An Uncertain Place

‘Yes. He had some horse manure on his boots, and there were a few traces of that too.’

‘How many bits?’

‘Four.’

‘See, Armel isn’t keen on horses. Had a fall when he was little. He really isn’t a get-up-and-go sort of person at all.’

‘But does he ever go to the country?’

‘Well, he goes back to the village every couple of months to see his grandparents.’

‘There could be horses on some of the paths out there,’ said Adamsberg with a frown. ‘And he wears boots.’

‘Yes.’

‘To go out for walks?’

‘Yes.’

They both looked out of the window for a minute, saying nothing.

‘These hairs you were talking about, then.’

‘The killer left some on the chair. Velvet – they stick to that. So he could just have had them on the seat of his trousers, from the flat. If we imagine that someone planted the handkerchief, we’d also have to suppose that the dog hairs were planted too.’

‘I see,’ said Veyrenc dully.

‘It’s not that easy even to get someone’s handkerchief, but how do you get the hairs of his dog? By picking them up off the floor of his apartment one by one, while Zerk watches you?’

‘No, by going in when he’s out.’

‘We checked. There’s a door code, and an entryphone. So it suggests whoever it was must have known him well enough to know at least the code. OK. But then you have to get through the house door, then Zerk’s front door. No locks were forced. Worse, our friend Weill and the neighbour opposite both say Zerk didn’t have any visitors. He doesn’t have a girlfriend?’

‘Not since last year. You talking about Weill who used to be at headquarters?’

‘Yes.’

‘He’s involved is he?’

‘He lives in the same building as your nephew. They get on quite well. Perhaps Zerk liked to hobnob with cops.’

‘No, no. It was me, through Weill, that got him the flat when he went to live in Paris. But I didn’t know they actually met socially.’

‘Well, they do. And Weill seems to be fond of him. At any rate, he’s defending him.’

‘Was it him that called you yesterday when you were still getting your foot back to life. On your other phone?’

‘Yes, he’s been involved from the start. He says he’s keeping tabs on the hierarchy. He gave me that phone and made me take out my GPS when I left,’ Adamsberg said after a moment.

‘Pity he did that.’

‘Plog,’ said Adamsberg.

‘What does “plog” mean?’

‘It’s a word Vlad uses, but it can mean different things in context. It can mean “yes”, “precisely”, “I understand”, or sometimes “rubbish”. It’s a sort of drop of truth falling.’

The lunch Danica had provided was so copious that it was spread out on a large table in the cafe at Belgrade airport, accompanied by beer and coffee. Adamsberg munched his kajmak sandwich and was reluctant to pursue his thoughts.

‘One has to say,’ Veyrenc began carefully, ‘that if we have Weill in the picture, that would solve that entryphone question. He lives in the building, he’s got keys to it, he knows Armel. And he’s intelligent and sophisticated, unquestionably bossy, the sort of person who could well acquire a hold over someone like Armel.’

‘The front door hadn’t been forced.’

‘No, but Weill’s a cop, he’ll have pass keys. Easy lock?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did he ever go to see Armel?’

‘No, but we’ve only got Weill’s own word for it. On the other hand, Zerk quite often went round on Wednesday evenings when Weill held open house.’

‘So he could quite easily have got hold of a handkerchief and some dog hairs. Not the boots with dung on, though.’

‘Yes, he could. The concierge polishes the stairs, and she doesn’t like people going up and down with muddy boots. So she gets people to put any dirty shoes in a little cupboard under the stairs on the ground floor. They all have keys to it. Shit, Veyrenc, Weill was at headquarters for twenty years.’

‘Weill couldn’t care less about the police, he likes being provocative, he likes cooking, he likes art, and not just classic art either. Have you ever been to his flat?’

‘Yes, several times.’

‘So you know what it’s like, it’s splendid and over the top, unforgettable once you’ve seen it. The statue of the man with a top hat and an erection, juggling bottles? The mummified ibis? The self-portraits? Kant’s couch?’

‘Kant’s valet’s couch.’

‘All right, Lampe the valet. The chair the bishop died in. The yellow plastic cravat from New York. In a bazaar like that, knocking out the Plogojowitz clan by an old eighteenth-century Paole might look like an artistic happening. As Weill says himself, art’s a dirty business but someone has to do it.’

Adamsberg shook his head.

‘But he’s the one who’s investigating the rungs of the hierarchy that leads to Emma Carnot.’

‘The vice-president of the Council of State?’

‘The same.’

‘What on earth has she got to do with all this?’

‘She’s got her hooks into the president of the Appeal Court, who’s bought the prosecutor, who’s bought a magistrate, who’s bought another magistrate, who’s bought Mordent. His daughter’s case comes up in a few days and the charge couldn’t be more serious.’

‘Oh hell. But what does Carnot want from Mordent?’

‘Obedience. It was him that leaked the information to the press to cover Zerk’s escape. Since the morning we discovered the murder, he’s been putting obstacle after obstacle in the way of the inquiry, and in the end he planted some stuff on Vaudel’s son, which is intended to incriminate me instead of the killer.’

‘The pencil shavings you talked about?’

‘That’s right. Emma Carnot is somehow linked to our murderer. The page in the register for her marriage has been torn out, so we have to assume that if anyone knew about this marriage, her career would be over. One of the witnesses has already been killed. They’re looking for the other. Carnot would trample on anyone to protect her interests.’ As he spoke, Adamsberg remembered the little kitten under Zerk’s boot and shivered. ‘She’s not the only one. That’s why her war machine will run smoothly, because they all get something out of it. Except Paole’s future victims, except Emile, and except me, because I’m for the high jump in three days. Like the toads. With the cigarettes.’

‘You mean the ones we used to force-feed cigarettes to, back in the days?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did they analyse the pencil shavings or something?’

‘A pal of mine slowed down their trip to the lab. He faked an illness.’

‘So you’ve got what? Another couple of days?’

‘If that.’

The plane was about to take off, and they fastened their seat belts. Veyrenc waited until they had been airborne for some time before speaking again.

‘Mordent started behaving this way on the Sunday morning, as soon as the Garches murder was discovered. You’re sure about that?’