been built from one of the mass-produced kits that were springing up to provide

cheap homes for locals who had been priced out of the market for older houses by

the English with their strong currency. Like all the kit homes, it had two

bedrooms, a sitting room, kitchen and bathroom side by side to share the

plumbing, and all built on a concrete slab. The vaguely Mediterranean roof of

rounded red tiles looked quite wrong in the Périgord, but maybe the

Mediterranean look helped Momu feel more at home, Bruno thought charitably, as

the house where he had spent several convivial evenings came into view. He

sighed at the tangle of illegally parked cars that almost blocked the road. One

of the most obstructive belonged to the Mayor, which was very unlike him. But

the Mayor’s presence was a relief – he would have told Momu. Bruno drove on for

a hundred metres, parked legally and thought about what he had to say and do.

First he would have to sort out the funeral arrangements and then try to

reassure the family that Karim would be home soon, assuming the Mayor had taken

care of the rest.

Bruno walked back to the house. Inside all the lights were blazing and he could

hear the sound of a woman crying. He took off his hat as he entered and saw Momu

slumped on the sofa, the Mayor’s hand on his shoulder, but he rose to greet

Bruno. Momu was a burly man, not as big as his son but barrel-chested and broad

in the shoulders. His hands were big, and his wrists thick like a labourer’s.

Just the solid look of him was enough to keep order among his pupils, but they

soon kept quiet from respect. Momu was a good teacher, they said, and made his

maths classes interesting. Bruno had heard he made every class work out the

combined weight of the local rugby team, and then of all the inhabitants of St

Denis, and then of all the people in France, and then for the whole world. He

had a deep, hearty voice, always heard at rugby matches on Sunday afternoons,

cheering on his son. They touched cheeks and Momu asked for news. Bruno shook

his head.

‘I’m very sorry for your loss, Momu. The police won’t rest until we find who did

this, believe me,’ Bruno said. He shook hands with the Mayor and the other men

in the room, all Arabs except for Momu’s boss, Rollo, the headmaster at the

local school. Rollo held up a bottle of cognac and offered Bruno a glass, but he

looked around to see what others were drinking and took an apple juice like the

Arabs. This was their home, their time of grief, so he would abide by their

rules. Anyway, he was on duty.

‘I just came from the cottage,’ he said. ‘We’re still waiting for the detectives

and forensic men from Périgueux. Nothing more will happen until they arrive, and

the police doctor releases the body. The gendarmes have sealed the place off,

but when the detectives are done, I’ll have to ask you to go up there and take a

good look around to see if you notice anything missing or stolen. There were no

obvious signs of a burglary or theft, except for a missing photo, but we have to

check. When the police are through, they’ll take the body to the funeral home

but I need to know what you want to do then, Momu. I don’t know if you have any

religious rules or special customs.’

‘My father gave up religion a long time ago,’ Momu said solemnly. ‘We’ll bury

him here in the town cemetery, in the usual way, as soon as we can. What about

Karim? Is he still up there?’

Bruno nodded. ‘Don’t worry. It’s routine. The detectives have to talk to the

person who found the body but they probably won’t keep him long. I just wanted

to come and pay my condolences here and find out about the funeral and I’ll go

right back up there and keep an eye on Karim. He’s had a very bad shock.’

When he had called back at Hamid’s cottage, Bruno had gone through another

argument with Duroc who, between angry phone calls to demand why the Police

Nationale were taking so long to get there, insisted on keeping Karim at the

scene. That was about all the gendarme had done. It was left to Bruno to call

the Public Works and arrange for a portable generator and lights to be taken up

to the cottage, which had only basic electricity and no outdoor light. He also

arranged for the local pizzeria to deliver some food and drink for the

gendarmes, something Duroc should have thought of.

The sound of crying from the back room had stopped, and Bruno noticed Momu’s

wife peering round the door. Bruno had always seen her in Western dress, but

today she wore a black scarf on her head which she held across her mouth as

though it were a veil. Perhaps it was her mourning dress, he thought.

‘What can you tell us?’ Momu asked. ‘All I know for sure is that the old man has

been killed, but I still can’t believe it.’

‘That’s all we know at this stage, until the forensics team do their work,’

Bruno said.

‘That’s not what I heard at the fire station,’ said Ahmed, one of the drivers

for the Public Works, who also volunteered as a fireman. There were two

professionals at the small local fire station and the rest were local volunteers

like Ahmed, summoned as needed by the howl of the old wartime siren they kept on