An Uncertain Place

‘Too bad.’

‘He was in this bar one night. And these six guys come at him. Know what he does?’

‘No.’

‘He lies down on the ground. Like a wimp! He says, “Go ahead, guys.” So they tell him to get up. But he just lies there, hands folded on his belly, like a fucking woman. And in the end they say, “Stuff this for a lark. OK, grandad, come and have a drink.” And you know what he says?’

‘Yes.’

‘You do?’ asked the boy.

‘Yes, he says: “What kind of drink? Not if it’s only Beaujolais.”’

‘Yeah, that’s right,’ said the young man, disconcerted.

‘So then,’ Adamsberg went on, dunking some bread in his coffee, ‘the six thugs think, hmm, cool customer, pick the old man up, and after that they’re all friends. But I wouldn’t call him chicken. I’d say it took some guts. But that was Weill – eh? I’m right, aren’t I, it was Weill?’

‘Yeah.’

‘He’s quick-witted. I’m not.’

‘He’s better than you? At police stuff?’

‘Are you disappointed? You want a higher-class enemy?’

‘No. They say you’re the best cop in the business.’

‘So our meeting was written in the stars.’

‘More than you think, scumbag,’ said the young man with a nasty smile, but swallowing his first mouthful of coffee.

‘Would you mind calling me something else?’

‘Yeah, I can call you pig if you want.’

Adamsberg had now finished his bread and his coffee. It was the time when he normally set off for the office, half an hour’s walk. He felt tired, sickened by this exchange, fed up with this man and with himself.

‘Seven o’clock,’ he said. ‘Now this is when my neighbour will go out and take a leak against a tree. He has to piss every hour and a half, day and night. It doesn’t do the tree much good. But I tell the time by him.’

The man gripped the gun and watched Lucio through the window.

‘Why does he have to piss so often?’

‘Prostate trouble.’

‘See if I care,’ said the young man furiously. ‘I’ve got TB, eczema, ringworm, enteritis, and I’ve only got one kidney.’

Adamsberg cleared away the bowls.

‘Ah, well, I see why you want to kill everyone then.’

‘Yeah. Another year and I’ll be dead.’

Adamsberg pointed towards the Zerquetscher’s cigarettes.

‘Does that mean you want one?’

‘Yes.’

The packet slid across the table.

‘Yeah, condemned man gets one last smoke, traditionally. But what else do you want? You want answers, you want to understand? You won’t find anything. Ask away.’

Adamsberg took out a cigarette and gestured with his fingers for a light.

‘You’re not scared?’

‘So-so.’

Adamsberg inhaled deeply, which made his head swim.

‘Just why did you come here?’ he asked. ‘To walk into the lion’s den? To tell me your little story? To get absolution? To take a look at the enemy?’

‘Yeah,’ said the young man, though it wasn’t clear what that referred to. ‘I wanted to see what you looked like before leaving. No, it wasn’t that. I came here basically to fuck up your life.’

He was threading the holster on his shoulder, but getting entangled in the straps.

‘You’ve got it on the wrong way round. That strap there goes on the other arm.’

The young man started again. Adamsberg watched him without moving. There came a muted mewing sound and claws scratched the door.

‘What’s that?’

‘A cat.’

‘You keep pets? How pathetic, only wimps have pets. Yours?’

‘No, she belongs to the garden.’

‘You have kids?’

‘No,’ said Adamsberg prudently.

‘Easy to say no, isn’t it? Easy not to give a damn about anything? To faff about up in the sky while other people have to slog away down here?’

‘In the sky?’

‘Yeah. Known as the cloud-shoveller.’

‘You’re well informed.’

‘Course I am, it’s all on the Internet. Pictures of you, your famous cases. Like when you chased that guy in Lorient and he threw himself into the harbour.’

‘He didn’t drown.’

There was another more urgent and panicky sound of mewing.

‘What the fuck’s the matter with that cat?’

‘She’s probably in trouble. Just had her first litter and doesn’t know what to do. Maybe she’s lost one of the kittens somewhere. Take no notice.’

‘You say take no notice, because you’re a cold bastard, you don’t care about anyone.’

‘OK, Zerketch, go and see.’

‘Ha! And let you get away, scumbag?’

‘All right, lock me in the study, the window’s barred. You take your guns with you, and you go and see. If you’re not a cold bastard like me, go on, prove it.’

The young man inspected the study, keeping the gun trained on Adamsberg.

‘Don’t you dare budge from there.’

‘If you do find a kitten, lift it from underneath or by the scruff of the neck, not by the head.’

‘Ha,’ laughed the young man, ‘hark at Adamsberg, fussy as the cat’s mother.’

He laughed again and locked the study door. Adamsberg listened to what was happening in the garden and heard the sound of wooden boxes being moved and then Lucio’s voice.

‘The wind blew these boxes over,’ he said, ‘and there’s a kitten trapped underneath. Come on, hombre, you can see I’ve only got one arm. Who are you anyway? And what are all these guns for?’

Lucio’s imperious voice was probing the ground.

‘I’m a relation. He’s teaching me to shoot.’

Not bad, Adamsberg thought. Lucio respected the family. He heard the sound of the boxes being moved and a tiny mewing sound.

‘See it?’ Lucio said. ‘Is it hurt? I can’t stand the sight of blood.’

‘Yeah, well, I like it fine.’

‘Hombre, if you’d seen your old grandad shot in the stomach, and if you’d seen your own arm cut off and spraying blood like a fountain, you wouldn’t say that. What did your mother teach you? Pass me that kitten, I don’t trust you.’

Gently does it, Lucio, Adamsberg muttered to himself, clenching his teeth. That’s the Zerquetscher you’ve got out there, can’t you see, he could blow up any moment? He might trample on the kitten and cut you up in the tool shed. Shut up, take the kitten and get out of it.

The door banged and the young man came stamping back into the study.

‘Stupid bloody kitten under some boxes, couldn’t even find its way out. Like you,’ he added, sitting down facing