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

say, ‘Hello, Hector,’ or to make some friendly overture or even to thank him. Instead, after a brief pause to consider what he had said and while keeping her features immobile, she asked, ‘Where do I find this
maréchal
?’
    He raised his eyebrows. Any horsewoman should know that. ‘In the phone book, under c for
chevaux
. There’s one in Sarlat and another in Bergerac, or try the stables at Meyrals. There’s an old stable hand called Victor who knows a lot more about horses and horseshoes than most blacksmiths.’
    She gave neither acknowledgement nor thanks, and her face remained impassive. And again there was the pause before she spoke.
    ‘Is there any news about the woman in the boat? Has she been identified yet?’ she asked.
    Bruno shrugged. ‘Not that I’ve heard. We’re waiting for the pathologist’s report. But she’s not on any of the lists of missing persons in this
Département
.’
    ‘I thought you could identify everybody these days, with teeth and fingerprints and DNA.’
    ‘Sure, if you simply want to confirm someone’s identity and you have their dental records and the DNA of a relative. But if you have no reference to go on, as in this case, then it’s very slow and uncertain. If we’re lucky, her fingerprints may be on file somewhere. Otherwise, we may never identify her.’
    ‘So what you need would be a national data base of DNA and dentistry, then you could identify anyone.’
    ‘In theory, yes, if the computer program worked and if the dentists never misfiled their records and the courts didn’t condemn it as a breach of human rights.’ He spoke lightly, trying to be jocular, conscious of a slight sense of challenge in trying to provoke some life into her face. He did not succeed.
    ‘What about those markings on the body?’ she asked. ‘Perhaps they could help identify her.’
    ‘If they had been tattoos, you could be right. But they were temporary markings.’
    She raised an eyebrow. ‘You must have heard the radio, that business about Satanism.’
    ‘No, I didn’t hear the radio. But I talked to the reporter and said it seemed far-fetched. It doesn’t seem to have stopped him.’
    ‘You don’t take it seriously?’
    ‘Death is always serious, but I don’t know what the devil has to do with it.’
    ‘Your local priest sounded rather alarmed, according to what I heard on the radio. And he seemed to know what he was talking about.’
    ‘So he should. He’s a priest,’ Bruno said. ‘Getting alarmed about the devil is part of his job description.’
    She considered this. ‘You mean like that line from Voltaire – “God will pardon me; it’s his profession.”’
    Bruno smiled. ‘That sounds about right, but I didn’t know it came from Voltaire.’
    ‘These clever sayings usually do,’ she said with a sudden and unexpected smile. It felt to Bruno like a reward. ‘That’s why I always say Voltaire when I don’t really know.’ She fell silent, but the smile lingered on her lips and she waited, as if expecting him to say something.
    ‘Are you living down here or just visiting?’ he asked. He remembered that Foucher had called her his partner. She wore no wedding ring, just a curiously shaped black band in some dull metal that seemed to curl sinuously up her index finger like a tiny snake. Her eyes followed his glance and she shifted her grip on her horse’s bridle.
    ‘Visiting, but I might end up staying some time,’ she said. Again there was that short pause, as if waiting for a translation, before her reply.
    ‘The Mayor told me about the plans for a holiday village,’ he said, aware that his probing was clumsy and that she’d realize he was simply trying to prolong the conversation. ‘That’s a big piece of land to put together.’
    She said nothing, didn’t even shrug. ‘I must be getting back. Among other things, there’s an old lady I have to look after.’
    Bruno’s thoughts went back to his phone conversation with Pamela. Perhaps this