Read Online The Devil's Cave: A Bruno Courrèges Investigation (Bruno Chief of Police 5) by Martin Walker - Free Book Online
Authors: Martin Walker
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woman would know something useful about caring for the elderly.
‘Do you do it yourself or do you hire specialists?’ he asked.
‘I do it. I had a very wise …’ She paused, as if choosing the next word with care. ‘A very wise guardian who said I would grow too tall to be a dancer, so he made sure I trained as a nurse.’
This time there was a hint of another expression on her face; the faintest tightening of the mouth and a lowering of eyebrows. It passed as quickly as the dappling of sunlight through the hesitant leaves of springtime. She turned, leading the horse back through the clearing to the bridle path that led down to the river. ‘
Au revoir.
’
He wanted to ask her if she still danced and how far she had pursued it, but instead he watched her go, hearing her spurs catch and click, thinking he should have advised her to remove them while she walked through the wood.
6
Bruno had risen early, fed his chickens and been for a run through the woods behind his home, knowing the paths too well to be distracted by the mists that rose from the river at this time of year. It was at times like this that he most missed Gigi, the way the dog had trotted beside him and then darted away to follow some new scent, before finding his way back to rejoin Bruno for the final sprint along the ridge back to the house. He would have to find another dog. But Gigi had come from a litter of the Mayor’s hunting hound, and she was now too old for breeding. He would wait until he found a puppy from a strain he knew that he could raise and train himself.
He stopped at the newest of the town’s five
boulangeries
, a place with an artificial windmill that had become popular partly because it was the only bakery with its own car park. The other reason was Louise, the baker’s attractive wife, who pursed her lips to blow Bruno a kiss as she staggered back into the shop carrying a tray filled with fresh loaves. He waved back and stood in line, greeting the others who were waiting, and bought three croissants and a baguette. They were still warm when he parked at Antoine’s camping site where he could smell fresh coffee.
‘Thanks for doing this,’ Bruno said as Antoine pushed a cup of coffee across the bar towards him followed by a jar of apricot jam made by his wife, Josette.
‘He’s looking forward to it,’ Josette said, coming in from the kitchen with butter and hot milk. ‘He always likes doing a trip down the river at the start of the season, to see how the banks and currents have shifted.’
‘And I’m just as curious as you about where our mystery woman could have gone into the river,’ Antoine said, tearing his croissant in half to dip it in his coffee. ‘Any news about her, who she might have been?’
His mouth full of croissant, Bruno shook his head. ‘Still waiting for the autopsy,’ he said, swallowing. ‘By the way, do you remember anything about that bottle in the punt?’
‘Vodka, some Russian writing, can’t say I remember.’ He turned and looked at the bottles lined up on the shelves above his bar. ‘It looked like the Smirnoff I sell.’ Bruno made a mental note to check if the forensic team had followed up.
They loaded a canoe onto the trailer and climbed into the van for the drive upriver to Montignac, nearly thirty kilometres away and the farthest point from which the punt could have drifted in the time the woman had been dead. Antoine reckoned it had been put into the water much closer to St Denis, but it was best to be sure. Bruno assumed that the woman had been alive when she got into the punt and took her lethal cocktail of pills and vodka, so time of death might not be the most reliable guide to her embarkation point.
The morning was still fresh when they donned life jacketsand put the canoe into the water, while Josette drove the van back to the campsite. Antoine settled at the stern, sending Bruno to the bow, and baited the row of hooks before fixing his fishing line to a bracket
‘Do you do it yourself or do you hire specialists?’ he asked.
‘I do it. I had a very wise …’ She paused, as if choosing the next word with care. ‘A very wise guardian who said I would grow too tall to be a dancer, so he made sure I trained as a nurse.’
This time there was a hint of another expression on her face; the faintest tightening of the mouth and a lowering of eyebrows. It passed as quickly as the dappling of sunlight through the hesitant leaves of springtime. She turned, leading the horse back through the clearing to the bridle path that led down to the river. ‘
Au revoir.
’
He wanted to ask her if she still danced and how far she had pursued it, but instead he watched her go, hearing her spurs catch and click, thinking he should have advised her to remove them while she walked through the wood.
6
Bruno had risen early, fed his chickens and been for a run through the woods behind his home, knowing the paths too well to be distracted by the mists that rose from the river at this time of year. It was at times like this that he most missed Gigi, the way the dog had trotted beside him and then darted away to follow some new scent, before finding his way back to rejoin Bruno for the final sprint along the ridge back to the house. He would have to find another dog. But Gigi had come from a litter of the Mayor’s hunting hound, and she was now too old for breeding. He would wait until he found a puppy from a strain he knew that he could raise and train himself.
He stopped at the newest of the town’s five
boulangeries
, a place with an artificial windmill that had become popular partly because it was the only bakery with its own car park. The other reason was Louise, the baker’s attractive wife, who pursed her lips to blow Bruno a kiss as she staggered back into the shop carrying a tray filled with fresh loaves. He waved back and stood in line, greeting the others who were waiting, and bought three croissants and a baguette. They were still warm when he parked at Antoine’s camping site where he could smell fresh coffee.
‘Thanks for doing this,’ Bruno said as Antoine pushed a cup of coffee across the bar towards him followed by a jar of apricot jam made by his wife, Josette.
‘He’s looking forward to it,’ Josette said, coming in from the kitchen with butter and hot milk. ‘He always likes doing a trip down the river at the start of the season, to see how the banks and currents have shifted.’
‘And I’m just as curious as you about where our mystery woman could have gone into the river,’ Antoine said, tearing his croissant in half to dip it in his coffee. ‘Any news about her, who she might have been?’
His mouth full of croissant, Bruno shook his head. ‘Still waiting for the autopsy,’ he said, swallowing. ‘By the way, do you remember anything about that bottle in the punt?’
‘Vodka, some Russian writing, can’t say I remember.’ He turned and looked at the bottles lined up on the shelves above his bar. ‘It looked like the Smirnoff I sell.’ Bruno made a mental note to check if the forensic team had followed up.
They loaded a canoe onto the trailer and climbed into the van for the drive upriver to Montignac, nearly thirty kilometres away and the farthest point from which the punt could have drifted in the time the woman had been dead. Antoine reckoned it had been put into the water much closer to St Denis, but it was best to be sure. Bruno assumed that the woman had been alive when she got into the punt and took her lethal cocktail of pills and vodka, so time of death might not be the most reliable guide to her embarkation point.
The morning was still fresh when they donned life jacketsand put the canoe into the water, while Josette drove the van back to the campsite. Antoine settled at the stern, sending Bruno to the bow, and baited the row of hooks before fixing his fishing line to a bracket
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