Mystery
![Martin Walker - [object Object] author](https://res.cloudinary.com/readsomnia/image/upload/authors/a_a_martin_walker.jpg)
To Kill a Troubadour: A Bruno, Chief of Police Novel (Bruno, Chief of Police Series)
When a musician's new song hits a political nerve, he finds himself in the crosshairs of Spanish nationalists' ire, and it's up to Bruno to track down the extremists who seem ready to take deadly measures, in another delightful installment of the internationally acclaimed series featuring Bruno, Chief of Police.
Les Troubadours, a folk music group that Bruno has long supported, go viral with their new number, "Song for Catalonia," when the Spanish government suddenly bans the song. The songwriter, Joel Martin, is a local enthusiast for the old Occitan language of Périgord and the medieval troubadours, and he sympathizes with the Catalan bid for independence. The success of his song provokes outrage among extreme Spanish nationalists. Then, in a stolen car found on a Périgord back road, police discover a distinctive bullet for a state-of-the-art sniper's rifle that can kill at three kilometers, and they fear that Joel might be the intended target.
The French and Spanish governments agree to mount a joint operation to stop the assailants, and Bruno is the local man on the spot who mobilizes his resources to track them down. While Bruno tries to keep the peace, his friend Florence reaches out for help. Her abusive ex-husband is about to be paroled from prison and she fears he will return to reclaim their children. Will Bruno and Florence be able to prevent this unwanted visit? Despite the pressures, there is always time for Bruno to savor les plaisirs of the Dordogne around the table with friends.
Les Troubadours, a folk music group that Bruno has long supported, go viral with their new number, "Song for Catalonia," when the Spanish government suddenly bans the song. The songwriter, Joel Martin, is a local enthusiast for the old Occitan language of Périgord and the medieval troubadours, and he sympathizes with the Catalan bid for independence. The success of his song provokes outrage among extreme Spanish nationalists. Then, in a stolen car found on a Périgord back road, police discover a distinctive bullet for a state-of-the-art sniper's rifle that can kill at three kilometers, and they fear that Joel might be the intended target.
The French and Spanish governments agree to mount a joint operation to stop the assailants, and Bruno is the local man on the spot who mobilizes his resources to track them down. While Bruno tries to keep the peace, his friend Florence reaches out for help. Her abusive ex-husband is about to be paroled from prison and she fears he will return to reclaim their children. Will Bruno and Florence be able to prevent this unwanted visit? Despite the pressures, there is always time for Bruno to savor les plaisirs of the Dordogne around the table with friends.
Editorial Reviews
"Smoothly integrated into Bruno's investigation is information on a multitude of subjects, from medieval musical instruments to Ukrainian history, plus easy-to-follow recipes. . . . Good food, fascinating history, and a crackerjack mystery: who could ask for more?"-Publishers Weekly
"While a brilliantly conceived plot builds up to a climax that James Bond might envy, there is pleasure to be had in Martin Walker's sensitive portrayal of a tight-knit community where friendship and mutual support count for more than expediency. Bruno is a hero for our troubled times."-Barry Turner, Daily Mail (London)
"[Bruno] raises his own chickens, grows his own produce, and is as caring a cook as Robert B. Parker's Spenser. . . . As usual, Walker concocts a satisfying dish featuring an intriguing lead character who moves through enviable settings and enjoys wonderful meals while tracking down criminals. . . . Suspense carries to the last in this extremely well-crafted mystery that can be enjoyed by both fans and readers who are new to the series."-Connie Fletcher, Booklist (starred review)
"Everyone's favorite French police chief Benoît Courrèges-aka Bruno, Chief of Police-faces a new threat. . . . All of Walker's fan-favorite characters are present and accounted for, as well as all of Bruno's treasured pastimes."-Bruce Tierney, BookPage
"While a brilliantly conceived plot builds up to a climax that James Bond might envy, there is pleasure to be had in Martin Walker's sensitive portrayal of a tight-knit community where friendship and mutual support count for more than expediency. Bruno is a hero for our troubled times."-Barry Turner, Daily Mail (London)
"[Bruno] raises his own chickens, grows his own produce, and is as caring a cook as Robert B. Parker's Spenser. . . . As usual, Walker concocts a satisfying dish featuring an intriguing lead character who moves through enviable settings and enjoys wonderful meals while tracking down criminals. . . . Suspense carries to the last in this extremely well-crafted mystery that can be enjoyed by both fans and readers who are new to the series."-Connie Fletcher, Booklist (starred review)
"Everyone's favorite French police chief Benoît Courrèges-aka Bruno, Chief of Police-faces a new threat. . . . All of Walker's fan-favorite characters are present and accounted for, as well as all of Bruno's treasured pastimes."-Bruce Tierney, BookPage
Readers Top Reviews
M.Kindle Jon DubasJ
After reading the series & loving the charm of Bruno, his friends & the apparent ease he handles whatever comes his way, plus the myriad other demonstrations of his smarts & humanity, I was so looking forward to this latest book. Whoa! What a huge disappointment: A very thin plot line, poorly developed characters, scant history of the conflict between Spain & Occitan—even the recipes lacked finesse. Don’t waste your money on this one!
Love the people, places, plots, wine, food, dogs, action, mystery, and I always learn something about the world we live in. Timely, well written, entertaining and challenging. I'm a huge fan and find no fault.
Deborah
I thoroughly enjoy the Bruno books as i learn so much from the culture and cooking, and then there is a wonderful story to go with it. I stayed up and read this straight through. I couldn’t put it down.
PattyH
Walker is such a talented writer. I have read all his Bruno books and still am amazed at the complexity of his stories. That complexity is beautifully balanced with Brunos love of life, his love of friend's and his love of food. Bruno is simply a very good man. Love of
RHolmlin
Martin Walker has outdone himself with a real page turner. It is difficult to put the 15th Bruno Chief of Police down. Multiple plot lines run through this Bruno novel.....a threat to one of the main characters in Bruno's St. Denis in the shape of a violent ex-husband as well as a threat to the safety of the Perigord due to a terrorist act being sponsored by Russian intelligence. With many elements from recent history in Europe and the United States the storyline is very current and Bruno has some narrow escapes. And since it is the Perigord and St. Denis, Bruno and his circle of friends enjoy some mouthwatering meals. This book is the perfect recipe for a late summer read. Highly recommended.
Short Excerpt Teaser
Chapter 1
Bruno Courrèges, chief of police for the small French town of St. Denis and for much of the Vézère Valley, was taking a late evening patrol around the garden with his basset hound, Balzac, when the phone at his waist vibrated. Although it was nearly time for bed, the screen showed that it was his friend J-J, head of detectives for the département of the Dordogne, who was calling, so Bruno thought he'd better answer.
"Glad you're still up and about," came the familiar voice. "I'm coming to your place right away. I want to show you something and then you can tell me how worried I should be."
Commissaire Jean-Jacques Jalipeau was a large and bustling bear of a man who had not been distracted from his duty when he was shot making an arrest. Some called him a cop "of the old school" in that he wore ill-fitting suits, smoked a pack of Gauloises a day, seldom polished his shoes and did not treat the media with the deference they had come to expect. His prisoners did not fall "accidentally" downstairs while handcuffed nor were their fingers caught in car doors. Female cops on his team almost never applied for transfers and he refused to play the usual turf wars with the gendarmes or to sneer at the municipal police.
Bruno went indoors and put out some glasses for drinks in the living room. Then he checked the latest regional news on his phone for any clue to J-J's unexpected visit. A few minutes later, the headlights of J-J's big Peugeot flared, and Bruno went to the porch to welcome his friend. Josette, J-J's driver and aide, reversed into the driveway and stepped nimbly out. J-J took more time to extricate himself from the passenger seat. He emerged carrying a small evidence bag.
"Welcome," said Bruno. "It's too late for coffee, but do you want wine, or something stronger?"
"I'll have a glass of your homemade vin de noix, since I know it has wine plus eau-de-vie," said J-J. Josette asked for mineral water.
Once installed in Bruno's living room with his drink, J-J tossed the bag toward Bruno.
"You're the military man with the Croix de Guerre," he began in his usual, abrupt way. "What can you tell me about that bullet, beyond the fact that it's a twelve-point-seven millimeter caliber and one hundred eight millimeters long, with what look like Russian letters stamped into the base?"
Bruno managed to catch the bag without spilling his drink, surprised not only by the unexpected nature of J-J's inquiry but also by his friend's confident expectation that Bruno could answer all questions concerning war, weapons and the military in general. Then he recalled that it was many years since all young Frenchmen had been required to do at least a year of military service, and by going to university and then enrolling in the police, J-J had been spared that. The tradition launched by the French Revolution for every male citizen to be trained as a soldier and ready to fight for France had gone for good. Bruno knew that modern weaponry and warfare demanded far more than the ability to fire a simple gun, fix a bayonet and throw a grenade. But he sometimes regretted the passing of the principle that every citizen owed a duty to the homeland and of that egalitarian mood of national integration that bonded young men together in their drills, mess halls and barracks. Bruno supposed that he was the former soldier that J-J knew best.
"It's a bullet for a Russian heavy machine gun, often used en masse for antiaircraft fire, but it also has the power to blast through body armor, vehicles and buildings," Bruno explained, weighing the bag in his hand. "The Russians pioneered their use in specialist rifles for snipers, and now everybody else has copied them. With one of these, a trained sniper can kill at a great distance. The current record is a confirmed kill at just over three kilometers by a Canadian in Iraq. The Americans have developed a similar version in their half-inch caliber, almost the same size."
"Is that what you were shot with in Bosnia?" J-J asked.
"No, thank God," Bruno replied, surprised at how little J-J knew about military firearms. "A bullet that size would have torn my leg off and probably half my pelvis. I was hit with a standard round, the usual NATO caliber of seven point sixty-two millimeters, half the length and almost half the caliber of this bullet. And even that put me in the hospital for months. So how has this bullet suddenly turned up?"
"In a stolen car, an old Peugeot that crashed and was abandoned. The bullet had rolled down into the spare-tire housing. It was in a ditch on a small road running parallel to the N21, north of Castillonnès and close to Issigeac. It had fake license plates. We're trying to identify the car now from its serial number."
Bruno Courrèges, chief of police for the small French town of St. Denis and for much of the Vézère Valley, was taking a late evening patrol around the garden with his basset hound, Balzac, when the phone at his waist vibrated. Although it was nearly time for bed, the screen showed that it was his friend J-J, head of detectives for the département of the Dordogne, who was calling, so Bruno thought he'd better answer.
"Glad you're still up and about," came the familiar voice. "I'm coming to your place right away. I want to show you something and then you can tell me how worried I should be."
Commissaire Jean-Jacques Jalipeau was a large and bustling bear of a man who had not been distracted from his duty when he was shot making an arrest. Some called him a cop "of the old school" in that he wore ill-fitting suits, smoked a pack of Gauloises a day, seldom polished his shoes and did not treat the media with the deference they had come to expect. His prisoners did not fall "accidentally" downstairs while handcuffed nor were their fingers caught in car doors. Female cops on his team almost never applied for transfers and he refused to play the usual turf wars with the gendarmes or to sneer at the municipal police.
Bruno went indoors and put out some glasses for drinks in the living room. Then he checked the latest regional news on his phone for any clue to J-J's unexpected visit. A few minutes later, the headlights of J-J's big Peugeot flared, and Bruno went to the porch to welcome his friend. Josette, J-J's driver and aide, reversed into the driveway and stepped nimbly out. J-J took more time to extricate himself from the passenger seat. He emerged carrying a small evidence bag.
"Welcome," said Bruno. "It's too late for coffee, but do you want wine, or something stronger?"
"I'll have a glass of your homemade vin de noix, since I know it has wine plus eau-de-vie," said J-J. Josette asked for mineral water.
Once installed in Bruno's living room with his drink, J-J tossed the bag toward Bruno.
"You're the military man with the Croix de Guerre," he began in his usual, abrupt way. "What can you tell me about that bullet, beyond the fact that it's a twelve-point-seven millimeter caliber and one hundred eight millimeters long, with what look like Russian letters stamped into the base?"
Bruno managed to catch the bag without spilling his drink, surprised not only by the unexpected nature of J-J's inquiry but also by his friend's confident expectation that Bruno could answer all questions concerning war, weapons and the military in general. Then he recalled that it was many years since all young Frenchmen had been required to do at least a year of military service, and by going to university and then enrolling in the police, J-J had been spared that. The tradition launched by the French Revolution for every male citizen to be trained as a soldier and ready to fight for France had gone for good. Bruno knew that modern weaponry and warfare demanded far more than the ability to fire a simple gun, fix a bayonet and throw a grenade. But he sometimes regretted the passing of the principle that every citizen owed a duty to the homeland and of that egalitarian mood of national integration that bonded young men together in their drills, mess halls and barracks. Bruno supposed that he was the former soldier that J-J knew best.
"It's a bullet for a Russian heavy machine gun, often used en masse for antiaircraft fire, but it also has the power to blast through body armor, vehicles and buildings," Bruno explained, weighing the bag in his hand. "The Russians pioneered their use in specialist rifles for snipers, and now everybody else has copied them. With one of these, a trained sniper can kill at a great distance. The current record is a confirmed kill at just over three kilometers by a Canadian in Iraq. The Americans have developed a similar version in their half-inch caliber, almost the same size."
"Is that what you were shot with in Bosnia?" J-J asked.
"No, thank God," Bruno replied, surprised at how little J-J knew about military firearms. "A bullet that size would have torn my leg off and probably half my pelvis. I was hit with a standard round, the usual NATO caliber of seven point sixty-two millimeters, half the length and almost half the caliber of this bullet. And even that put me in the hospital for months. So how has this bullet suddenly turned up?"
"In a stolen car, an old Peugeot that crashed and was abandoned. The bullet had rolled down into the spare-tire housing. It was in a ditch on a small road running parallel to the N21, north of Castillonnès and close to Issigeac. It had fake license plates. We're trying to identify the car now from its serial number."
