An Uncertain Place

‘Tell me about it, hombre.’

‘No.’

‘In the dark night of the past, was it?’

‘Yes.’

Adamsberg spent the next two days lying low. He came into the office for a few minutes at a time, used the phone, took messages and went off again, not to be contacted. He took time out to call on Josselin about his tinnitus. The doctor had checked his ears with his fingers, and diagnosed a recent shock: ‘Shattering, I’d say, a brush with death perhaps? But it’s almost healed now,’ he remarked with surprise.

The man with golden fingers had removed the tinnitus and Adamsberg reacquainted himself with the street noises now no longer jammed by the high-level buzzing in his ears. Then he resumed the search for Arnold Paole. The attempt to investigate Father Germain was not going well. He refused to tell them anything about his family tree, as was his perfect right. His real name (Henri Charles Lefevre) was such a common one that Danglard wasn’t getting anywhere trying to trace any ancestors. Danglard had confirmed Veyrenc’s judgement of him: Father Germain was an unusual and authoritarian person, physically very strong, in a way that might seem impressive to the young: he was unattractive to adults, but might well have some hold over impressionable choirboys. Adamsberg listened to the report, looking distracted, and had once more offended Danglard’s susceptibility.

Retancourt was looking after things at the Swiss end, relayed by Kernorkian. Veyrenc had moved into Zerk’s former apartment. He was watching Weill like a hawk. He had dyed his hair dark brown to hide the red stripes, but in sunshine they inevitably appeared again, provocatively refusing to be concealed.

Seek not in the darkness to hide what once was done;

The past will reappear by the light of the sun.

Weill spent his time paying (brief) visits to the quai des Orfevres, then went off doing the rounds of purveyors of the exotic foodstuffs and products he liked best, such as soap scented with the purple rose of Lebanon. Weill had immediately invited the new neighbour round to his Wednesday ‘open house’, and Veyrenc had declined from a distance, in tones verging on the rude. There had still been party noise coming from Weill’s at three in the morning, and Veyrenc would have gladly abandoned his disguise, had it not been for his extreme anxiety about his nephew.

Adamsberg now slept with a gun under his pillow. On the Wednesday evening, he called the station in Nantes again, his earlier messages having remained unanswered. The duty officer, Brigadier Pons, refused, as his colleagues already had, to give him Commissaire Nolet’s private telephone number.

‘Brigadier,’ said Adamsberg, ‘I’m talking about a woman who was shot dead eleven days ago in Nantes. Francoise Chevron. You’ve arrested an innocent man, and I know that the killer is still at large.’

A lieutenant approached the junior officer with a questioning look. ‘It’s Jean-Baptiste Adamsberg from Paris,’ the junior whispered, covering the phone. ‘The Chevron case.’

By twirling his finger close to his head, the lieutenant indicated his opinion of Jean- Baptiste Adamsberg. Then, as a flicker of doubt seized him, he picked up the phone.

‘Lieutenant Dremard.’

‘Can I have Nolet’s private number, Dremard?’

‘Commissaire, we’ve tied up the Chevron affair, all the papers are on the examining magistrate’s desk. Her husband beat her up regularly, she’d taken a lover. Straightforward case. We can’t disturb Commissaire Nolet at home, sir, he hates that.’

‘He’ll hate having an extra victim on his hands even more. Give me his number please, Dremard, move!’

Dremard ran through the many contradictory opinions he had heard about Adamsberg, genius or disaster area, and fearing he’d get a rocket one way or the other, opted for prudence.

‘You’ve got a pen, sir?’

A couple of minutes later, Adamsberg had the witty Commissaire Nolet on the line. He was entertaining friends and the sound of background music and chatter muffled his voice somewhat.

‘Terribly sorry to disturb you, Nolet.’

‘On the contrary, Adamsberg,’ said Nolet heartily. ‘Are you in our area? Come and join us.’

‘It’s about your Chevron case.’

‘Fine, go ahead.’

Nolet must have asked someone to turn the volume down. Now Adamsberg could hear him better.

‘Chevron was witness to a marriage at Auxerre, twenty-nine years ago. And the ex-wife doesn’t want anyone to know it ever took place.’

‘Any evidence?’

‘The page in the register has been torn out.’

‘And she’d go to the lengths of killing the witness?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘OK, I’m interested, Adamsberg.’

‘We questioned the wife’s mother in Geneva. She denies her daughter was ever married. She’s terrified and under police protection.’

‘So we should find and protect the second witness?’

‘Exactly, but the problem is we haven’t managed to identify one yet. A press ad didn’t produce anything. But we need you to ask around among Francoise Chevron’s friends and family. You’re probably looking for a man, because as a rule people choose a witness from each sex.’

‘And what’s the name of the ex-wife, Adamsberg?’

‘Emma Carnot.’

Adamsberg heard Nolet move out of the room, closing the door behind him.

‘Right, Adamsberg. I’m alone now. You’re telling me this is Emma Carnot. The Emma Carnot.’

‘Herself.’

‘And you’re asking me to attack the great snake.’

‘What snake?’

‘Up there, dammit. The great snake that slides through the back rooms. Are you calling me on an ordinary mobile?’

‘No, of course not, Nolet, don’t worry. My ordinary phone’s been tapped so much it looks like a woodpecker’s been at it.’

‘Good. Start again. You’re asking me to take on someone at the very top of the system. Someone very close to the princeps in the state. And you know that every scale of the snake is glued to the next, so the armour is completely impenetrable. And you know the only thing I’d be able to do afterwards? Even if they let me?’

‘I’ll be with you.’

‘Oh, thanks very much, big help,’ Nolet shot back. ‘And where will we both be then?’

‘I don’t know. In Kisilova. Or somewhere else in the mists of the beyond.’

‘Christ, Adamsberg, I’ve always cooperated with you in the past. But this time, count me out. I can tell you don’t have any kids.’

‘Well, I do in fact. Two.’

‘Oh, that’s new,’ said Nolet.

‘Yes. So?’

‘So nothing. I’m not St George.’

‘Who?’

‘Guy who killed the dragon.’

‘Oh yes, I know who you mean,’ Adamsberg remembered.

‘Good. So you get my drift. I’m not going chasing after the damned snake that’s prowling about up there.’

‘OK, Nolet. Just transfer the Chevron case to me. The thing is, I don’t want some guy to die because he was witness to a marriage twenty-nine years ago and one of the parties to said marriage turned out to be a piece of shit. The fact that this piece of shit has become a link in the snake’s chain mail is neither here nor there.’