This Night’s Foul Work

‘If he wants to.’

‘That’s just it, we don’t know what he wants. It’s going to be a worry. He’s trying to place his kick somewhere, but what kind of a kick and where? This isn’t the kind of game where we can afford to be caught off guard.’

Adamsberg took out his notebook, its pages now sticking together, wrote four names on it and tore out the sheet.

‘When you’ve got a moment, Danglard, can you get me some info on these four names?’

‘Who are they?’

‘They’re the ones who cut up his scalp when he was a kid. It’s left visible traces on the outside, but much worse ones on the inside.’

‘What am I looking for?’

‘I just want to know if they’re alive and well.’

‘Is this serious?’

‘Shouldn’t be. I hope not.’

‘You said there were five of them.’

‘Yes, there were.’

‘So what about the fifth one?’

‘Well?’

‘Well, what do we do about him?’

‘The fifth one, Danglard, I’ll take care of personally.’

XVIII

MORDENT AND LAMARRE, WHO WERE PART OF THE DAY SHIFT, WERE BOTH wearing breathing masks as they finished extracting the sediments that had fallen into the coffin. Adamsberg was kneeling at the edge of the pit and passing buckets to Justin. Danglard was sitting on a tombstone about fifty metres away, with his legs crossed and the air of an other-worldly English aristocrat. He was staying at the scene as promised, but keeping his distance. The more oppressive reality became, the more Danglard cultivated an elegant stance, self-control combined with a kind of cult of nonchalance. The commandant had always counted on the cut of his British-style suits to compensate for his unprepossessing appearance. His father – not to mention his grandfather, a coal miner in Le Creusot – would have detested this kind of attitude. But then his father should have made more of an effort to have a better-looking son; he was simply reaping what he had, literally, sown. Danglard dusted off his lapels. If only he had had a crooked smile and a tender cheek, like the New Recruit, he would have tried to lure Retancourt away from Adamsberg. The others in the squad dismissed her as ‘too fat’ or ‘too big to handle’, the cruel judgement bandied about in the Brasserie des Philosophes. But Danglard considered her perfect.

From his observation post, he watched the pathologist in turn go down into the pit, using a ladder. She had put a set of green overalls on top of her clothes, but had not bothered to put on a mask, any more than Roman would have. These pathologists had always amazed Danglard. They were so unconcerned, tapping corpses casually on the shoulder, sometimes making childish jokes, and yet they had to spend their days in abominable surroundings. But the truth was, Danglard reflected, that they were professionals, relieved not to have to deal with the anguish of the living. Perhaps in this branch of post-mortem medicine there was a measure of tranquillity.

Night had fallen, and Dr Lagarde was completing her work under the light of arc lamps. Danglard watched her climb easily back up the ladder, pull off her gloves and toss them casually on to the heap of soil before going over to Adamsberg. From a distance, it seemed to him that Retancourt was sulking. The familiarity that linked the commissaire and the pathologist visibly irritated her. All the more since Ariane Lagarde had a formidable reputation, and even in her earth-stained overalls she was still a very beautiful woman. Adamsberg took off his mask and led the doctor away from the pit.

‘Jean-Baptiste, there’s nothing to be seen but the head of a woman who’s been dead three or four months. No mutilation, no violence. Everything’s there, and all present and correct. No more, no less. I wouldn’t suggest you bother to bring the whole coffin up, you’ll just find the cadaver inside.’

‘Ariane, I’m trying to understand what’s gone on. The grave-robbers were paid handsomely to open up this tomb. Then they were killed to shut them up. Why?’

‘You’re tilting at windmills. We can’t always tell what lunatics are after. I’ll compare the earth here with the earth that was under Diala and La Paille’s fingernails. Did you get me some samples?’

‘Every thirty centimetres.’

‘Perfect. You should eat something, then go home and get some sleep. I’ll come with you.’

‘He must have wanted something from the body, Ariane, this killer.’

‘She wanted, you mean. I told you it was a woman, for heaven’s sake.’

‘OK, for the sake of argument.’

‘I’m certain about that, Jean-Baptiste.’

‘If it’s just a question of height, that isn’t enough.’

‘I’ve got other indications.’

‘All right. So the female killer wanted to collect something from the body in the grave.’

‘Well, she must have taken it. The trail stops there.’

‘If the dead woman had been wearing earrings, you’d be able to tell that, would you, from her pierced ears?’

‘Jean-Baptiste, her ears aren’t there any more.’

One of the arc lamps suddenly blew, with a puff of smoke in the night, and seemed to notify everyone that the macabre spectacle was drawing to a close.

‘We put it all back?’ asked Voisenet.

XIX

ARIANE DROVE RATHER TOO ERRATICALLY FOR ADAMSBERG’S TASTE. HE LIKED, when he was a passenger, to lean his head against the window and be wafted smoothly along. She was looking out for a restaurant to eat at, as they drove through the wide streets.

‘Do you get on well with the fat lieutenant?’

‘She’s not a fat lieutenant, she’s a divinity with sixteen arms and twelve heads.’

‘Gracious. I hadn’t noticed.’

‘Well, it’s true. She uses them as she pleases. Speed, mass, invisibility, serial analysis, transport, physical transformation, depending on what’s called for.’

‘Sulking as well.’

‘It happens. I often get on her nerves.’

‘She’s working with the man with stripy hair?’

‘She’s training him. He’s a New Recruit.’

‘She’s not just training him, she likes him a lot. Well, he is quite dishy.’

‘Yes, quite.’

Ariane braked suddenly at a red light.

‘But since life isn’t fair,’ she went on, ‘it’s your elegant but ugly commandant who’s interested in the lieutenant.’

‘Danglard? Really? Interested in Retancourt?’

‘If Danglard’s the tall sophisticated guy who was sitting way over there. Looking like a disgusted academician, who’d have liked to have a drink to stop himself feeling sick.’

‘That’s him,’ Adamsberg confirmed.