Black Diamond - Martin Walker [58]
At last the final whistle went, the game ending in a draw, thirty-five all. As the players all lined up to shake hands, Stéphane said, “Bruno, I’m going to ram that champagne bottle up Pons’s ass. And if this town’s crazy enough to elect him I’ll shoot him before he sets foot in the mairie.”
They limped off to the showers, the youngsters still fresh enough to trot ahead, whooping that they would take all the hot water. That suited Bruno fine. Cold water was probably what he needed. He ignored Pons and the glass of Pol Roger he offered and stopped in front of Pamela.
“Didn’t you see me waving for you to come off?” she said, handing him her champagne, which she had now accepted. He nodded, almost too tired to speak, but he emptied the glass.
“The game was almost over,” he said. “I was okay.”
“You played well,” she said, and leaned forward to kiss him. “I don’t know the game, but I could see that.”
“Hold on a moment,” said Fabiola. She put her hands to his head, regardless of the mud, and lifted his eyelids. She looked searchingly into his eyes and told him to follow her finger with his gaze. Left and right, up and down.
“You’ll do,” she said. “I’m making a habit of this.”
“She’s a great doctor,” said Pons. “Stopped my nosebleed in no time. She’s making a habit of that, too.”
Bruno looked coldly at him and turned back to the women. “Thanks,” he said. “I’m off to the bath.”
Ignoring the slaps on the back from other spectators, Bruno paused only to greet Dominique, who stood well back from the clinging mud that encased him to give him an air kiss.
“You and Dad were brilliant,” she said.
“Tell him. It’ll mean a lot to him, it does to me,” he told her. He went into the locker room to find his teammates sitting with their shoes off and their tired bodies steaming. He slumped onto a bench and tried to undo his laces, but he couldn’t bend. Pierrot limped across, knelt at Bruno’s feet and eased the shoes off.
“You played a hell of a game,” he said.
“Another one like that would kill me,” Bruno replied.
Then the youngsters trooped in, carrying beers for all the players, and pride required that they stand up and drink before they went into the showers and stood a long time beneath the water as the mud slowly washed away. Finally feeling half human, Bruno dressed and left, and some of the stalwart supporters were still there to cheer. Pamela and Fabiola were waiting, but there was no sign of Pons. Just as well, thought Bruno. It would not be a good idea for the chief of police to punch his next mayor.
14
Bruno was not altogether surprised to see the hulking figure of J-J leaning against the side of the stall where grilled sausages were sold and holding a large plastic glass of beer. As he saw Bruno, he pointed to another full glass on the shelf beside him.
“Good game, you played well,” he said.
“You haven’t been here that long,” Bruno replied. “I’d have seen you.”
“Everybody said you played well. At least, the baron did. But that’s not why I’m here. I’ve got the printouts from Hercule’s phones, and some of my people have run them through their computers and done some cluster analysis. There are a lot of calls to your disappeared friend Vinh, who is no longer answering his phone. Several calls to you and the baron and some long ones to the Vietnamese embassy in Paris. And a lot of calls to prepaid cell phones that aren’t registered to anybody. Meantime, I want to check some local names with you from other numbers he called.”
J-J pulled a sheaf of computer printouts from a bulging briefcase and flourished them. “I was going to offer to buy you dinner tonight so you can tell me who they all are. Are you going to introduce me to these ladies?”
Laughing, Pamela said, “Lovely to meet you again, Commissioner. Are you going to the funeral feast tonight for Hercule?”
“Luckily, yes. Especially as Bruno’s doing the cooking. Since I’m hunting Hercule