The Coldest Case by Martin Walker (mobi reader android txt) 📕

to catch up and for him to look across the Périgord landscape. From this vantage point there was not another house to be seen. Ridge succeeded valley and then more ridges all the way east as the land steadily rose to the extinct volcanoes of the Massif Central, the very heartland of France.

A snuffling at Bruno’s feet made him bend to caress his dog, which reminded him that he should consult Florence about one of Balzac’s puppies. He set off again down the long, shallow slope leading to a track that gave him an easy kilometre along level ground back to his home, to a shower and breakfast. Twenty minutes later he left for St Denis, to be ready to patrol the crossing over the main road from the post office to the Ecole Maternelle.

He was there some minutes before eight, chatting with various young mothers he’d known since they were schoolgirls and ruffling the hair of their toddlers as he saw them across the road. Florence and her children were among the last to arrive. Once they had crossed, he waved thanks to the cars that had stopped and then joined them, kissing Dora and Daniel first, then Florence. He took care to embrace her in the brief, courteous and evidently unromantic way customary among friends. As a highly eligible bachelor in St Denis, whose relationship with Pamela was rumoured to be ending, he did not want to excite any new speculation, even as his mind wandered back to that enthusiastic embrace she had given him when he taught her twins to swim. He would not easily forget that entrancing sight of her in her green bikini, and far less the feel of her body against his.

‘Lovely to see you, Bruno,’ she said, with an eager smile. ‘But I’d better take the kids inside.’

‘I’ll wait,’ Bruno said. ‘I want to have a word, if you have a moment.’

‘It’s about Balzac,’ he said when she returned. Her smile faded a little and she glanced at her watch, a reminder that the classes she taught at the collège started in a few minutes. They began walking to the bridge. ‘You know I took him up to some kennels for a mating. Well, the puppies have been born and I wondered if you thought it would be a good idea for Dora and Daniel to have one.’

‘That’s very kind but I don’t think I could afford—’

‘It would be a gift, Florence. Christmas and birthday combined for both of them,’ he said swiftly. ‘I thought I’d consult you first, before saying anything to the children. I don’t want to get their hopes up.’

‘That’s thoughtful of you, Bruno, thank you. Would you let me think about this for a day or two?’

‘Of course, I know you have quite enough on your plate without having a puppy to housetrain.’

‘It’s not that, but I’m wondering whether we have enough space or garden, or the time to give him the attention he needs. It’s quite a responsibility and the children are still rather young for that. But of course they’d love to have a basset puppy and so would I. You know how they adore Balzac.’

‘That’s why I suggested it,’ he said. ‘But it’s up to you, and it does mean walking duties twice a day. Take your time. Balzac will have more puppies in the next few years so there’s no hurry.’

‘I understand but I’d hate to deprive the children of such a gift and it might even be good for them. I’d better sleep on it.’ They’d reached the collège. ‘I’m really touched that you thought of this.’ She hugged him and went inside.

Bruno’s eyes followed her and he thought he had not handled that well. But then his phone buzzed with an incoming message. As he pulled it from the pouch he felt the different vibration of an incoming call. He looked at the screen. It was J-J.

‘I just sent you a copy of Yves’ two composite pictures, one of Max and the other of Henri,’ he said. ‘They look very convincing to me. I’m waiting to hear back from Tante-Do to see what she thinks. If she says they’re good, we can prepare to launch the media campaign. And Virginie says she should have Oscar’s reconstructed face in a few days. The funny thing is, she refused to look at Yves’ picture, saying it might influence her.’

‘Good for her, and please send copies to Yveline and Sabine,’ said Bruno. ‘If you’re going to release the photos through your press office, maybe you should send copies to Gilles. He said he’d try to do a piece for Paris Match.’

‘Right. And let me know what you think when you see them. For the moment I won’t stand down the Strasbourg cops who’ve been going through old university records and class photos from the late 1980s, looking for two students called Max and Henri.’

Bruno called up the pictures, first Max and then Henri. He recognized in each parts of the various photos he’d sent to Yves but the compilations looked dramatically better, like real people. And the more he looked at Henri, the more he had a sense that he’d seen this man before, but when he was much older. The shape of the face and head and something in the eyes and mouth rang a distinct bell in Bruno’s memory, and it was linked to St Denis. The man wasn’t a resident but he’d visited the town within the last two or three years, Bruno was sure of it.

When could it have been? A market day, perhaps? Or at some cultural event or political meeting? As he closed his eyes to remember, Bruno could almost imagine hearing the man’s voice, as though he’d exchanged words with him rather than just seen him passing by.

‘What’s happening to you?’ came Pamela’s voice and his eyes opened. ‘You looked like you’d gone into a trance.’

She was carrying a shopping bag and he saw a big baguette and caught