tend to win elections by telling people to stop using fossil fuels.’
‘Or to stop flying and eating fast food,’ Henri replied, with the glimmer of a smile. It did not reach his eyes. Bruno decided to forge on.
‘What happened between you and Max?’ he asked. ‘Was it a fight over the Lefort scrapbook?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Henri’s face was impassive once more.
‘Auf wiedersehen,’ said Bruno, as he turned aside and walked on down the hill, wondering whether it was worth telling Prunier of Henri’s presence among the volunteers. Until he heard from Isabelle about the Elysée’s decision, it would make little difference. It was now six in the morning, a new day. Perhaps he’d be able to have breakfast with Alain before getting some sleep.
At the bottom of the hill, where a long line of vehicles was waiting to cross the bridge, the parking area was in chaos as vehicles vied to leave. They needed a traffic cop, Bruno thought, wondering whether he should start sorting out the jam. As he pondered, a gendarme emerged from the crush, blew his whistle and began restoring a modicum of order. Then Bruno saw the fluttering tricolor that indicated the command truck and beyond it the blue of the air force truck. It had not moved. There was nobody in the driver’s compartment so he hammered on the rear door. After a moment, it was opened by a sleepy-eyed stranger in air force blue.
‘I’m looking for Alain,’ he said. ‘He’s my cousin.’
‘You’re Bruno? He went looking for you. He said you were the guy who got those catapults going. So, chapeau, I doff my hat to you, but I’m knackered and I’m going back to sleep.’ The door closed.
Bruno sat on the small step outside the truck door and closed his eyes, thinking how good a coffee would taste just now. And then he caught a strong whiff of the stuff. A young woman holding a tray filled with coffee cups was heading for the command truck.
‘May I buy one?’ he asked, reaching for some change.
‘On the house. Our café would have burned down without you guys,’ she said. ‘Take two, you look like you need them. And we’ll have some croissants in a few minutes.’
As she went into the command truck, Alain emerged from between two other trucks, saw the coffee and said, ‘Is one of those for me?’ Bruno handed over a cup and they hugged each other clumsily, with one arm.
‘Was it really your idea, to use the catapults?’
‘Not really, I just remembered they were up there and thought, hey, that would be worth a try. But you were here at Castelnaud the other day. You would have thought of it. That reminds me, how’s the lovely Rosalie?’
‘Fine when I saw her yesterday morning, before we got called up here.’
‘You’ve chosen well there. All my friends enjoyed meeting you both, so you’ll have a social life ready and waiting when you arrive. But tell me, is this work with the water-dropping aircraft a regular part of what you do?’
‘Not at all,’ Alain replied. ‘There was an emergency call for our help yesterday and even though the aircraft are nominally part of the Service Civique, the flight crew are all ex-air force. They insisted on having our communications systems. They had some problems in Provence a couple of years ago when the cops and pompiers were trying to direct them. That’s why we have a pilot in our truck as ground controller. I’m just running the electronics. But we haven’t stopped. We were dropping water in the Landes yesterday and near Nérac before that.’
‘Well, thanks for helping put our fire out. You should have called to say you’d arrived.’
‘I had no idea where we were last night when we got here. We were just told to load up and get going so the aircraft could start dropping as soon as it was light.’
Bruno grinned. ‘That sounds like the military I remember. But can’t the planes operate in the dark?’
‘They could but they have to fly quite low to get a concentrated drop and in hilly country like this in the dark, it’s just too risky.’
Alain turned as his name was shouted from the truck and someone in air force uniform beckoned him to come back. ‘Here we go again, off somewhere new.’ He handed the coffee cup to Bruno.
‘Give Rosalie my best regards.’ They shook hands and as soon as Alain climbed into the back of the truck its engine started, and with a peep of the horn it headed for the bridge. Bruno watched it go and then went to the command truck to say he was signing off and going home for some sleep. He found Prunier there, being interviewed by Phillipe Delaron for Sud Ouest.
‘This is the guy you should be talking to,’ Prunier said to Phillipe. ‘It was Bruno’s idea to use the gabarres to evacuate people and he was also the one who told me we should try the catapults.’
‘Is that right?’ Phillipe asked, turning to Bruno.
‘A lot of people were coming up with different ideas,’ Bruno replied. ‘In the military you learn to combine your arms, air power, infantry, armour and artillery. We had the fire trucks, the pompiers and volunteers as our infantry and we knew the air power would be coming once it was light. What we didn’t have was artillery – and that was the gap the catapults could fill. When we realized just how fast the fire was moving we were desperate enough to try anything. The important thing now is to make sure we learn from this, to make proper plans and run exerc
ises to get everybody accustomed to working together.’
‘That’s exactly what I told the fire chief,’ Prunier said, turning back to Philippe. ‘We’re forming a working group to draw up recommendations and I want Bruno to be on it.’
After taking some more photos, Phillipe went to interview Rossillon and Bruno asked Prunier, ‘Any news from J-J about Henri Bazaine? I just ran into him; he’s one of the volunteer pompiers from Bergerac.’
‘Really? So he can’t be all bad. No, I haven’t heard from J-J since yesterday. And we found no trace of his taking a train or autoroute to Paris. Now I’m going home to get some sleep and drop off this filthy uniform at the dry cleaner. You should do the same. Do you know you smell of pee?’
‘It’s from one of the evacuees, a little old lady I had to carry who must’ve been incontinent. I’ve been smelling it all night.’
Bruno went home, fed his chickens, stripped off, climbed into the shower then turned off his phone and went to bed. He woke in the early afternoon, made coffee and had another shower before turning his phone back on. He had almost a dozen messages, two from the Mayor, three from the local radio station, two from J-J, one from Sabine, another from Rossillon and two from Isabelle. He called her first.
‘I saw you on TV breakfast news with those medieval war machines,’ she said. ‘I don’t think I ever saw you looking quite so filthy.’
‘I stank even worse,’ he said. ‘Any news from the Elysée about Bazaine?’
‘Yes, against our advice, they’re going ahead with the deal. Bazaine gets immunity and in return the Elysée gets the Rosenholz stuff.’ She then paused and the silence lengthened and then lengthened some more.
‘Ah,’ said Bruno, starting to understand. ‘Once they have it, have the wonder boys in the Elysée promised to pass it on to you and our counter-espionage people?’
‘Not that I know of.’
‘You mean they’re going to keep it?’ Bruno said, in disbelief.
‘Knowledge is power,’ she replied. ‘To be fair, they don’t want a witch-hunt. I understand that and to an extent I sympathize with that point of view. But . . .’ She paused again.
‘But you’re still a cop at heart,’ said Bruno. ‘And you don’t want Bazaine getting away with murder.’
‘Exactly,’ she said. ‘But I have an idea. What are you up to this weekend?’
‘If you’re thinking of coming here, we can take Balzac to visit his puppies.’
‘I can’t think of anything I’d rather do,’ she said. ‘Well, almost anything. But part of this trip might be official, depending on some meetings I have to arrange. I should be able to confirm sometime tomorrow.’
‘Wonderful,’ he said. Then he ignored the calls from the radio station and rang the Mayor.
‘I just called to congratulate you,’ the Mayor said. ‘I think half the town saw the morning news on TV with you and the trebuchet.’
‘Good for you. Everybody else is calling it a catapult.’
‘And you seem to have a new fan in my esteemed colleague, the Madame Maire of Envaux. She said on TV that you were the one who arranged the gabarres to evacuate people.’
‘Everybody is being very kind but the truth is we mishandled the situation,’ Bruno said. ‘We misjudged the speed of the fire. The evacuation routes weren’t arranged in advance. Bridges that were supposed to be closed were left open and there was too little advance planning between the police, the pompiers and the air force. We need to do better next time because I think there’ll be more wildfires like this.’
‘I agree with you,’ said the Mayor.’ And not just here or in Australia or California where we see them on TV, but in more and more places as climate change speeds up. Did you see they even had them in Sweden a couple of years ago?’
‘Exactly,’ said Bruno. ‘Prunier is planning to set up a working group in this département but you could use your Paris connections to make this a nationwide process. We need to do it.’
‘We’ll discuss this tomorrow when you come back in. I want you to take the rest of the day off. Get some sleep.’
Bruno ignored the remaining calls and since the Land Rover still smelled of urine, he washed down the rear benches and floor and drove with all the windows open to the riding school. Balzac, recognizing the sound of the engine, was running into the stable yard to greet him. His barking alerted Hector, who gave a welcoming neigh and then Pamela appeared at her kitchen door.
‘Well done,’ she said, coming to give him a warm hug, with Virginie following along behind. ‘We saw you on TV and Virginie found a way to download it onto her laptop and emailed it to me, so I sent it to all our friends. Have you seen it yet?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘And I don’t think I need to. I was there. I’m told I looked filthy.’
‘Everybody did, from the smoke.’
‘Bonjour, Virginie,’ he said, leaning forward to kiss her cheeks, and was slightly surprised when she wrapped her arms around him in a fierce hug.
‘I’m in love with Balzac, he’s wonderful,’ she said. ‘I learned how to saddle a pony and Pamela wants me to help with the little ones later today.’
‘I feel the need for a ride on Hector,’ said Bruno and looked at Pamela. ‘Want to come?’
‘I can’t,’ she replied, shaking her head. ‘I have the big girls coming for riding lessons at four. Do you want to stay for dinner? Virginie is cooking us another vegetable feast.’
‘Thanks, I’d love to but I have to see J-J about this case we’ve been working on,’ he said. ‘And I should go to the clinic and find out how some of the evacuees are doing. But first, I need a run with Hector.’
Virginie came into the stables as he was saddling his horse and said, ‘I want to thank you for that kind message you sent to Madame Daynès about the head I made. She called me this morning to offer me a job at her studio, starting in September.’
‘Congratulations, that’s great news,’ he said. ‘You earned it. What will you do until then? Go back to Paris?’
‘I have a week’s more work at least in Périgueux, making the extra heads. After that, Pamela says I can stay here through the summer, learn to ride and help with the kids. She can’t pay me but I’ll be able to live here for free.’
‘Good, she’ll make a fine horsewoman of you. I’m glad you’ve enjoyed meeting my friends. I know they enjoyed meeting you.’
He walked Hector out, mounted and with a wave at Virginie, set off up the trail to the ridge, Balzac trotting at his heels. Hector seemed as eager for a good run as Bruno was. He cantered off the last shallow slope then began to gallop almost as soon as they were on level ground. They paused at the woods for Balzac to catch up and Bruno stared across at the familiar landscape that was still untouched by fire. He fervently hoped it stayed that way, and once Balzac joined them, Hector trotted through the trees to the long firebreak.
Balzac knew the place well and knew how fast the horse would run so he stayed where he was, watching Hector canter at first and then move easily into a fast run, not quite a gallop. At the far end, Bruno slowed, turned and this time Hector went all out, as fast as Bruno could remember riding, an exhilaration so intense he heard himself whooping for joy until Hector slowed for the woods and Balzac barked in welcome at their return. Minutes later, the riding school came into view and Bruno could see Pamela’s swimming pool was full of water, unsullied by ashes and empty of people. It looked very inviting indeed.
Bruno’s phone vibrated. It was J-J and he thought he’d better take it.
‘How’s the TV star? And have you heard the news from Paris?’
‘What news?’ Bruno asked, thinking it better to be discreet about how far Isabelle had confided in him, with all that it implied for the closeness of their relations.
‘The Elysée is letting Henri off the hook in return for those Stasi documents he’s been sitting on. Pruni
er heard it from General Lannes, who didn’t sound at all happy about it. I’d have thought you’d have heard.’
‘I was up all night, firefighting. I’ve been catching up on sleep. So what do you do now?’
‘I have a call in to Isabelle. She might have some ideas.’
‘I wouldn’t go up against the Elysée if I were you.’
‘That’s what Prunier said. And well done last night. We’ll talk after I hear from Isabelle.’
Bruno unsaddled Hector in the stables, gave him a wizened apple from the barrel and rubbed him down while Balzac snuffled around their feet. Then he strolled up to the pool, stripped off to his undershorts and dived in, his momentum taking him underwater most of the length of the pool. He rose, swam three fast lengths and then floated, arms outstretched, his fingers fluttering, eyes closed, enjoying the heat of the sun on his face. He stayed like that until his head bumped gently against what he thought was the side of the pool at the shallow end, and he opened his eyes to see Balzac nudging him. He climbed out, patted Balzac and stood for a while looking up at the ridge, almost able to feel the water on his skin evaporate in the warmth. The breeze was still from the south and he sighed at the thought that there could be another heavy night.
‘There you are,’ came a voice. ‘The medieval catapult man himself.’
It was Jack Crimson, grinning broadly, dressed in swimming shorts with a big towel around his neck. He dived in, making a massive splash that showered Bruno with water all over again, surfaced and blew like a grampus. ‘I heard on the grapevine that this Rosenholz dossier business is nearly settled,’ he said. ‘About time, too.’
Bruno knew that Jack and General Lannes were old colleagues, and that although he was officially retired, Jack still worked as a consultant on strategic risks for some private clients. His access to old friends in British, French and American intelligence made him a usefully deniable go-between for them all. Isabelle had once described him to Bruno as a wise and trusted old owl.
‘Glad to hear it,’ said Bruno. ‘I hope you’ll say that to Jacqueline before she drops any more bombs on Le Monde’s op-ed pages.’
The Coldest Case Page 27