The Devil's Cave: A Bruno Courrèges Investigation (Bruno Chief of Police 5) by Martin Walker Read Free Book Online Page A

big one, shouting across the table. She called me a useless old drunk.’
    ‘What did you call her?’
    ‘What do you think? She comes back after a weekend away, new clothes, new hairdo, jewellery. If it had been a regular boyfriend, someone we could meet, well that would be all right. But she wouldn’t say anything about him. I was frightened for her, Bruno. You hear things these days, about pimps and that. I was worried sick and I was drinking, so I said she was bloody well staying at home instead of going off like some cheap tart, and that’s when it all went wrong.’
    Bruno nodded encouragement, not wanting to break into Junot’s recollection.
    ‘I told her to go upstairs to her room, like I had when she was younger. She just laughed at me. So I went to give her a push up the stairs but she wouldn’t go and we were shouting and then she slapped me. So I clipped her round the ear, but it was worse than I’d meant and she went down and then Brigitte was pulling at me so I backhanded her and she went down as well, and banged her side against the table and her face on the chair.’
    He fell silent, looking at the ground by his feet. ‘Twenty years married and that was the first time I ever laid a handon her, and I wish to God I hadn’t.’ He drew on his cigarette but it had gone out and was too short to relight. He tossed it away and looked up. ‘You going to arrest me?’ he repeated.
    ‘Just tell me what happened next.’
    ‘It was a proper mess, nosebleed and everything. I stopped the nosebleed, cleaned her up and carried her upstairs. When I came down, Francette was gone. I don’t know how but I thought I heard a car. That was the last we’ve heard of her. But if it was her fancy man, he must be local because I wasn’t that long upstairs.’
    ‘And that was the only time you hit Brigitte?’
    Junot nodded. ‘I wanted to take her down to the clinic to be looked at because there’s a hell of a bruise on her side and I know she’s in pain. But she wouldn’t go. She said if she went there’d be an inquiry and I’d go to prison.’
    ‘Let’s take this one step at a time, Louis. Brigitte is hurt and I’m going to take her down to the
toubib
,’ Bruno said, using the slang term for a doctor. ‘But in the meantime, you better get that tractor started again and get those potatoes in.’

5
    As a child in the church orphanage, Bruno’s best friend had been the little terrier that belonged to the cook. So he had been distressed to hear in one of the sermons that he attended as part of each day’s Mass that animals had no souls. In his memory, he had been six, perhaps seven. Not long after that he had been released from the orphanage and dispatched to the noisy, undisciplined home of the woman he was told was his aunt. On his first night there he had cried, not for the orphanage nor for the chaos of the six other children he was told were his cousins, but for the loss of the little terrier. He couldn’t believe that it had no soul and that he would never see it again in this life or the next. His refusal to accept that sentence and the priestly authority from which it came was the first moment he had known that he was Bruno, a person who thought for himself and questioned whatever he was told.
    Now, as he greeted Hector and fed him his daily treat, he relished the horsy, oily smell of the saddle that he placed on Hector’s back. He listened to Hector crunching the carrot and rested his head against the welcoming warmth of the great neck. Since the shooting of his dog Gigi by Basque terrorists,Hector had become an emotional anchor for Bruno. As if by instinct at Bruno’s loss, Hector after Gigi’s death had drawn closer. He could never feel comfortable without an animal close to the centre of his life, a creature with intelligence and warmth in its eyes, with affection and trust in its greeting.
    Bruno felt an understanding with his horse and a sympathy that confirmed his childhood conviction that