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

of very impressive binoculars for you and a map that’s far too complex for me to read. Balzac stays with me, otherwise you’ll get no sleep. Your case is already in the room along with towels and some mineral water. Sleep well. Oh, and the last news bulletin reported two new forest fires, one in the Lot, east of Cahors, and the other south-west of us at Casteljaloux. The armée de l’air sent planes dropping water.’

In his days in the army, Bruno had been able to fall asleep almost at will, seizing any opportunity to doze off. Perhaps because he was older, it was no longer so easy, or perhaps his life was now more complicated. Thoughts of Henri Bazaine, the dead Max and the frightened Tante-Do danced in his head. He was also surprised that Isabelle took so seriously the little flutters of panic that arose in the bizarre, self-absorbed world of French presidential politics. None of that was as important as protecting his valley from the threat of forest fire.

He must have drifted off for when he heard a knock on the door and Jacqueline’s voice, his watch showed twenty minutes to ten. He called out that he was up, took a quick shower and went out to the smell of fresh coffee. Places were set for three at the kitchen table and Jacqueline was mixing a salad while the Mayor pulled toasted cheese sandwiches from beneath the grill.

‘I’m not sure if this is breakfast or dinner but either way I’m looking forward to it. Bonjour et bonsoir and thank you,’ Bruno said. At the sound of his voice came a scratching on the kitchen door and the Mayor used the hand bearing the spatula to open it, allowing Balzac to rush in to greet his master as if they’d been separated for weeks.

‘If you could pass that Worcestershire sauce, it’s time to add it,’ the Mayor said. ‘I’ll always be grateful to Pamela for introducing us to this. Grilled cheese would not be the same without it.’ Bruno complied and then began squeezing oranges from the bowl on the table as the Mayor brought the plates to the table. Ten minutes later, refreshed and fortified, with a thermos of fresh coffee, a bag of fruit, saucisson, water and a baguette, they were in Bruno’s van and heading for Audrix. There were still some customers dining on the terrace of the Auberge when they arrived, and the village’s own Mayor, Jolibert, was standing on the steps of his tiny Mairie to greet them.

‘My turn tomorrow night,’ he said by way of greeting as they shook hands. ‘We had three or four small outbreaks today, nothing the lads couldn’t handle. But this is the first evening when that damned southerly wind hasn’t died down. It could be a bad night. Be sure to call me if things start looking rough.’

‘I heard the planes were busy dropping fire retardant down south in the Lot,’ said Bruno. ‘But that was hours ago.’

‘Rocamadour and Biron were the nearest the fires came to us today,’ said Jolibert. ‘Now you’re here, I’m off to bed. But please wake me if you see a big one.’

Bruno and the Mayor walked slowly around the hilltop village, able to see for at least ten kilometres in all directions except east, where the nearest skyline was dominated by a tall aerial mast. It was owned by the Defence Ministry and said to be a key link of French military communications.

‘Has anybody suggested we should have a watching post on top of that?’ Bruno asked. The Mayor shrugged and said, ‘Ask Albert.’

Bruno phoned in, to be told the request had been dismissed on grounds of security.

‘Understood. But have we suggested that the military put their own fire-watchers up there? They’d have a much better view than we do. It’s crazy if we work with the air force to drop water but can’t use their facilities to check for fires.’

‘You’re with the Mayor,’ Albert replied. ‘Ask him. He’s the politician.’

The Mayor agreed. ‘That makes sense. I’ll call the Minister tomorrow. Now you can tell me what’s going on with this old murder inquiry that’s made J-J so unpopular on social media.’

Bruno did so as the Mayor made a slow scan of the horizon with the binoculars.

‘You and J-J seem very focused on collecting evidence to charge this Henri Bazaine with murder,’ the Mayor said once Bruno had finished. ‘I’m more worried that we’ve had a Communist mairie in Paris that’s been forging documents, creating fake identities and killing them off, and has since managed to destroy most of the evidence.’

‘That’s why Isabelle has brought in the internal security people. They’re trawling through the old RG files.’

‘Renseignements Généraux? I never liked the idea of that kind of political police, neither the files they kept, nor their methods or the use that could be made of them. But in this case, I might make an exception. The idea that a French mayor could preside over a system where foreign agents could be provided with apparently genuine French identities in order to conspire against an elected French government is sickening.’

‘They were hardly discreet about it,’ said Bruno. ‘You remember the old Communist Party slogan, that my true homeland is the international working class?’

The Mayor made a sound halfway between a grunt and a sigh and handed Bruno the binoculars.

‘Very distant red glow to the north-west,’ said Bruno. ‘Better call it in.’

The Mayor called the control room in Périgueux and reported the glow.

‘A fire in the woods north of Cendrieux,’ he told Bruno. ‘The pompiers are there. You know,’ he went on, ‘we’re going to need a better system of forest management to deal with this climate change. We can’t continue just cutting timber and leaving loose brush and branches all over the ground. It’s an invitation to fire.’

‘Yes, but it also provides a habitat for the insects and wildlife that regenerate the ground,’ said Bruno. ‘It’s complex. Maybe you should get our local