While the Music Lasts by John Brooke

Author:John Brooke
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Signature Editions
Published: 2016-01-06T16:00:00+00:00

Isabelle Escande was on her bike, bouncing, sliding, grinding, working her way down through the unclaimed land between Berlou and Le Mauraury. She’d got up before dawn and headed out. She loved the silence of the morning and there was no reason to stay in bed. Mounting the ridge dividing the hills from the wide no-man’s-land of the plateau, the crack of a gunshot broke the spell of total concentration. Dismounting, she faced an approching cacophony of yapping dogs. There were two more shots, then a sustained volley. Isabelle rolled her bike under the cover of a low-slung rowan, crouched and waited, obscured, sipping juice from a bottle.

Being a police officer and a marksman of some accomplishment, Isabelle Escande was more than familiar with gunfire. Her acute ear and eye were such that the trajectory of the shots felt visible. Being from Paris, she knew nothing about wild pigs, much less the tendencies of a wild pig running for its life. It was not the guns per se, but the possibility the boar might run straight for her, grotesque teeth in the lead, hunters’ bullets following directly behind that scared her.

Isabelle lay prone on the cool ground, rowan berries squashing underneath her…

But the sporadic barrage of bullets was passing safely west of her position.

Rising cautiously, she caught a glimpse of a large shape fifty metres away, racing for the next clump of woods. The dogs followed, small and barely seen but loudly there. The hunters came jogging and stumbling through the scant light, rifles at their shoulders, an ungainly platoon in camouflage, as if that could fool the boar. Isabelle thought she recognized the townsmen in the hunting party, but men looked different dressed in their fantasy clothes. She thought, one wrong step and someone could be shot in the back of the head.

She recapped her juice, secured it to her bike, brushed leaves from her tumbling hair and tied it back up, wiped berry pulp from her elbows. More shots echoed from the woods as she resumed her ride. Isabelle was hoping for the boar.

Ten minutes later the land flattened out, and the rising sun was suddenly in front of her. She met the paved road and passed through Le Mauraury. No one about at this hour, save an old man scattering feed to his chickens. He was always there, always nodded a bonjour as she glided past, and Isabelle never responded. The relationship seemed fine with him… Isabelle left the hamlet, crossed the bridge over the creek, turned left at the water tank onto the unpaved surface. A cock screamed. She shifted up and started pushing hard. Quickly bringing the bike to speed, she raced across the flats, muscles burning, spirit leading body, three klicks with eyes fixed on the road in front of her, aware of every crack and stone.

Isabelle wouldn’t look because it was not her business.

But of course she did.

The white car was parked at Luc’s front door.

The thought of a banker in bed with

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