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

eating outdoors so he could barbecue some trout or red mullet, or perhaps make something more ambitious with scallops and a creamy risotto flavoured with a grating of summer truffles. Bruno had all he needed in the garden for a salad but he might crumble some Roquefort over it instead of a separate cheese course. Nobody would want a heavy meal in this weather. For dessert he had some peaches in his garden.

This should be a family dinner, just the three of them, to give Bruno and Rosalie a chance to get to know each other. They were staying with him so nobody had to drive which meant they could enjoy the wines. He’d serve a kir royale for the apéritif, crème de cassis with a lovely local sparkling brut from Lestevenie that was in his fridge. Then a really good white wine, a cuvée Quercus from Pierre Desmartis at La Vieille Bergerie, ending with some Monbazillac that would match the strong cheese in the salad and would also go splendidly with the dessert.

If the Baron had been out fishing that morning he’d have told Bruno if the catch had been good. Today’s market was in Le Buisson, just down the road, so Bruno drove there, removed his képi and went to the fishmonger who he knew had bought his stock that dawn at the Arcachon quayside and driven directly to the market. Standing in line, Bruno studied the fish spread out on the long, ice-packed counter with the centrepiece of a big fresh tuna, about twice the size of Balzac. He considered the cod and the plaice, the red mullet and the mackerel, thought briefly about the still-squirming crabs and scallops before finally deciding on the écrevisses.

They were the red American crayfish, originally from Louisiana, and they had almost completely replaced the traditional white-foot crayfish that were native to the Périgord. He selected two-thirds of a kilo and also a half-litre of the fishmonger’s own fish stock. Then he went over to Stéphane’s stall and bought some Roquefort and fresh cream. On the way back, he stopped at the Moulin bakery for a fat, round tourte of bread. Everything else he had already, either in his kitchen or in his garden. He was just parking outside the Mairie when his phone buzzed. It was Isabelle, calling from Paris.

‘Thank you for the photos of the puppies,’ she said. ‘I think we can be very proud of our handsome Balzac. There’s one that looks just like him when I first saw him at the kennels, and I don’t know if I can resist getting him.’

‘Not while you’re in your current job, you can’t,’ he said. ‘You’d spend half your time trying to find a puppy-sitter while you’re off in Brussels or Berlin, and the rest of it worrying about whether he was eating right or getting enough walks. Still, it’s good to hear your voice – it reminds me of that lovely weekend when we saw him start these puppies.’

‘Yes, I know, and the same goes for me. That’s not why I’m calling, though. A little bird in the media here tells us that Le Monde is running what could be a rather embarrassing op-ed on Sunday written by your friend Jacqueline. Do you know anything about it?’

‘What’s embarrassing about it?’ he asked. ‘It’s no secret that the Americans don’t share with us like they do with the British. And the Stasi business was a long time ago.’

‘We have very long institutional memories,’ she replied. ‘And I see you know exactly what I’m talking about. Is there anything you can tell me?’

‘Only that she and Jack Crimson were in Washington at a Cold War historians’ conference on some East German intelligence dossier. Jacqueline is upset that the files were shared with the Germans and Scandinavians but not us. She thinks some French agents might have been recruited when they were young enough to still be in place today. There’s a risk that they could have been blackmailed to work for the Russians, or even the Americans.’

‘Merde, she must mean the Rosenholz dossier, so it’s as bad as I feared.’

‘Jack Crimson didn’t seem too concerned about it.’

‘Jack doesn’t have a prima donna president who likes to think that he can have a special relationship with Washington, just like the Brits. Ever since Brexit, the Elysée has been dreaming of France becoming the Americans’ key security partner in Europe, a geo-strategic coup that puts Paris back in the top rank.’

‘With him as the essential go-between,’ said Bruno. ‘It’s a fantasy. The British haven’t been in the top rank since the end of World War Two.’

‘Ah, but the British never claimed that they could speak for Europe. The Elysée thinks that we can.’

‘And you?’

‘I’m still a cop at heart, Bruno. I’ve learned to deal with things as they are, not as they could be. Putting all that aside, Jacqueline’s op-ed means that I have a problem. We’ve been talking discreetly with the Americans about sharing with us the Rosenholz dossier, and discussions are at a critical stage. If a political row blows up in Paris we’ll go right back to zero. And don’t tell me that it’s just the price we pay for the benefits of a free press.’

Bruno sighed. ‘Knowing Jacqueline, I really don’t think there’s anything I can do here that would not make matters worse. In fact, I’m going to add to your troubles. Gilles was there when Jacqueline spoke about it and he’s doing a piece for Paris Match.’

‘Merde,’ she said. ‘I guess we have to live with it.’ Then her voice changed. ‘It’s good talking to you. Why not come up to Paris to see me this weekend with Balzac and forget all that. We can all curl up together and look at pictures of his puppies.’

‘There’s nothing I’d like more,’ he said. ‘But my cousin Alain, the only member of the family I’m close to, is arriving this evening with the woman he plans to marry.’

‘Is that the