"But isn't there?" Julie said through a mouthful of plum tart, then paused to gulp some tea to get it down. "What about that tooth that was left in the box? It has some dental work on it, doesn't it? I can remember a dozen cases where that was all you needed for a positive identification."
"Right," Gideon said. "All we had to do was ask the right dentist to see whether they matched the files of one of his patients. But to find the right dentist you have to have a pretty good idea of who the victim is so that-"
"Which we do. Jean Bousquet."
"Sure, but who was Jean Bousquet's dentist?"
"Why should that be so difficult to find out? He must have had a dentist. Someone did that work. And you said there was a crown too, on another tooth."
"But not somebody from around here," Gideon said. "The crown had a lot of wear on it; it was in his mouth a good ten years, probably more. And Bousquet was a drifter; who knows where he was ten years ago?"
"Not I," Joly agreed sadly.
"Oh," said Julie.
"Of course it's always possible he did go to a dentist while he was here," Gideon said, "and that dentist might be able to help."
"Yes, I'll see," Joly said, but they all knew there wasn't much hope of that. Drifters, whether French or American, didn't typically make regular visits to the dentist, and Bousquet had spent only three months in Les Eyzies.
"So," Julie said brightly after a solemn pause during which the only sound was the clinking of china cups on china saucers, "where to from here?
"I was thinking," Gideon said. "Tomorrow I start my interviews on the hoax. I ought to be able to pry a little more out of them about what was going on at the time without too much trouble."
Julie stared at him and then at Joly. "He's got to be kidding."
"Thank you, Gideon," Joly said politely, "but I have my own resources."
"Sure you do, but you said I could do it more subtly than you could before; why not now?"
"Why not…" Julie put down her cup with a bang. "Because they've already fragmented your… your stupid neuroaxons, haven't they? What do you expect them to do next? Politely ask if you wouldn't be good enough, old chap, to stay out of it?"
"Julie makes a good-" Joly began.
"Now be reasonable, people," Gideon said. "Let's look at this objectively. No one had any intention of killing me or even injuring me-"
"No? What was it then?" Julie asked. "Some form of ritual greeting known only to Middle Paleolithic archaeologists? 'Salutations, O fellow archaeologist.' Bop!"
What he'd meant, he explained, was that it was obvious that no one had gone to the St.-Cyprien morgue with the objective of doing him harm. The purpose had clearly been to remove the bones so that they couldn't be identified, nothing more. Gideon had had the misfortune of walking in at the wrong time. The tap on the head he'd received "Tap on the head!" Julie exclaimed to Joly. "That wasn't what he was calling it an hour ago."
– had been a desperation measure, nothing more. "And if the guy had wanted me dead, why didn't he finish the job then, instead of leaving me on the floor unconscious?"
"Maybe he thought you were dead."
"No, he wouldn't have thought I was dead. And anyway, I'm not any kind of a threat to anybody any more. With the bones gone what could they have to worry about from me? Besides, my asking everybody questions is perfectly natural. They're all expecting it. That's what I'm here for, remember?
Pretty impeccable logic, he thought, but Joly seemed doubtful and Julie wasn't buying it at all. "I'd say the issue is moot," she said. "How do you expect to interview anybody tomorrow? You can't even blink your eyes without wincing."
"Granted, but tomorrow, if I'm feeling better-"
"I'll tell you what," Joly said thoughtfully. "I expect to be busy with other things tomorrow in any case-I want to chat with some of Bousquet's acquaintances, and with the receptionist at the St.-Cyprien hospital, and so on. Assuming that you're physically able, I don't think it would be a bad thing at all if you went ahead with your scheduled interviews."
"Fine."
"But only on the condition that you don't play at detective. You're to stick to the subject of your book and not raise questions about Bousquet and his troubles with Carpenter or anyone else, or about the missing bones; that's my job. On the other hand, if information presents itself without provocation on your part, well and good; I'll be interested to hear."
"Deal."
"And it would be wise to make no mention of the episode at St.-Cyprien. Only the guilty party is likely to know of it, and it might be that he would say something to give himself away."
"Good point, I agree. Julie, what about you? If you'd really feel better if I didn't-"
"Do you really promise to do what Lucien asked you to? Stick to the Old Man of Tayac?"
He raised his hand. "Word of honor."
"Okay, good, I'll go along with it as long as you promise not to do anything dumb. You might have brain cells to spare, but I only have one husband, and I'm not interested in being in the market for another."
"I'm relieved to hear it."
She stirred her tea and laid down her spoon. "On the other hand, another day like today and I just might change my mind."
Chapter 11
"Mmm," Julie said luxuriously, "what a lovely way to start the day."
Gideon smiled. "Not bad."
He moved his face, only six inches from hers, even closer, to brush his lips along the warm, velvet curve of her cheek. "I'm sorry I was such a miserable grouch yesterday. I sure love you."
"Mmm," she said again with her eyes closed, arching her neck to press her face against his.
"You have the world's most absolutely gorgeous submaxillary triangle, did I ever tell you that?" he murmured into her throat.
"Yes, many times," she said sleepily. "It never fails to take my breath away."
His fingertips glided over the tender flesh beneath her chin. "The soft swell of your Digastricus-"
"Thank you. Now, shh." With a practiced motion that was all the more affecting because of its easy, familiar intimacy, she pushed on his shoulder to let him know she wanted him on his back. Having arranged him to her satisfaction, she patted his chest as if she were plumping a pillow, worked her head into the hollow of his shoulder, threw one round, sturdy leg over him, sighed, and fell back asleep. Gideon remained awake but was content-much more than content-to lie without moving, his arm under the weight of her and his fingers curled loosely in her dark hair, utterly relaxed and empty of mind, conscious of little more than her closeness and the clean, sweet, warm smell of her. The window was open; dappled morning sunshine filtered through the slats of the wooden shutters, making patterns on the floor and paler, shifting, green-tinged reflections on the ceiling. Time passed.
"I hope," he said, when she began to move and stretch, "that in addition to being pleasant, this morning's, um, activity proved to you that I am back in command of my capacities."
She opened her eyes and smiled at him. "I was worried about your head, not-"
"My head is fine too," he said. "Everything is fine." It was, too, or very nearly. "Tell me, what can I do to convince you?"
"Well…" She rolled onto her back, yawning. "Maybe if you went downstairs and came back with a couple of cafes au lait, that might do it."
He kissed her one more time and climbed out of bed. "Give me five minutes."
Julie snuggled back under the covers and closed her eyes again. "You might want to put on some clothes first," she said, snickered quietly to herself, and went back to sleep.
At one side of the Hotel Cro-Magnon, enclosed by crumbling stone walls covered by trailing ivy, was a private breakfast garden with a few round tables of filigreed metal; a sheltered oasis of shade trees, bright flowers, and potted plants no more than ten yards from the main street. It was here, at an umbrellaed table, with the last droplets of morning dew still shimmering on the leaves around them, that they sat awaiting their breakfasts half an hour later.