In the school, he found his deputy sitting on a child’s blue plastic chair, surrounded by a confusion of balls, books, cubes and little tables. Perched thirty centimetres above the floor, Danglard looked ridiculous. But Adamsberg had no choice but to take another chair, a red one, and sit down beside him.
‘Surprised to see I’ve got away from the Mounties?’
‘Yes, I have to say.’
‘Disappointed? Anxious?’
Danglard looked at him without a word. This pale-faced balding creature, with Adamsberg’s voice coming from his mouth, fascinated him. His youngest child was looking by turns at his father and at the funny man in a beige tweed suit.
‘I’m going to tell you another story now, Danglard, but ask your little boy to go away. It’s unsuitable for children.’
Danglard whispered to the child and sent him off across the room, still looking at Adamsberg.
‘It’s like a cops and robbers movie, Danglard. With a chase. But perhaps you’ve heard it?’
‘I’ve read the papers,’ said Danglard prudently, watchful of his boss’s fixed gaze. ‘I saw the charges that they’d brought against you, and that you’d escaped police surveillance.’
‘So you don’t know any more than the man in the street?’
‘If you like.’
‘Well, I’ll fill you in on the detail,’ said Adamsberg, pulling his chair closer.
During the entire time he was telling his tale, omitting nothing, from his first meeting with Laliberte to the stay at Basile’s flat, Adamsberg examined the expressions on the
‘I told you she was an exceptional woman,’ he said when Adamsberg had finished.
‘I didn’t come here to talk about Retancourt. Let’s talk about Laliberte. Pretty quick off the mark, wasn’t he? All that stuff he’d been able to collect on me in such a short time. Including the fact that I had no memory at all of the two and a half hours on the trail. That amnesia was the fatal piece of evidence in his file.’
‘Obviously.’
‘But who knew about it? Nobody at the Mounties knew, nor anyone in our squad.’
‘Perhaps he was guessing? Perhaps he just assumed it?’
Adamsberg smiled.
‘No, it was down in the file as a certainty. When I said, “nor anyone in our squad,” there was of course an exception. You knew about it, Danglard.’
Danglard nodded slowly.
‘So you think I might have told him?’ he said calmly.
‘Exactly.’
‘It’s logical enough,’ Danglard agreed.
‘For once when I try to be logical, you should be glad.’
‘No, this time, you shouldn’t have tried it.’
‘I’m in hell, Danglard, I have to try everything. Including the damned logic you keep trying to teach me.’
‘Fair enough. But what does your intuition tell you? Your dreams, your imagination? What do they say about me?’
‘You’re asking me to do it my way?’
‘For once, yes.’
His deputy’s calm demeanour and steady gaze shook Adamsberg. He knew by heart Danglard’s washed-out blue eyes, which were unable to conceal any of his emotions. You could read anything in them: fear, disapproval, pleasure, distrust, as easily as fish swimming in a fountain. But he could see nothing there indicating the least hint of withdrawal. Curiosity and wonder were the only fish swimming in Danglard’s eyes at the moment. And possibly a discreet relief at seeing him again.
‘My dreams tell me you don’t know anything about it. But those are just dreams. My imagination tells me you’d never do anything like that, or not in that way.’
‘And your intuition?’
‘Tells me the judge is behind it all.’
‘Pretty stubborn, your intuition, isn’t it?’
‘Well, you asked. And you know you don’t like my answers. Sanscartier told me to keep on sailing and hang on in there. So that’s what I’m doing.’
‘Can I say something?’ asked Danglard.
Meanwhile, the little boy, tired of reading, had come back to them and was sitting on Adamsberg’s knee, having finally managed to identify him.
‘You smell sweaty,’ he said, interrupting the conversation.
‘I expect so,’ said Adamsberg. ‘I’ve been travelling a long time.’
‘Why are you in disguise?’
‘I was playing games in the plane.’
‘What sort of games?’
‘Cops and robbers.’
‘You were the robber?’ the child said.
‘Yes, that’s right.’
Adamsberg patted the boy’s hair to indicate the end of the exchange and looked up at Danglard.
‘Someone’s been searching your flat,’ Danglard said. ‘Though I can’t be sure.’
Adamsberg motioned him to go on.
‘It was over a week ago, Monday morning. I found your fax asking me to send the files to the Mounties. With the D’s and R’s written in big letters. I thought it was just for “Danglard” at first. Like a warning. Meaning, Danglard, look out, be careful. Then I thought of “DangeR”.’
‘Well spotted,
‘So you didn’t suspect me when you sent it?’
‘No, the gift of logic only descended on me the day after that.’
‘Pity,’ muttered Danglard.
‘Go on. The files?’
‘Well, so I was a bit wary. I went to fetch your spare house key where it usually is, in your top drawer, in the box of paper clips.’
Adamsberg nodded.
‘The key was there all right, but it was outside the box. Maybe you had been in a hurry when you left. But I was suspicious. Because of the D’s and R’s.’
‘You were right. I always put the key in the box, because the drawer’s got a crack in it.’
Danglard shot a glance at his pale-faced boss. Adamsberg’s face had almost regained its usual mild expression, and curiously enough the
‘When I got to your flat, I looked at everything carefully. Remember I put away the files myself for you, and the box they were in?’
‘Yes, because my arm was in a sling.’
‘It seemed to me that I would have put them back more carefully than that. I’m sure I pushed the box to the back of the cupboard. But that morning it wasn’t right up against the back. Maybe you got them out again, for Trabelmann?’
‘No, I didn’t touch the box.’
‘Good heavens! How did you do that?’
‘Do what?’
Danglard pointed to his youngest child who had dropped off to sleep on Adamsberg’s knee, with the
‘Well you know, Danglard, I do send people to sleep. It works for kids too.’
Danglard looked at him enviously. Vincent was a hard child to get to sleep.
‘Well,’ he went on, ‘everyone in the office knows where you keep the key.’
