some hair from the corpse. Or an eye,’ she added calmly. ‘But of course by now…’
‘I know what you’re going to say, Ariane,’ Adamsberg interrupted. ‘No eyes left.’
Danglard took refuge by the church, feeling thoroughly sick. He sheltered between two buttresses, forcing himself to study the typical construction of the little church, which had a chequerboard pattern of black flint and red brick. But the voices still reached him, despite the distance.
‘Well, if someone wanted a lock of hair,’ Adamsberg was saying, ‘why couldn’t they have cut it off the body earlier?’
‘If they had access to it.’
‘Look, I can imagine a sort of passion after death, like this Maupassant story, if you like, for
‘No,’ said the doctor, taking off her gloves. ‘She had short hair and there’s no sign of it being tampered with. It’s possible that you’re dealing with some kind of fetishist tomb-disturber, with such a crazy obession that she has two strong men digging up graves to satisfy it. You can seal it up again whenever you like, Jean-Baptiste, we’ve seen all there is to see.’
Adamsberg approached the grave and read once more the name of the dead woman: Pascaline Villemot. He had already asked for information on the cause of death. He would probably gather something about it from village gossip before the official data reached him. He picked up the two large antlers which had remained on the ground and gave the men orders to fill the hole in again.
‘What are you doing with those?’ asked Ariane in surprise, as she climbed out of the overalls.
‘Stag’s antlers.’
‘I can see that, but why are you carrying them?’
‘Because I can’t leave them them here, Ariane, or in the cafe.’
‘As you like,’ said the doctor without insisting. She could see from Adamsberg’s eyes that his mood had taken him off into the unknown and that it was no use asking him questions.
XXVII
RUMOUR HAD GOT TO WORK, RUNNING FROM TREE TO TREE ALONG THE roads between Opportune-la-Haute and Haroncourt. Robert, Oswald and the punctuator walked into the little cafe where the police team was eating dinner. As Adamsberg had more or less expected.
‘God’s sakes, this grisly stuff’s following us round,’ said Robert.
‘Going ahead of you, to be more precise,’ said Adamsberg. ‘Have a seat,’ he went on, moving up to make room.
This time, Adamsberg was in charge of the group of men and the roles were subtly reversed. The three Normans looked discreetly at the strikingly beautiful woman who was eating with relish at the other end of the table, taking alternate sips of wine and water.
‘She’s a doctor, the police pathologist,’ Adamsberg explained, to help them cut short their usual circumlocutions.
‘And she’s working with you?’ said Robert.
‘She’s just examined the corpse of Pascaline Villemot.’
Robert indicated with a tilt of his chin that he had understood, and that he disapproved of such activity.
‘Did you know that someone had disturbed her grave?’ Adamsberg asked him.
‘I just knew Gratien had seen a ghost. You said it was going ahead of us.’
‘Ahead in time, Robert. We’re some months too late. We’re way behind the events.’
‘You don’t seem to be in much of a hurry,’ observed Oswald.
Veyrenc, whose nose was in his plate at the other end of the table, confirmed that with a nod of his head.
‘What’s he muttering about, that skewbald cop?’ asked Robert in a low voice.
‘Careful, Robert, don’t ever call him that. It’s personal.’
‘OK,’ Robert agreed. ‘But I can’t understand what he’s saying.’
‘He’s saying there’s no hurry.’
‘He doesn’t talk like ordinary folk, your cousin.’
‘No, it runs in the family.’
‘Oh, if it runs in the family, that’s different,’ said Robert with respect.
‘Stands to reason,’ murmured the punctuator.
‘And he’s not my cousin,’ added Adamsberg.
Robert was nursing a grudge. Adamsberg could work that out easily, from the way he was gripping his glass in his fist and grinding his teeth, as if he were chewing a piece of straw.
‘What’s up, Robert?’
‘You came because of Oswald’s ghost, not because of the stag.’
‘How do you know that? The two things happened at the same time.’
‘Don’t try to fool me, man from the Bearn.’
‘Do you want to take the antlers back?’
Robert hesitated.
‘No, now you’ve got ‘em, they’re yours. But don’t separate them. And don’t go forgetting them.’
‘I haven’t let them out of my sight all day.’
‘Good,’ said Robert, reassured. ‘And what is this ghost, anyway? Oswald said it was the figure of Death.’
‘Yes, he’s right in one way.’
‘And in another way?’
‘Let’s say it’s someone or something that doesn’t bode any good, far as I can see.’
‘And you come running,’ Robert whispered, ‘as soon as an idiot like Oswald tells you someone’s seen a ghost. Or when a poor woman like Hermance, who’s lost her wits, asks to see you.’
‘Someone else who’s not too bright, the caretaker in the cemetery at Montrouge, saw one as well. And in that cemetery too someone had had a grave dug up, and the coffin opened.’
‘Why did you say they’d “had” it dug up?’
‘Because two big lads were paid to do the work, and now they’re both dead.’
‘Couldn’t this person do it himself?’
‘It was a woman, Robert.’
Robert’s mouth fell open and he swallowed a large gulp of wine.
‘I can’t believe that,’ said Oswald. ‘It’s not human.’
‘But that’s what happens, Oswald.’
‘And the one who goes around ripping out stag’s hearts. That’s a woman, too?’
‘What’s that got to do with it?’ asked Adamsberg.
Oswald thought for a moment, looking into his glass.
‘Too many things going on round here all at once,’ he said at last. ‘Maybe they’re connected.’
‘Criminals have their preferences, Oswald. The kind of people who rob tombs aren’t the same kind of people who kill stags.’
‘Takes all sorts,’ said the punctuator.
‘This here ghost,’ said Oswald, hazarding a direct question, ‘are we talking about the same one? The one who floats about and then digs up graves?’
‘I think so.’
‘Are you going to do something about it, then?’
