An Uncertain Place

of racegoers. So there are vast quantities of horse manure all over the place. It’s one of the most widely distributed materials there is.’

Danglard pointed to the floor under Adamsberg’s desk.

‘More widespread, for instance, than pencil shavings and powder from pencil leads. If one were to find that at a crime scene, it would be a much better bit of forensic evidence than horse manure. Especially since people who like drawing don’t choose their pencils by chance. You don’t, for a start. What kind of pencil do you use?’

‘Cargo 401-B and Seril-H.’

‘So here on the floor, that would be shavings from Cargo 401-B and Seril-H? Bit of charcoal too perhaps?’

‘Well, naturally, Danglard.’

‘So that would be much more helpful at a crime scene, wouldn’t it? Better than some damn horse shit.’

‘Danglard,’ said Adamsberg, fanning himself with a postcard, ‘get to the point.’

‘I’m not that keen to. But if something’s going to fall on us, better get there first. Like in cricket, you have to dash to catch the ball before it hits the ground.’

‘All right, dash for the ball, Danglard, I’m listening.’

‘A team went to look for the spent cartridges, on the ground, out at the farm where Emile got shot.’

‘Yes, that was a priority.’

‘And they found three.’

‘Well, for four shots, that’s pretty good.’

‘And then they found the fourth,’ said Danglard, getting up and clenching his fingers in his back pocket.

‘Where was that then?’ asked Adamsberg, stopping fanning himself with the postcard.

‘At Pierre’s house, Pierre the son. It had rolled under the fridge. But they couldn’t find the revolver.’

‘So who found it? Who asked for his house to be searched?’

‘Brezillon. Because of the link between Pierre and the horses.’

‘And who told the divisionnaire about that?’

Danglard spread his hands in a gesture of ignorance.

‘So who went to look out at the farm for the cartridges?’

‘Maurel and Mordent.’

‘I thought Mordent was supposed to be with Froissy.’

‘Well he wasn’t, he wanted to go with Maurel.’

There was a silence, and Adamsberg ostentatiously sharpened a pencil over his waste-paper basket, letting shavings of Seril-H fall there before blowing on the lead, and fetching a piece of paper to rest on his thigh.

‘So what does all this mean?’ he asked quietly, as he began to draw. ‘Pierre fired four shots, but only took one cartridge away with him?’

‘They think it might have got stuck in the barrel.’

‘Who’s “they”?’

‘The Avignon police.’

‘And that doesn’t bother them? Pierre gets rid of the gun, but first he ejects a jammed cartridge? Then he saves this precious little cartridge? Until he stupidly drops it in his kitchen, where it rolls under his fridge. And why did they go to such lengths in the search? Moving a fridge? Did they know there was something underneath?’

‘The wife apparently said something to them.’

‘Now that would really amaze me, Danglard. The day that woman betrays her husband, Cupid will have given up on Emile.’

‘Well, precisely, that’s what bothered them. Their top guy isn’t the sharpest knife in the box, but he got to thinking maybe someone had planted it. Especially since Pierre is swearing black and blue he’s innocent. So they got out the whole shenanigans: vacuum cleaner, sieve, microscopic samples. And they found something. That,’ said Danglard, pointing to the floor.

‘That what?’

‘Bits of pencil lead and shavings probably off someone’s shoes. But Pierre never uses pencils. We’ve only just received this information.’

Danglard was now tugging at his shirt collar, and went into his own office to get a glass of wine. He was looking deeply unhappy. Adamsberg waited.

‘They’re going to send the stuff to the lab, expecting results in two or three days – what kind of lead, what make of pencil. It’s not simple apparently. Of course, it would be easier if they had a sample to compare and I think they are quite soon going to know where to look.’

‘For pity’s sake, Danglard, what are you thinking?’

‘The worst. Like I said. I’m thinking what they’ll think. That you planted the cartridge under Pierre Vaudel’s fridge. Of course they’ll have to prove it. So they’ll have to analyse the shavings, identify the pencil, compare it to the sample. So probably it’ll be four days before they start asking you questions. Four days to catch the ball before it hits the ground.’

‘OK, let’s just get this clear, Danglard,’ said Adamsberg, with a fixed smile on his face. ‘Why would I want to implicate Pierre junior?’

‘To save Emile?’

‘And why would I want to save Emile?’

‘Because he’s going to inherit a fortune which mustn’t be contested by the natural heir.’

‘But why would he contest it?’

‘Because the will could be a forgery.’

‘Oh really? Do they think Emile is capable of forging a will?’

‘No, he would have had an accomplice. An accomplice who was handy with a pen. An accomplice who’d get fifty per cent.’

Danglard drank off his glass of white wine in a single gulp.

‘For pity’s sake,’ he said, ‘it’s not rocket science. Do I have to spell it out? Emile and his accomplice, let’s call him Adamsberg, they prepare a false will. Emile lets the son know – he’s going to cut you out of his will – which alarms Pierre Vaudel. Then Emile kills the old man, puts down some horse manure to incriminate Pierre, and makes it look like a murder by some complete madman, to distract people from the money. A smokescreen which leaves in the shadows a simple plan. Then Adamsberg, according to a prearranged scenario, shoots Emile, a couple of serious shots to make it look convincing, and immediately rushes him to hospital. He leaves three cartridges on the spot, then plants one in Pierre’s house and that way Pierre is guilty of attempted murder of Emile. On the lie detector, they find that Pierre knew about the will. Then Emile declares he saw Pierre junior leave the house at night. Pierre killed his own father, so of course he can’t inherit now. And his whole share also goes to Emile, as per the will. Adamsberg and Emile share it out, not forgetting their old mothers. That’s the scenario. The end.’

Adamsberg, stunned, looked at Danglard who seemed on the verge of tears. He felt in his pocket, found the cigarettes left behind by Zerk and lit one.

‘But,’ Danglard was going on, ‘the investigation opens and some disturbing facts begin to pile up, and the Emile-Adamsberg plot starts to unravel. First of all, why did this old Vaudel, who hates everyone, leave his money to Emile? Anomaly number one. Shortly afterwards, Vaudel dies. Anomaly number two. There is too much horse manure in the picture. Anomaly number three. On the Sunday, after Mordent had warned him, Adamsberg lets Emile escape. Anomaly number four. Then that very night, without telling anyone, Adamsberg knows exactly where to find Emile. Anomaly number five.’

‘You’re getting on my nerves with these anomalies.’

‘Adamsberg arrives just in time to save him, just after someone has taken a shot at him. Anomaly number six. Then a cartridge is found in the residence of Pierre Vaudel. Anomaly number seven. Very big anomaly. The cops start to think somebody is pulling a fast one somewhere, and they go through the flat with a toothcomb. What do they find? Some pencil shavings. Who benefits from this crime? Emile. Could Emile have forged the will? No. Has he got a friend who’s good with a pen, who could imitate handwriting? Yes, Adamsberg, who’s looking after him like a baby at the hospital, and who’s had him transferred to a secret location so the cops can’t question him, matter of national security. Anomaly number eight. Does Adamsberg make a habit of sharpening pencils? Yes. They compare the sample and it’s a one in a thousand chance, but it matches. When could Adamsberg have got to Avignon to hide the cartridge? Last night for instance. The commissaire disappeared last