The Devil's Cave: A Bruno Courrèges Investigation (Bruno Chief of Police 5)

Marseille.
    ‘Apart from the theatricals, that is,’ the voice from Paris went on. ‘We have a regular order from Gallotin, the big theatre supplier. They supply the film industry and the Opéra and the Avignon festival, all the main events. That’s the biggest market for things like that.’
    Bruno made a note, finished his coffee and checked his watch, thinking he’d have time to visit the Junot farm before lunch, when his phone vibrated. It was J-J, chief of detectives for the
Département
and a good friend, asking for a briefing on the dead woman.
    ‘Sorry I didn’t call back earlier,’ J-J said. ‘I was with the new
Procureur de la République
, seems a real live wire. He’s from Lyon but keen on rugby so you’ll get on fine with him.’ With wide powers to define the scope of criminal inquiries and to appoint
juges d’instruction
to lead investigations, the new Public Prosecutor could make J-J’s life a misery. The last
Procureur
had been close to retirement and content to let J-J run his own show.
    Bruno strolled back to the
Mairie
to pick up his official van, and was surprised to see a small procession of a dozen or so townsfolk crossing the bridge ahead of him. They were in single file except for two of them at the front who carried poles bearing hand-made posters. One read, ‘Homes for Locals, Not Tourists’. Catching them up, Bruno saw a number of familiar faces, some of them regulars from other demonstrations over the years. But he was surprised to see Gaston Lemontin carrying the other poster, which read ‘The People Say No’.
    Lemontin had for years been the quiet deputy manager of the local bank. Married, with grown children who had moved away, he lived with his wife in a remote but pleasant home overlooking the river at the far end of the commune. As he recalled this, Bruno began to guess the nature of the demonstration. He also recognized two of the people filing along behind as neighbours who lived down the same side road as Lemontin.
    ‘What’s this about, Gaston?’ he asked, in a friendly tone. ‘It would have been a courtesy to let me know, in case I have to do something about the traffic.’
    ‘There aren’t that many of us, Bruno, more’s the pity. We’re just here to deliver a petition to the Mayor,’ the banker replied. ‘We’ve got over a hundred signatures. The
Mairie
will have to listen to us now. Here, why don’t you sign it?’
    With what was now a practised gesture, Lemontin whipped out a petition form and pen from his shoulder bag. Bruno took the form, but ignored the pen and began to read. As he’d suspected, the petition was against the plans for the holiday village that the Mayor had mentioned earlier that morning. According to the petition, the golf course would waste water, the need to provide roads and sewers would raise the town’s taxes and no environmental assessment had been done. The banks of the river would be at risk, and it would make it even harder for local youngsters to afford homes of their own. There were far too many holiday homes in the region anyway, without adding more places that would be empty most of the year.
    Bruno agreed with a lot of that. But he also agreed with the Mayor’s focus on the jobs, taxes and tourist trade the development would bring to St Denis.
    ‘All very public-spirited,’ said Bruno, as he handed back the petition and fell into step beside Lemontin. ‘But you didn’t put in the bit about it spoiling your view and maybe shaving a bit off the profit you’ve already made on that house of yours. Isn’t that what this is about? I’ve never known you to attend any other demonstration in these parts.’
    ‘Well, what if I do have a personal interest?’ Lemontin replied, a faint blush spreading on his cheeks. ‘I’m entitled to make my point, just like any other citizen. And thosearguments are real – there hasn’t been an environmental assessment but the Mayor is hell-bent on pushing this through. I’m told that he’s already granted preliminary approval without any public discussion and without the council even seeing the plans. And the more I look into it, the more I smell something fishy in this investment house that’s behind it.’
    ‘I thought it was some big reputable firm in Paris,’ Bruno said. Now they were almost at the
Mairie
.
    ‘That’s what they say, but when you look into the real owners you get into a maze of finance companies in Luxembourg and investment trusts in Switzerland