Bousquet finished off a mouthful. “The town treasurer. A very close friend of the mayor. He was murdered with his family. A home invasion. Police investigators from the BRI came down from Amiens up north. The BRI is our version of your FBI.” Bousquet paused, thinking. “For the second time, because they came for Gilles also. They don’t seem to have any leads. Houdin’s murder happened a few weeks ago in fact.”

Simone Vaugeois let her spoon fall on the plate. “Big city problems have arrived in Alencourt. None of this would have happened even ten years ago. The world is going to hell!”

Father Bousquet wiped his lips with the cloth napkin. “I don’t know. Things are changing, that’s for sure. But they always change, don’t they, Monsieur Keeler?”

“I guess they do.”

Vaugeois smiled. “Anyway, I’m sure none of our problems will prevent you from enjoying yourself.”

I thanked her for taking the call from the police. “I am sorry if this causes you any distress.”

Madame Vaugeois waved me away. Father Bousquet said that he’d drive me to the police station.

Chapter Six

Bousquet didn’t end up giving me a ride into town.

An unmarked black BMW pulled up just as we were saying goodbye to madame. Bousquet and I watched as the car stopped behind his Volks. A muscular plainclothes cop in the passenger seat got out and loped over. He wore an orange police armband over a brown leather jacket. He had a shaved and tanned head. He was around my height, in his mid-thirties and moved like an athlete. The driver stayed in the car.

“Monsieur Keeler?” I nodded. He didn’t look at me directly, rather scanned the area. He took in madame and Father Bousquet. The house. He looked up at the roof. Scanned the cliff ridge line above Brumaire. The cop turned his attentions back down to me. He saw my bag and said, “Is that everything?”

I didn’t like how he eyeballed everything except the person he was talking to. So I ignored the question and asked my own. “Want to show me your identification?” The cop looked at me directly then. First with open hostility, then he sniggered and brought out a leather badge wallet and flashed it quickly. I said, “I’d like to look at that if you don’t mind.” He shook his head in disbelief and handed it over.

The badge was in French. It looked like a badge. The bald cop’s name was Grouse. He was a big guy, and held the rank of sergeant. I said, “What kind of a name is Grouse?”

Grouse looked as mean as he could manage. “Give me back the badge.”