They took a last look around the exhibition, pausing once more before the exhibition case that depicted the life-sized reconstruction of the Neanderthal man with the child and beside it another display of a young Cro-Magnon man, spear in hand and poised to throw it.
‘It’s a funny thing about these men with their straggling beards,’ said J-J. ‘It makes them look less modern somehow than the women.’
‘Yes, I see what you mean, but imagine trying to shave with a piece of flint,’ Bruno replied.
‘You’re both missing something,’ said Gilles, a note of excitement in his voice. ‘Look at the Neanderthal man with that animal fur draped loosely around him. And then look at the Cro-Magnon guy with his spear from tens of thousands of years later. His furs have been deliberately fashioned into trousers and a jacket. I’d never thought of it before but the Cro-Magnons must have invented the needle, which gave them the technology of sewing. It meant they could wear garments that were much better suited to surviving cold spells and ice ages. Maybe that’s how they flourished while the Neanderthals died out.’
Later, in Bruno’s living room over their aperitifs, protected from the heat outside by the thick stone walls, the Mayor turned to J-J and asked if he’d ever thought of using the DNA from Oscar’s skull to help identify him.
J-J shook his head. ‘It was all too new at the time, very expensive and not too reliable.
‘It wasn’t until 1985 that a British scientist called Alec Jeffreys first established that everyone’s DNA is unique, J-J explained. The police were still studying the science behind it but a defence lawyer was quick to take advantage and the following year the lawyer used DNA in a British court in a case of two girls raped and murdered to show that his client was innocent, even though he’d already been convicted. DNA was then able to establish the real culprit. That made news and the following year it was first used in another rape case in Florida. France took some time to start using the technology, proposing to keep a national DNA database as late as 1996. It began with sex offenders but its use was not extended to those convicted of serious crimes until after the 9/11 terrorist attacks in the United States.
‘Even today, we only have some five million people in our national database,’ J-J told them. ‘The British and the Americans each have over twenty million. But it was French police scientists who showed its limitations. There was a case of a woman’s DNA connected to several murders in Austria, Germany and France, and French detectives established that the DNA came from a woman working in the factory that produced the cotton swabs used to collect the DNA from swabbing inside the mouths of suspects. The killer was finally caught – and turned out to be a man. But there’s no doubt that DNA has revolutionized police work.’
That seemed a natural point to pause and Bruno invited them to the table, brought out the smoked salmon and asked how Oscar’s DNA might be useful today.
‘I’ve been thinking about that,’ said J-J. ‘I’ll start by running it against the national database which is a long shot but it’s getting better. Then I’ll ask for a Europe-wide search through Interpol. I can work on that tomorrow. Our own lab can take a sample of the skull and get the DNA.’
‘Isn’t Jacqueline supposed to be back soon?’ Gilles asked the Mayor, referring to the half-French, half-American historian who spent one term per year teaching at the Sorbonne, another at Columbia in New York and the rest of her year in St Denis. She now rented out her renovated farmhouse nearby and lived with the Mayor, an arrangement so mutually agreeable that it seemed to have subtracted several years from each of them.
‘She’ll be back on Friday in time for the weekend,’ the Mayor said. ‘She stayed on for some conference in Washington at the Cold War research centre that relates to her next book, something about a horde of Stasi documents from the former East Germany. She emailed me to say that Jack Crimson is also attending the conference. Apparently he’s on some British committee that determines which official documents are to be declassified.’
‘So Jack will be back here as well?’ Bruno asked. He was fond of the former British diplomat and intelligence official whose daughter Miranda helped Bruno’s former lover and still close friend, Pamela, run a nearby horse-riding school. They had recently started offering cooking courses to fill Pamela’s gîtes in the winter months when tourists were scarce. Bruno and other friends had been roped in to help demonstrate the local cuisine.
‘No, Jacqueline told me that Jack is going back to London for a few days for some committee meeting, probably relating to the conference in Washington,’ the Mayor said. ‘He’ll be back later next week.’
The conversation drifted off to sport and then through politics over the venison until interrupted by Bruno’s phone. He didn’t recognize the number of the caller but thought he’d better answer and was surprised to hear the voice of his cousin Alain, the one who had gone into the air force and the relative to whom he was closest.
‘Bad news, Bruno,’ he began. ‘It’s about Mum. She’s had a stroke and been taken to hospital in Bergerac, the one on Avenue Calmette. It happened sometime last night but I just heard about it from my big sister. I’ll get some compassionate leave and head there tomorrow. I’m told she can recognize people but she can’t talk.’
‘Sorry to hear it,’ said Bruno. ‘What time do you expect to be there?’
‘I’ll have to sort out the paperwork at the base for my leave tomorrow morning and then I’ll drive up. Should be there at about four and I’ll stay with Annette for a day or two. Should
