recently, prowling in the graveyard.’
‘You’re in Normandy?’
‘Opportune-la-Haute in the Eure
‘Clay and flint,’ Mathias pronounced. ‘You just need a layer of flint underneath to make the grass grow shorter and less thickly. Is there some flint around there – a wall with foundations for instance?’
‘Yes,’ said Adamsberg, walking towards the church.
‘Look at its base and tell me what kind of vegetation there is.’
‘The grass is thicker than on the grave,’ said Adamsberg.
‘Anything else?’
‘Thistles, nettles, plantains, and some other plants I don’t know the names of.’
‘OK, now go back to the grave. What can you see in the short grass?’
‘Some daisies,’
‘Nothing else?’
‘Bit of clover, couple of dandelions.’
‘OK,’ said Mathias after a pause. ‘Did you look for the edge of a hole?’
‘Yes.’
‘And?’
‘Why do you think I’m calling you?’
Mathias looked down at the Magdalenian household remains at his feet.
‘I’m on my way,’ he said.
At the cafe in Opportune, which was also the local grocery store and cider depot, Adamsberg was allowed to put the antlers down in the entry. Everyone knew already that he was a Pyrenean cop from Paris, who had been given Anglebert’s blessing in Haroncourt, but the noble trophies he was carrying opened doors for him more effectively than any references. The cafe owner, a cousin of Oswald’s five times removed, served the two policemen diligently, rendering honour where it was due.
‘Mathias is getting a train out of Saint-Lazare in three hours,’ Adamsberg reported. ‘He’ll be in Evreux at 14.34.’
‘We’ll need authorisation to exhume before he gets here,’ said Veyrenc. ‘But you won’t get that without the
‘Brezillon doesn’t like anyone much, he just likes shouting down the phone. He gets on fine with people like Mortier.’
‘Without his permission, though, we won’t get a permit. So there’s no point in Mathias coming.’
‘Well, we’d find out whether someone had dug a hole on top of the grave.’
‘Yes, but we’d still be blocked in a few hours, unless we do it unofficially. Which will be impossible, because the Evreux cops are watching us. Moment anyone lifts a pickaxe, they’ll be down on us like a ton of bricks.’
‘Your summary does you credit, Veyrenc.’
The lieutenant dropped a lump of sugar in his coffee and gave a broad grin, which raised his upper lip on the right.
‘There is something we could try,’ he said. ‘But it’s pretty mean.’
‘Go on.’
‘Threaten Brezillon, if he won’t lift the ban on us, to spill the beans on something his son did fourteen years ago. I’m the only one who knows about it.’
‘Yeah, that
‘It is, isn’t it?’
‘How do you propose to do that?’
‘I’d never carry out the threat. I’ve stayed on good terms with Guy, the son – I wouldn’t want to hurt him, after getting him out of that mess when he was a boy.’
‘Well, it could work,’ said Adamsberg, resting his cheek on his hand. ‘Brezillon would crack at once. Like all tough guys, he’s soft underneath. Same principle as the walnut. Put pressure on it and it breaks. But you try breaking honey.’
‘That makes me feel hungry,’ said Veyrenc suddenly.
He went up to the counter, ordered some bread with local honey, and sat down again.
‘I’ve thought of another possibility,’ he said. ‘I could call Guy direct. I tell him the situation, and ask him to beg his father to let us go ahead.’
‘Would that work?’
‘I think so.
‘And the son in question owes you a favour, if I’ve got this right?’
‘If it wasn’t for me, he wouldn’t be a graduate of the top college in France now.’
‘But he’d be doing
‘I’ll tell him that I’m in on this investigation. That it’s a chance to win my spurs, get promotion. Guy will play ball:
‘That’s not what I meant. You’d be doing
Veyrenc dipped his bread in his coffee with a graceful gesture. The
‘I’m supposed to be protecting you, along with Retancourt, aren’t I?’ he said.
‘Nothing to do with it.’
‘Yes, it is, a bit. If the angel of death
‘Well, apart from the syringe marks, we don’t have any really conclusive evidence.’
‘You did something for me yesterday. About the High Meadow.’
‘Memory come back now?’
‘No, it’s more confused, if anything. But even if the place changes, the five boys are still in the picture. Aren’t they?’
‘Yes, agreed. They’re still the same.’
Veyrenc nodded and finished his sandwich.
‘I’ll call Guy, shall I?’
‘Go ahead.’
Five hours later, in the centre of an area which Adamsberg had temporarily cordoned off with some stakes and string lent by the owner of the cafe, Mathias, stripped to the waist, was prowling round the grave like a bear who had been hauled out of his sleep to help two cubs corner their prey. The difference was that the fair-haired giant was twenty years younger than the two policemen, who stood waiting, placing their trust in the expertise of the man who could hear the song of the earth. Brezillon had given in without a word. The Opportune graveyard had been handed over to them, along with Diala, La Paille and Montrouge. A huge territory which Veyrenc had secured in a few minutes. Immediately afterwards, Adamsberg had put in a request to Danglard to send down a team equipped with digging tools, sampling materials, and two overnight bags with clean clothes and shaving kit. The Squad always had sets of equipment in store as survival packs for emergencies. It was practical, but you never knew what the clothes would be like.
Danglard should have been pleased at Brezillon’s defeat, but such was not the case. The importance that the New Recruit appeared to be taking at Adamsberg’s side had sparked off painful pangs of jealousy in him. In his own eyes, this represented a serious lack of poise on his part, since Danglard always hoped to rise above any petty reflexes. But he was now feeling thwarted and irritated at being left out. Accustomed to his situation of unrivalled priority with Adamsberg, Danglard could no more envisage his role and position being challenged than he could the demolition of a stone buttress built to last centuries. The New Recruit’s arrival had made his world tremble. In Danglard’s anxious path through life, two things were his guiding stars, his comfort and his protection:
