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Summary
Summary
Walker pens the first in a wonderful new series that follows the exploits of Benoit Courreges, affectionately nicknamed Bruno, the chief of police in a small French village in the South of France where the rituals of the caf still rule.
Author Notes
Martin Walker is a senior fellow of the Global Business Policy Council, a private think tank for CEOs of major corporations, based in Washington, D.C.
Walker is also editor in chief emeritus and international affairs columnist at United Press International and the author of the Bruno series.
(Bowker Author Biography)
Reviews (3)
Publisher's Weekly Review
Policing in Chief Bruno CourrEges's sun-dappled patch of Perigord involves protecting local fromages from E.U. hygiene inspectors, orchestrating village parades and enjoying the obligatory leisurely lunch-that is, until the brutal murder of an elderly Algerian immigrant instantly jolts Walker's second novel (after The Caves of Perigord) from provincial cozy to timely whodunit. As a high-powered team of investigators, including a criminally attractive female inspector, invade sleepy St. Denis to forestall any anti-Arab violence, the amiable Bruno must begin regarding his neighbors-or should we say potential suspects-in a rather different light. Without sacrificing a soupAon of the novel's smalltown charm or its characters' endearing quirkiness, Walker deftly drives his plot toward a dark place where old sins breed fresh heartbreak. Walker, a foreign affairs journalist, is also the author of such nonfiction titles as The Iraq War and America Reborn. (Mar.) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
Guardian Review
More tensions around incomers here, this time in the Dordogne, where the French equivalent of little Englanders in the small country town of St Denis wage war on the EU bureaucrats who threaten local food production with their hygiene regulations. Captain Bruno Courreges sees it as part of his job to protect the townspeople, many of whom are former members of the Resistance, from these intrusions. So far, so jolly, in a Passport to Pimlico sort of way, but France's colonial past casts its shadow over this picturesque landscape when an old man from an Algerian family is found murdered, a swastika carved on his chest. Bruno concludes that the killing must be the work of the racist Front National, and his suspicions seem to be confirmed when a local boy is discovered in an act of bondage. The truth, however, proves more complex. Caption: article-aprilcrime.3 More tensions around incomers here, this time in the Dordogne, where the French equivalent of little Englanders in the small country town of St Denis wage war on the EU bureaucrats who threaten local food production with their hygiene regulations. - Laura Wilson.
Kirkus Review
The good lifeand it's very good indeedin the rural commune of St. Denis is shattered by a particularly vicious murder. Until Hamid Mustafa al-Bakr was slaughtered, the biggest professional problem Benot Courr'ges, the police chief universally known as Bruno, had was keeping meddlesome food inspectors from closing the Prigord markets. Once sports-bar owner Karim al-Bakr's grandfather, who fought for France in the Algerian war, has been discovered bound and eviscerated, a swastika carved into his chest, Bruno seems to have stepped into a daunting new weight class. Though the decades-long antipathy between shoemaker Philippe Bachelot and bicycle-shop owner Jean-Pierre Courrailler shows that petty rivalries can blossom even in idyllic St. Denis, everyone knows everyoneand Bruno knows everyonemuch too well to admit any possibility of a hate crime. Nor is Bruno convinced when the obligatory outsiders brought in to solve the case train their eyes on Richard Gelletreau, the doctor's teenaged son, whose only offenses concern drugs, porn and kinky sex, and on Karim himself. Why did the killer steal Hamid's Croix de Guerre and a photograph of the football team he played for half a century before? In order to restore his paradise to its original bliss, Bruno will have to plumb the depths of the past and unearth secrets no one wants revealed. Walker (The Caves of Prigord, 2002, etc.) sets a charming table with little mystery and less suspense, but the civilized approach to detection will likely appeal to fans of Roderic Jeffries's Inspector Alvarez. Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
Excerpts
Excerpts
1 On a bright May morning, so early that the last of the mist was still lingering low over a bend in the Vézère River, a white van drew to a halt on the ridge that overlooked the small French town. A man climbed out, strode to the edge of the road and stretched mightily as he admired the familiar view of St. Denis. The town emerged from the lush green of the trees and meadows like a tumbled heap of treasure; the golden stone of the buildings, the ruby red tiles of the rooftops and the silver curve of the river running through it. The houses clustered down the slope and around the main square of the Hôtel de Ville where the council chamber, its Mairie, and the office of the town's own policeman perched above the thick stone columns that framed the covered market. The grime of three centuries only lately scrubbed away, its honey-colored stone glowed richly in the morning sun. On the far side of the square stood the venerable church, its thick walls and squat tower a reminder of the ages past when churches, too, were part of the town's defenses, guarding the river crossing and the approach to the great stone bridge. A great "N" carved into the rock above the central of the three arches asserted that the bridge had been rebuilt on the orders of Napoleon himself. This did not greatly impress the town's inhabitants, who knew that the upstart emperor had but restored a bridge their ancestors had first built five centuries earlier. And now it had been established that the first bridge over their river dated from Roman times. Across the river stretched the new part of town, the Crédit Agricole bank and its parking lot, the supermarket and the rugby stadium discreetly shaded by tall oaks and thick belts of walnut trees. The man enjoying this familiar sight was evidently fit enough to be dapper and brisk in his movements, but as he relaxed he was sufficiently concerned about his love of food to tap his waist, gingerly probing for any sign of plumpness, always a threat in this springtime period between his last game of the rugby season and the start of serious hunting. He wore a uniform of sorts, a neatly ironed blue shirt with epaulettes but no tie, navy blue trousers and black boots. His thick, dark hair was crisply cut, his warm brown eyes had a twinkle, and his generous mouth seemed ready to break into a smile. On a badge on his chest, and on the side of his van, were the words POLICE MUNICIPALE. A peaked cap lay on the passenger seat. In the back of the van were a crowbar, a tangle of battery cables, one basket containing newly laid eggs from his own hens, and another with his garden's first spring peas. Two tennis rackets, a pair of rugby boots, sneakers, and a large bag with various kinds of sports attire and a spare line from a fishing rod added to the jumble. Tucked neatly to one side were a first-aid kit, a small tool chest, a blanket, and a picnic hamper with plates and glasses, salt and pepper, a head of garlic and a Laguiole pocketknife with a horn handle and a corkscrew. Tucked under the front seat was a bottle of not-quite-legal eau-de-vie from a friendly farmer. He would use this to make his private stock of vin de noix when the green walnuts were ready on the feast of St. Catherine. Benoît Courrèges, chief of police for the small commune of St. Denis and its 2,900 souls, and universally known as Bruno, was always very well prepared. He chose not to wear the heavy belt that weighs down almost every policeman in France with its attachments of holster and pistol, handcuffs and flashlight, keys and notebook. There was a pair of ancient handcuffs somewhere in his van, but Bruno would have to conduct a search to find them. He had a flashlight but it could use a new set of batteries. The van's glove compartment held a notebook and some pens, but the notebook was full of various recipes, the minutes of the last tennis-club Excerpted from Bruno, Chief of Police by Martin Walker All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
