This Night’s Foul Work

‘There you are,’ he said. ‘It was there.’

Adamsberg pointed a torch at the tombstone, a horizontal slab. ‘A young woman,’ he said. ‘Who died aged thirty-six, over three months ago. Do you know how?’

‘A car crash, that’s all they told me. Sad.’

‘Yes.’

Estalere was looking at the alley between the graves.

‘The gravel, sir,’ he said. ‘It’s the same.’

‘Yes, brigadier. Take a sample, though.’

Adamsberg turned the beam of his torch on to his two watches.

‘Almost half past five. In another half an hour, we can wake the family. We’ll need their permission.’

‘To do what?’ asked the guardian, now somewhat reassured by his group escort.

‘To take the slab off.’

‘How many times is this blessed slab going to be moved?’

‘If we can’t take it up, how are we going to find out why they did it?’

‘Logical,’ murmured Voisenet.

‘But they didn’t dig anything up,’ protested the attendant. ‘I’ve already told you. There wasn’t anything out of place, not a scratch. And on the earth there were still faded rosebuds from the funeral. That proves they didn’t touch it, doesn’t it?’

‘Possibly, but we need to make sure.’

‘Don’t you believe me?’

‘Listen, two men were killed two days later because of this. They got their throats cut. High price to pay, isn’t it, for turning over a tombstone? Just out of vandalism.’

The attendant scratched his stomach in puzzlement.

‘So they must have done something else,’ Adamsberg continued.

‘Well, I don’t see what.’

‘That’s what we‘re going to see.’

‘OK.’

‘And to do that we need to take the stone off again.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Veyrenc pulled Retancourt to one side.

‘Why does the commissaire wear two watches?’ he asked. ‘Is he on US time or something?’

‘No, he’s not on any time in particular. I think he already had one, then his girlfriend gave him one, so he put that one on as well. And since then he’s had two watches.’

‘Because he can’t decide between them?’

‘No, I think it’s simpler than that. He’s got two watches, so he wears two watches.’

‘I see.’

‘You’ll soon learn.’

‘I can’t work out why he thought of checking the cemetery. Given that he was asleep.’

‘Retancourt,’ Adamsberg called. ‘The men can go and rest. I’ll come back with another team when I’ve taken Tom back to his mother. Can you hold the fort until then, and take care of the permissions?’

‘I’ll stay with her,’ proposed the New Recruit.

‘Oh yes, Veyrenc?’ asked Adamsberg sharply. ‘You think you can stay awake long enough?’

‘And you don’t think I can?’

The lieutenant had briefly closed his eyes, and Adamsberg was cross with himself for alluding to it. Ibex bucks in the mountains. The lieutenant ran his hand through his strange hair. Even at night the auburn streaks showed up.

‘We’ve got work to do, Veyrenc, nasty work,’ said Adamsberg in a gentler tone. ‘If it’s waited thirty-four years, it can wait a few more days. I propose we have a truce.’

Veyrenc seemed to hesitate. Then he nodded silently.

‘OK,’ said Adamsberg, walking away. ‘I’ll be back in about an hour.’

‘What was all that about?’ asked Retancourt as she walked after the commissaire.

‘A war,’ replied Adamsberg shortly. ‘The war of the two valleys. Don’t get involved.’

Retancourt stopped, looking annoyed and scuffing the gravel with her shoe.

‘Serious war?’ she asked.

‘Pretty serious.’

‘What did he do?’

‘Or what will he do? You like him a lot, don’t you, Violette? Well, don’t get between the tree and the bark. Because one day you may have to choose. Between him and me.’

XV

BY TEN O’CLOCK IN THE MORNING THE TOMBSTONE HAD BEEN RAISED, revealing a surface of smooth compacted earth. The attendant had been quite right: the soil was intact, and covered with the blackened remains of roses. The team of police, tired and disappointed, wandered around it in perplexity. What would old Anglebert have said if he had seen their demoralised state, Adamsberg wondered.

‘Take a few photographs anyway,’ he said to the freckled photographer, a talented and friendly lad whose name he regularly forgot.

‘Barteneau,’ whispered Danglard, one of whose self-imposed jobs was to remedy the social deficiencies of the commissaire.

‘Barteneau, take some photos. Close-ups as well.’

‘I told you,’ the attendant was muttering. ‘They didn’t do anything else. Not a scratch on the earth.’

‘There’s got to be something,’ Adamsberg replied. The commissaire was sitting cross-legged on the tombstone, chin on his hands. Retancourt moved away, leaned up against a nearby memorial statue and closed her eyes.

‘She’s taking a little nap,’ the commissaire explained to the New Recruit. ‘She’s the only one in our squad who’s capable of doing this, sleeping standing up. She explained to us once how she does it, and they all had a go. Mercadet almost managed it. But as soon as he dropped off, he fell over.’

‘Anyone would, wouldn’t they?’ whispered Veyrenc. ‘So she doesn’t fall over?’

‘No, that’s just it. Take a look – she really is asleep. You can talk in a normal voice. Nothing will wake her if she’s made up her mind.’

‘It’s a question of concentration,’ said Danglard. ‘She can channel her energy in any direction she likes.’

‘Still doesn’t work for the rest of us, though,’ remarked Adamsberg.

‘Maybe all they did was piss on the grave,’ suggested Justin, who was sitting near the commissaire.

‘That’s a lot of trouble and a lot of money, just to piss on someone’s grave.’

‘Sorry, I was just trying to relieve the tension.’

‘I’m not criticising you, Voisenet.’

‘Justin.’

‘I’m not criticising you, Justin.’

‘But it didn’t relieve the tension anyway.’

‘Only two things really relieve tension, laughing or making love. We’re not doing either at the moment.’

‘So I see.’

‘What about sleeping?’ asked Veyrenc. ‘Doesn’t that relieve the tension?’

‘No, lieutenant, that just allows you to rest. There’s a difference.’

The team fell silent and the attendant asked if it was finally all right for him to leave them. Yes, it was.