‘A workman’s hut, that makes sense, with bits of rotten food left behind, old wine bottles, a mildewy sort of enclosed space. Was that it, the smell? The smell of rotten apples that hung about his clothes? But why didn’t Clemence’s clothes smell the same, then?’
‘Her clothes were very light. He could keep them on under his suit, and he put the beret and gloves in his briefcase. But he couldn’t keep his man’s clothes under Clemence’s, of course. So he had to leave them behind.’
‘My God, what a carry-on! Think of the organisation.’
‘For some people, organisation is delicious in itself. This was a sophisticated murder, one that meant months of preparatory work. He started doing his circles more than four months before we found the first victim. This kind of Byzantine scholar wouldn’t be put off by hours and hours of meticulous preparation, working it out. I’m sure he enjoyed it all immensely. For instance, the idea of using Gerard Pontieux to make us start running after Clemence. The kind of imbroglio he must have relished. And the drop of blood deposited in Clemence’s flat, the finishing touch before she disappeared.’
‘But, Christ Almighty, where is he now?’
‘He’s gone into town. He’ll be back at lunchtime. There’s no hurry, he’s completely sure of himself. A plan as complicated as this couldn’t go wrong. But he didn’t know about the fashion magazine. His Delphie was taking some liberties that she didn’t tell him about.’
‘The smaller male has won,’ said Castreau. ‘I’m going to give him some bread. He’s worked hard for it.’
Adamsberg looked up. The lab team was arriving. Conti got down from the truck with all his paraphernalia.
‘You’ll see,’ said Danglard, greeting Conti. ‘No hairpins this time. But the same guy did it.’
‘And we’re going after him now’, said Adamsberg, standing up.
XXI
AUGUSTIN-LOUIS LE NERMORD’S HOUSE WAS AN OLD AND RATHER ramshackle hunting lodge. Over the front door was nailed the skull of a stag.
‘Jolly place!’ said Danglard.
‘Ah, jolly’s not the word that comes to mind, is it?’ said Adamsberg. ‘He’s got a taste for death. Reyer told me that about Clemence. The most important thing he told me was that she talked like a man.’
‘See if I care,’ said Castreau. ‘Look at this.’
He proudly displayed the hen blackbird, who was now sitting on his shoulder.
‘Ever seen that before? A tame blackbird, and she’s chosen me.’
Castreau laughed.
‘I’m going to call her Breadcrumb,’ he said. ‘Daft, isn’t it? Do you think she’ll stay?’
Adamsberg rang the doorbell. They heard the sound of slippers approaching unhurriedly in the corridor. Le Nermord clearly suspected nothing. When he opened the door, Danglard had a different take on his washed-out blue eyes, and his pale skin marked with liver spots.
‘I was just about to eat,’ said Le Nermord. ‘What’s happened?’
‘It’s all over, monsieur,’ said Adamsberg. ‘These things happen.’
He put a hand on the professor’s shoulder.
‘You’re hurting me,’ said Le Nermord, recoiling.
‘Come with us, please,’ said Castreau. ‘You’re charged with four murders.’
The blackbird was still sitting on his shoulder as he took Le Nermord’s wrists and slipped the handcuffs over them. In the past, under his former boss, Castreau used to boast that he could cuff a suspect before they had time to notice. In this case, he said nothing.
Danglard had not taken his stare off the circle man. And he seemed now to understand what Adamsberg had meant with his story of the drooling dog. The identification of cruelty. It seemed to seep from every pore. The chalk circle man had become terrible to see in the space of a minute. Even more ghastly than the corpse in the grave.
XXII
BY EVENING, EVERYONE WAS BACK IN PARIS. THERE WAS AN atmosphere of overwork and excitement in the station. The chalk circle man, being held down on a chair by Declerc and Margellon, was spitting out a stream of foul language.
‘Hear him?’ Danglard asked Adamsberg as he went into the
For once, Adamsberg wasn’t doodling. He was finishing off his report to the examining magistrate, standing up.
‘Yes, I hear him,’ said Adamsberg.
‘He wants to cut
‘Yes, I know,
Delighted with his task, Danglard went out to phone.
‘She’s not there,’ he reported on his return. ‘I just got Reyer. He gets on my nerves, Reyer does, he’s in her flat all the time. Mathilde has gone to see someone off on the nine o’clock train from the Gare du Nord. He thinks she’ll be back right away. He said she wasn’t feeling too good, there was a break in her voice, and perhaps we should go round later to have a drink and cheer her up. But how would we cheer her up?’
Adamsberg was staring hard at Danglard.
‘What’s the time?’ he asked.
‘Twenty past eight. Why?’
Adamsberg snatched up his jacket and ran out of the room. Danglard had time to hear him call over his shoulder, telling him to check the report while he was away and that he’d be back.
Adamsberg ran down the street, trying to find a taxi.
He managed to reach the Gare du Nord by a quarter to nine. Still running, he went in through the main entrance, reaching for a cigarette at the same time. He bumped into Mathilde coming out.
‘Quick, Mathilde, quick! She’s going away, isn’t she? Don’t lie to me, for God’s sake! I know she’s here! What platform? Tell me what platform!’
Mathilde looked at him in silence.
‘What platform?’ shouted Adamsberg.
‘Hell and damnation, Adamsberg!’ said Mathilde. ‘Go away, get lost. If it wasn’t for you, perhaps she wouldn’t keep running off all the time.’
‘You don’t know her! She’s just like that! The platform, for God’s sake!’
Mathilde didn’t want to tell him.
‘Fourteen,’ she said.
Adamsberg abandoned her. It was six minutes to nine by the station clock. He drew breath as he approached Platform Fourteen.
Yes, she was there. Of course. In a tight black sweater and skirt. Like a shadow. Camille was standing up very straight, her gaze lost somewhere – watching the whole station, perhaps. Adamsberg remembered that expression: wanting to see everything, expecting nothing. She was holding a cigarette.
Then she threw it away. Camille always had very elegant gestures. An effective one in this case. She picked up her suitcase and walked along the platform. Adamsberg ran along in front of her, and turned to face her. Camille bumped into him.
‘Come with me,’ he said. ‘You’ve got to come. Just for an hour.’
