This Night’s Foul Work

NEWS OF THE DISAPPEARANCE OF LIEUTENANT VIOLETTE RETANCOURT FELL like a bombshell in the offices of the Serious Crime Squad, immediately repressing any rebellious mutterings. In the ominous panic which began to spread, everyone realised that the absence of the large blonde officer deprived the building of one of its central pillars. The dismay of the cat, who had gone to curl up between the photocopier and the wall, reflected fairly accurately the morale of the staff, with the difference that the officers, armed with her description, were engaged in non-stop searching, inquiring at all the hospitals and gendarmeries in the country.

Commandant Danglard, only just recovering from his own moral crisis over King David, and prey to his usual pessimism, had taken refuge quite openly in the basement where he was sitting on a chair near the boiler, knocking back white wine in full view of anyone who cared to look. Estalere, at the opposite extremity of the building, had gone up to the coffee-machine room and, rather like the Snowball, had curled up on Lieutenant Mercadet’s foam cushions.

The shy young receptionist, Bettina, who had only recently started working at the switchboard, walked across the Council Chamber, which seemed to be plunged in mourning, and where the only sound was the clicking of telephones and a few repeated words – yes, no, thanks for calling back. In one corner, Mordent and Justin were talking in low voices. Bettina knocked quietly at Adamsberg’s door. The commissaire, hunched on his high stool, was staring at the ground without moving. The young woman sighed. Adamsberg urgently needed to get some sleep.

‘Monsieur le commissaire, she said, sitting down discreetly. ‘When do we think Lieutenant Retancourt went missing?’

‘Well, she didn’t come in on Monday morning, Bettina, that’s all we know. But she could have gone missing on Saturday, Sunday or even Friday evening. It could be three days ago, or five.’

‘Just before the weekend, on Friday afternoon, she was smoking a cigarette out in the entry with the new lieutenant, the one with fancy hair, in two colours. She said she was going to leave the office early, because she had a visit to make.’

‘A visit or an appointment?’

‘Is there a difference?’

‘Yes. Try to remember, Bettina.’

‘Well, I think she used the word visit.’

‘Anything else?’

‘No. They went off towards the big room, so I didn’t hear any more.’

‘Thanks,’ said Adamsberg, blinking his eyes.

‘You ought to get some sleep, sir. My mother says that if you don’t sleep, the mill starts grinding its own stone.’

‘She wouldn’t go to sleep. She’d look for me day and night, without eating or sleeping till she found me. And she would find me.’

Adamsberg slowly pulled on his jacket.

‘If anyone asks, Bettina, I’m at the Bichat Hospital.’

‘Ask one of them to drive you. That way you could nap for twenty minutes in the car. My mother says snatching forty winks here and there is the secret.’

‘But all the officers are busy looking for her, Bettina. They’ve got better things to do.’

‘I haven’t,’ said Bettina. ‘I’ll drive you over.’

Veyrenc was taking his first tentative steps in the corridor, leaning on a nurse’s arm.

‘We’re improving,’ said the nurse. ‘We’ve got less of a temperature this morning.’

‘Let’s go back to his room,’ said Adamsberg, taking Veyrenc’s other arm.

‘How’s the leg?’ he asked, once they had got Veyrenc on to the bed.

‘Not bad. Better than you,’ said Veyrenc, struck by Adamsberg’s exhausted features. ‘What’s happened now?’

‘She’s vanished. Violette. For either three or five days. She’s nowhere to be found, she hasn’t given any sign of life. It can’t have been intentional, because all her stuff’s still there. She was just wearing her ordinary jacket and had her little backpack.’

‘Dark blue?’

‘Yes.

‘Bettina told me that you were talking to her on Friday afternoon in the hall. And apparently Violette said something about a visit she had to make, that she was going to leave early.’

Veyrenc frowned.

‘A visit? And she told me about it? But I don’t know who her friends are.’

‘She told you about this, and then you both walked into the Council Chamber. Try and remember, please, lieutenant - you may have been the last person to see her. You were smoking.’

‘Ah,’ said Veyrenc, lifting his hand. ‘Yes, she had promised she’d call in on Dr Roman. She said she went in about once a week, to try and distract him. She kept him up to date with the investigations, showed him photos, sort of trying to bring him up to speed.’

‘What photos?’

‘Forensic photos, commissaire, the ones of corpses. That’s what she was showing him.’

‘OK, Veyrenc, I see.’

‘You’re disappointed.’

‘Well, I’ll go and see Roman. But he’s completely vague, with his vapours as he calls them. If there had been anything to take notice of, he’d be the last to realise it.’

Adamsberg sat for a moment without moving, in the comfortable padded hospital chair. When the nurse came in later with his supper tray, Veyrenc put his finger to his lips. The commissaire had been asleep for about an hour.

‘Shouldn’t we wake him?’ whispered the nurse.

‘He couldn’t have held out a minute longer. We’ll let him sleep another hour or two.’

Veyrenc telephoned the squad while examining his tray.

‘Who am I talking to?’ he asked.

‘Gardon,’ said the brigadier. ‘Is that you, Veyrenc?’

‘Is Danglard there?’

‘Well, he is, but he’s practically out of commission. Retancourt’s disappeared, lieutenant.’

‘Yes, I know. Can you get me Dr Roman’s phone number?’

‘Yeah, coming up. One of us was going to come and see you tomorrow. Do you need anything?’

‘Something to eat, brigadier.’

‘You’re in luck. It’s Froissy who’ll be coming.’

At least that’s one bit of good news, thought Veyrenc, as he called the doctor. A very distant voice answered. Veyrenc had never met Roman, but he was obviously in some kind of fog of absent-mindedness.

‘Commissaire Adamsberg will be round to see you at about nine o’clock, doctor. He asked me to warn you.’

‘Er, yes, if you say so,’ said Roman, who seemed supremely indifferent to the news.

Adamsberg opened his eyes a little after eight.

‘Oh shit,’ he said. ‘Why didn’t you wake me, Veyrenc?’

‘Even Retancourt would have let you sleep. Victory comes only to the man who has slept.’

XLIV