‘I’ll have to recreate each muscle, precisely calibrated to the shape of the skull beneath. I was already told that this was needed as soon as possible so I’ll work as fast as I can without sacrificing accuracy.’
‘Good for you, and your priorities are the right ones,’ the Mayor said, nodding his approval and trying to put her at ease. ‘But we can’t let you come to the Périgord without enjoying the sights and the food.’
‘I’ll be happy to pick you up and take you down to our area on some convenient Sunday,’ Bruno said. ‘You need some time off. I could pick you up here on a Saturday and get you back here in the lab on Monday morning. We can put you up at a local house with people we know. After seeing the exhibition at the museum, I know several who’ll be fascinated by your work.
‘That reminds me,’ he added, handing her a brown paper bag. ‘There’s some of my home-made pâté de foie gras in there and a jar of my onion confit to go with it, a home-made saucisson and a local cheese made by a friend of mine. Just so you know how good the local food can be.’
She blushed prettily and gave them a lovely smile which almost made up for the tattoo. ‘Thank you, that’s kind of you. I should say the food’s not bad at the student hostel here, much better than the one in Paris. Even the police canteen does a great salad buffet. And their coffee is free.’
‘I’m delighted to hear it,’ the Mayor said. ‘Here’s my card with my office and mobile numbers and my email. Just let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.’
‘And don’t forget to tell me when you’ll be free to visit us in St Denis,’ Bruno chimed in. ‘We can take you to the museum in Les Eyzies to see Elisabeth’s exhibition that puts all of her – and your – work into context.’
The two men climbed the stairs from the lab and Bruno took them on the short cut through the busy police canteen where dozens of cops – traffic, uniformed and plain-clothes – were tucking into their steak-frites. One or two friends from rugby or previous cases nodded and waved in recognition as Bruno strolled through, but one large cop in uniform, whom Bruno did not know, called out loudly and with an unpleasant sneer in his voice, ‘Watch it, boys, it’s the country copper. How are the sheep-shaggers down there in the Périgord Noir?’
This was not the time to take offence, Bruno thought.
‘They’re leaving all the ewes very contented,’ he replied amiably. He walked on through a ripple of laughter and then turned at the door, raised his hand in a wave and declared, ‘I just hope you big city guys can say the same about your own partners.’
‘Do the city cops always tease you like that?’ the Mayor asked, as they left the building.
‘Quite often, but it’s something you get used to,’ Bruno said. ‘Male-dominated societies like the cops and the military tend to be clannish, always ready to challenge outsiders. There’s usually no harm in it but that guy was trying to be offensive. I think I’d better keep an eye on him in the future.’
He and the Mayor headed up the road to the Préfecture, wishing they had taken the car as the sauna-like heat rose from the paving stones. The Mayor observed that it was markedly warmer than in St Denis and began discoursing on cities as ‘heat sinks’, a lecture that took them to the Préfecture for a predictably disappointing meeting. The Prefect, as representative of the French government, had summoned a selection of local officials to ensure that he could claim they’d been consulted and that he had support for the unpopular measure of imposing water restrictions. These would ban the watering by hose of all private and municipal gardens, outlaw the refilling of private swimming pools and the use of car wash centres. Local fire brigades would make their own preparations to tackle forest fires.
Sitting beside Bruno, the Mayor of St Denis asked if the much greater use of water for crops would continue unrestrained. Yes, of course, the Prefect replied. Agriculture was a state priority. So that would naturally include orchards and market gardens, the Mayor continued. Indeed, said the Prefect. The Mayor sat back and murmured to Bruno, ‘That means I’ve saved your tomatoes.’
And probably saved your own re-election, thought Bruno privately. But he was most struck by what the Prefect had not said. This heatwave and drought was not only a problem for swimming pools and lawns. Perhaps he should have a word with Albert, the chief pompier in St Denis, about possible precautions against forest fires.
The gathering of mayors, local police and fire chiefs broke up, grumbling as always about officials from Paris never understanding rural concerns. The Mayor stayed to mingle and Bruno excused himself. He headed for J-J’s office to be told that the meeting would be held in the much larger office of Prunier, recently promoted to the rank of Contrôleur-Général as the senior police officer of the whole département. He and Bruno had first met as opponents in the army–police rugby match. Both men saw this as a firm basis for enduring friendship, however irritating Bruno’s loyalty to St Denis could occasionally be for Prunier’s much greater responsibilities.
Bruno also thought highly of Prunier’s taste in coffee, and smiled as he recalled introducing Prunier to Léopold, the big Senegalese in the St Denis market who imported and sold excellent coffees from Africa. Like Bruno, Prunier had become a convert and bought kilos of the stuff for his home and persuaded the manager of the police canteen to buy it,
