This Night’s Foul Work

‘Retancourt can still get mad at me.’

‘You drive everyone mad, commissaire. Why not her?’

‘Everyone, but not her. That’s what I’d like. See you tomorrow, Danglard.’

Adamsberg was lying on on his back on the new bed, with the child lying on his stomach like a little monkey clinging to its father’s fur. Both of them had had their supper, both of them were quiet and peaceful. They were snuggled up in the big red eiderdown that Adamsberg’s second sister had given him. No sign of the nun in the attic. Lucio Velasco had enquired discreetly about the presence there of Clarisse, and Adamsberg had reassured him.

‘Now I’m going to tell you a story, son,’ said Adamsberg in the dark. ‘A story from the mountains but not that opus spicatum. We’ve had enough of those walls. I’m going to tell you about an ibex, that’s a kind of mountain goat, in the Pyrenees, that met this other ibex. You need to know that an ibex doesn’t like it if another one comes on to his territory. He likes all the other animals – rabbits, bears, marmots, wild boar, all the birds, anything you like. But not another ibex. Because the other one wants to take over his territory and his wife. And he goes for him with his big horns.’

Thomas stirred, as if he recognised the seriousness of the situation, and Adamsberg caught his little fists in his hands.

‘Don’t worry, there’ll be a happy ending. But today, I nearly got hit by the horns. Only I hit back and the ginger ibex ran away. One day you’ll have horns too. The mountain will give them to you. And I don’t know whether that’s a good thing or not. But it’s your mountain, so you’ll have to put up with it. Tomorrow or the next day, the ginger ibex will be back for another try. I think he’s angry.’

The story sent Adamsberg to sleep before his son. In the middle of the night, when neither of them had moved an inch, Adamsberg suddenly opened his eyes and reached for the telephone. He knew her number by heart.

‘Retancourt? Are you in bed or in Montrouge?’

‘What do you think?’

‘Montrouge, on some muddy building site.’

‘Bit of waste land.’

‘And the others?’

‘Scattered around. We’re looking everywhere, picking stuff up.’

‘Call them all in, lieutenant. Where are you exactly?’

‘Opposite 123 Avenue Jean-Jaures.’

‘Stay where you are. I’m on my way.’

Adamsberg got up with care, put on his trousers and jacket, and attached the baby in a sling across his stomach. If he kept one hand over Tom’s head and another under his bottom, there was no risk that he would wake up. And so long as Camille did not find out that he had taken his son out on a cold night to Montrouge with a lot of bad company, namely the police, all would be well.

‘You won’t tell on me, will you, Tom?’ he whispered, wrapping the baby in a blanket. ‘You won’t tell her where we’ve been tonight? Don’t have any choice – we’ve only got one day left. Come along, little one, and stay asleep.’

A taxi put him down on the Avenue Jean-Jaures twenty minutes later. The group was waiting for him, huddled together on the pavement.

‘Jean-Baptiste, you’re crazy to bring the baby out,’ said Retancourt, coming up to the car.

Occasionally, as a consequence of the close contact which had saved their lives, the commissaire and lieutenant moved on to first-name terms, as a train switches points, passing into the ‘tu’ of intimate complicity. They knew that their union was indestructible. An unswerving love, like all those that are never consummated.

‘Don’t worry, Violette, he’s sleeping like an angel. As long as you don’t give me away to Danglard, who would give me away to Camille, it’ll be all right. Why’s the New Recruit here?’

‘He’s replacing Justin.’

‘How many cars have you got?’

‘Two.’

‘You take one, I’ll go in the other. Meet up at the main gate to the cemetery.’

‘Why?’ asked Estalere.

Adamsberg rubbed his cheek.

‘Your gravel, brigadier. Do you remember what made Diala and Paille kill themselves laughing?’

‘They laughed at something?’

‘Yes,’ said Voisenet. ‘When Emilio told them to keep their voices down.’

‘That’s right, when Emilio said they were shouting loud enough to waken the dead. That could be because they had just been waking the dead. It was the job they’d been hired to do. Dig up someone’s grave.’

‘Oh, the big cemetery, here, in Montrouge,’ said Gardon suddenly. ‘That must be it.’

‘They must have had to open a grave. Come on. Bring all your torches.’

The cemetery attendant proved hard to wake but easy to question. In the endless nights here, a diversion, even one caused by the police, made a welcome change. Yes, a grave had been disturbed. Someone had lifted a tombstone. In fact, they’d broken it by turning it over. It had been found in two pieces alongside the tomb. The family had had a new slab put in its place.

‘And the grave?’ asked Adamsberg.

‘What about the grave?’

‘After the stone was taken off, what happened? Did they dig it up?’

‘No, they didn’t even do that. Just vandals.’

‘When was this?’

‘About a fortnight ago. It was a night between Wednesday and Thursday. I’ll look it up.’

The man pulled out of a bookcase a large register with grubby pages.

‘The night of the sixth to the seventh of March,’ he said. ‘I have to put everything down in here. Do you want the location of the grave?’

‘Later. For now, just take us there.’

‘Oh, no, no,’ said the attendant, retreating into his little cubbyhole.

‘Just take us to the grave, for Christ’s sake. How do you think we’re going to find it without you? The cemetery’s huge.’

‘No,’ said the man. ‘No way.’

‘Are you on duty here, yes or no?’

‘There are two of us now. So I’m not setting foot in there.’

‘Two? There’s another attendant?’

‘No, someone else comes at night.’

‘Who?’

‘I don’t know and I don’t want to know. A shape. So I’m not going in there.’

‘Have you seen it?’

‘Like I’m seeing you. Not a man, not a woman, a shape, grey, moving slowly. It slides along as if it was going to fall. But it doesn’t fall.’

‘When did you see this?’

‘Two or three nights before the stone was broken. So I’ve stopped going in.’

‘Well, we have to go in, and you’re coming with us. We won’t leave you on your own. I’ve got a lieutenant here who’ll protect you.’

‘You’re not giving me any choice, is that it? Cops, always the same. And you’ve brought a baby along? And you’re not scared?’

‘The baby’s asleep. The baby isn’t scared of anything. If he’s going in, you can, can’t you?’

Flanked by Retancourt and Voisenet, the attendant led them quickly towards the grave, still extremely anxious to get back to the safety of his hut.