This Night’s Foul Work

was issuing his battle orders.

‘Froissy, put a transmitter round the cat’s neck. You haven’t taken the material back yet?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Good, go ahead. Powerful as you can make it, Froissy. Justin, organise two cars and two motorbikes, on the right frequency. Mordent, call the prefecture and get them to send a helicopter to our courtyard, with all the necessary. Voisenet and Maurel, move all the cars out of the yard so it can land. We’ll need a doctor with us and an ambulance following us.’

He looked at his watches.

‘We’ve got to be ready to go in an hour. Me, Danglard and Froissy in the helicopter, two teams in the cars, Kernorkian and Mordent, Justin and Voisenet. Bring something to eat, we won’t be stopping. Two men on bikes, Lamarre and Estalere. Where is Estalere, anyway?’

‘Up there’, said Lamarre, pointing to the ceiling.

‘Well, fetch him down here,’ said Adamsberg, as if referring to a parcel.

A febrile physical agitation, a chaos of rapid movements and shouted orders, nervous queries and footsteps thundering up and down stairs transformed the squad’s headquarters into a battle station before an assault. The sounds of people puffing, snorting and running about were drowned by the throbbing of the fourteen police cars as they were driven out of the large courtyard to make room for the helicopter. The old wooden staircase leading to the top floor had one step at the turn a couple of centimetres lower than the others. This anomaly had caused many a fall when the squad had first moved in, but people had got used to it. Now, in their impatience, two men, Maurel and Kernorkian, crashed downstairs.

‘What the heck’s all that din?’ asked Adamsberg, hearing the fracas above his head.

‘Just someone falling downstairs,’ answered Mordent. ‘The chopper’ll be here in fifteen minutes. Estalere’s on his way down.’

‘Has he eaten?’

‘No. Not since yesterday. He slept here.’

‘Give him something to eat, then. Have a look in Froissy’s cupboard.’

‘Why do you need Estalere?’

‘Because he’s a specialist on Retancourt, a bit like the cat.’

‘Estalere did say something about it,’ Danglard confirmed. ‘He said she was looking for something intellectual.’

The young brigadier approached the group. He was trembling. Adamsberg put his hand on his shoulder.

‘She’s already dead,’ said Estalere in a defeated voice. ‘After all this time, it stands to reason she’s dead.’

‘Yes, it stands to reason, but Retancourt’s a woman beyond the bounds of reason.’

‘But she’s mortal.’

Adamsberg bit his lip.

‘What’s the chopper for?’ asked Estalere.

‘The Snowball won’t stick to roads. He’ll go through houses and gardens, and across roads, fields and woods. We won’t be able to keep up with him in a car.’

‘She’s far away,’ said Estalere. ‘I can’t feel her near us any more. The Snowball won’t be able to go that far. He’s got no muscles, he’ll just collapse on the way.’

‘Have something to eat, brigadier. Do you feel strong enough to ride a motorbike?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good. Give the cat something to eat, too. Plenty of it.’

‘There’s another possibility,’ said Estalere, in a tragic voice. ‘We don’t actually know that Retancourt was on to something. The maniac might not have been after her just to shut her up.’

‘What for, then?’

‘I think she’s a virgin,’ whispered the brigadier.

‘I thought of that too, Estalere.’

‘She’s thirty-five, and she was born in Normandy. and she has lovely hair. I think she could be the third virgin.’

‘But why her?’ asked Adamsberg, though he already knew the answer.

‘To punish us. By taking Violette, the killer would get hold of…’

Estalere hesitated and hung his head.

‘… the material she needs,’ Adamsberg completed his sentence. ‘And at the same time, she’d be striking us in the heart.’

Maurel, his knee still sore after falling downstairs, was the first to stop his ears as the helicopter arrived, flying in over the roof. The other officers all lined up at the windows, hands over ears, watching the large grey and blue machine gently lower itself into the courtyard. Danglard went over to Adamsberg.

‘I’d rather go in the car,’ he said, looking embarrassed. ‘I’d be no use to you in the helicopter, I’d just be ill. I have enough problems in lifts.’

‘Swap with Mordent, then, capitaine. Are the men ready with the cars?’

‘Yes. Maurel’s waiting for a word from you to open the door and let the cat out.’

‘What if he just goes for a piss in the yard?’ said Justin. ‘That’s the kind of thing he’d normally do.’

‘He’ll get back to his normal self when he finds Retancourt,’ Adamsberg pronounced.

‘Forgive me for raising this’, said Voisinet, with some hesitation. ‘But if Retancourt’s already dead, will he still be able to smell his way towards her?’

Adamsberg clenched his fists.

‘Look, I’m sorry,’ said Voisenet. ‘But it really is important.’

‘There are still her clothes, Justin.’

‘Voisenet,’ Voisenet automatically corrected him.

‘Clothes keep their smell for a long time.’

‘Yes, OK.’

‘She may be the third virgin. That may be why she’s been taken.’

‘Yes, I thought of that too,’ said Voisenet. ‘But if so, you could call off the search in Normandy.’

‘Already done.’

Mordent and Froissy joined Adamsberg, ready for the signal to leave. Maurel was carrying the cat in his arms.

‘He won’t be able to damage the transmitter with his claws, will he, Froissy?’

‘No, I’ve protected it.’

‘Right, Maurel, get ready. As soon as the chopper’s gained some height, release the cat. And as soon as the cat goes, give the signal to the cars.’

Maurel watched the team go out, bowing their heads as they ran under the rotor blades of the helicopter, which had begun to rev up. The machine hoisted itself jerkily into the air. Maurel put the Snowball down so that he could cover its ears from the noise of the engine and the cat flattened itself against the ground like a pool of fur. Adamsberg had said ‘release the cat’ the same way one might say ‘release the torpedo.’ But the lieutenant was sceptical as he picked the animal up and headed for the doorway. The soft mass in his arms didn’t exactly look like a guided missile.

XLVI

FRANCINE NEVER GOT UP BEFORE ELEVEN. SHE LIKED TO LIE FOR A LONG time under her blankets in the morning, when all the night-time creatures were back in their holes.

But a sound had bothered her last night, she recalled. She pushed back the old eiderdown – that would have to go as well, with all the dust mites that must be living under its yellow silk – and looked round the room. She immediately discovered what it was. A sliver of cement blocking a crack under the window had fallen out and was