Wash This Blood Clean from My Hand

‘Exactly the opposite.’

Adamsberg nodded and got out of the car. Retancourt was about to leave him and go into the cafe when he put a hand on her arm.

‘He’s in there,’ he said. ‘With his back to us, at that table, I’m sure it’s him.’

The lieutenant looked at the silhouette of the man Adamsberg pointed to. That back could indeed only belong to his brother. Adamsberg’s grip tightened on her arm.

‘Go in on your own,’ she said. ‘I’ll go back to the car. But I’d like to see him.’

‘Raphael?’

‘Yes, Raphael.’

Adamsberg pushed the glass door, his legs still feeling stiff. He went over to Raphael and put his hands on his shoulders. The man with his back turned didn’t jump. He looked at the brown hands one after the other.

‘So you found me?’ he said

‘Yes.’

‘I’m glad.’

From the other side of the narrow street, Retancourt watched as Raphael got up, and the two brothers embraced, looking at each other with their arms intertwined, holding each other tightly. She took a small pair of binoculars from her bag and focussed on Raphael Adamsberg, whose forehead was now touching his brother’s. Same body, same face. But whereas Adamsberg’s elusive beauty was a miraculous combination emerging from his chaotic features, his brother’s was altogether more regular and obvious. They were like twins who had grown from the same root, one into a shapely plant, the other into an engaging disorder. Retancourt refocussed on Adamsberg whose three-quarters profile was towards her. But she quickly dropped the binoculars, mortified at having trespassed too far on to another’s emotion. Once they had sat down, the two Adamsbergs still did not let go of each other’s arms, but clasped them, forming a closed circle. Retancourt sat down in the car again with a slight shiver. She put the binoculars away and closed her eyes.

By ten o’clock, Raphael had found them something to eat and settled them on a sofa in his flat, with some coffee, Adamsberg having fetched his lieutenant in from the car by rapping on the window. The two brothers did not move more than a few inches away from each other, Retancourt noted.

‘Will Jean-Baptiste be found guilty? Are you sure?’ Raphael asked her.

‘Sure as I can be,’ Retancourt stated. ‘The only way out is to make a run for it.’

‘With about a dozen cops watching the hotel,’ added Adamsberg.

‘It’s do-able,’ Retancourt said.

‘So what’s your plan, Violette?’ asked Raphael.

Raphael had argued that since he was neither a flic nor a soldier he was not going to call the lieutenant by her surname.

‘We go back to Gatineau tonight,’ she explained. ‘We get to the Hotel Brebeuf in the morning at about seven, and walk in quite openly, for them to see us. You, Raphael, will follow us three and a half hours later. Can you do that?’

Raphael nodded.

‘You get to the hotel at about ten-thirty. What do the cops see? Just another guest arriving at the hotel. They’re not bothered about you, they’re looking for someone leaving, and there’s plenty of toing and froing at about that time. The two who followed us last night won’t be on duty again in the morning, so none of the police on duty will recognise you. You check in under your own name and go to your room.’

‘OK.’

‘Have you got a suit? A smart business suit with shirt and tie?’

‘Three, two grey, one blue.’

‘Perfect. Wear one and bring the other, both the grey ones. And bring two coats and two ties.’

‘Retancourt, don’t get my brother in the shit over this,’ pleaded Adamsberg.

‘No, it’s just the Gatineau cops who will be. You, commissaire, as soon as we arrive, clear your room with signs of haste, as if you were going to make a break for it. We’ll get rid of your stuff. You haven’t got much, so that’s handy.’

‘What do we do, cut it up and eat it?’

‘No, just dump it in the waste bin on the landing.’

‘Everything, clothes, books, razor?’

‘Yes, everything, including your service revolver. We chuck your clothes, and we save your skin. Keep your wallet and keys.’

‘The holdall won’t go in the bin.’

‘We’ll leave it in my wardrobe, empty, as if it was mine. Women have lots of luggage as a rule.’

‘Can I keep my watches?’

‘Yes.’

The brothers were both looking intently at Retancourt, one with a mild and gentle expression, the other mobile and alert. Raphael Adamsberg had the same peaceful suppleness as his brother, but his movements were more lively, his reactions sharper.

‘The cops will be expecting us at the RCMP headquarters at nine,’ Retancourt went on, looking from one to the other. ‘When we still haven’t turned up after about twenty minutes, no longer, I guess, Laliberte will try to phone the commissaire at the hotel. No reply. Alarm raised. The cops downstairs will rush up to your room. Empty, the bird has flown. That’s the impression we have to give. That their suspect has disappeared, he’s already slipped between their fingers. At about nine twenty-five, they’ll come to my room, in case I’m hiding you.’

‘Where could you have hidden me?’ Adamsberg asked anxiously.

Retancourt raised her hand.

‘The Quebecois are more prudish than the French,’ she said, ‘they don’t have naked women all over their magazine covers or hanging about on the lake shores. We’re going to bank on this shyness. On the other hand,’ she said, turning towards Adamsberg, ‘you and I are going to have to abandon any embarrassment, because this is not the moment for it. And if it bothers you, just remember that it really is a matter of life and death.’

‘I’ll remember.’

‘Well, this is how we do it. When the cops burst in, I’ll be in my bathroom and in fact in the bath, with the door open. We haven’t much choice.’

‘And Jean-Baptiste?’ asked Raphael.

‘Will be hidden behind the open door. When the cops catch sight of me, they’ll retreat into the bedroom. I’ll start shouting and tearing them off a strip for walking into my room like that. They’ll call out their apologies from the bedroom, they’ll be embarrassed and say they were looking for the commissaire. I say what’s all this about, I don’t know where he is, he just told me to wait at the hotel, while he went to headquarters. They want to search my room. OK, but can you please just allow me to put something on? Yes, of course, they retreat further, and allow me to get out of the bath and close the door. You with me so far?’

‘Yes,’ said Raphael.

‘I put on a bathrobe, a very big one, down to the ground. Raphael will have to go out and buy me one, I’ll give you the size.’

‘Any particular colour?’ asked Raphael.

This considerate question interrupted Retancourt’s strategic briefing and she thought a moment.

‘Cream-coloured, if you can find one.’

‘OK, cream-coloured. What next?’

‘Now, we’re in the bathroom, both of us and the door’s shut. The cops are in the bedroom. You see where we are, commissaire?’

‘No, I’m lost now. Because in the hotel bathrooms there’s just a cabinet with a mirror, a towel cupboard and nothing else. Where are you going to put me, in a Hollywood-style bubble-bath?’

‘No, on me, like I said. Or rather behind me. We’ll be one person standing up. I allow them in once I’ve got the robe on and stand looking shocked, in the corner, with my back to the wall. They aren’t stupid, so they’ll look over the bathroom thoroughly, including behind the door, and they’ll feel under the water in the bath. I’ll make them even more embarrassed by letting the robe gape open a bit. They won’t dare look hard at me, they won’t want to be