“Do you ever think, monsieur” – the Commissaire sighed through his bushy moustache that for one didn’t contain fragments of food – “that you are quite simply a magnet for trouble?” “Just unlucky I guess,” Richard mumbled. He felt guilty that just half an hour earlier he’d been keen to drum up some business for himself and Valérie and all the while he’d been effectively trying to sell off a corpse as he did so. And not just any corpse either, an officially elected one. These things are not taken lightly in small town France.