This Night’s Foul Work

XVII

DANGLARD WAS EXAMINING HIS DESSERT, AN EXPRESSION OF SHOCK ON HIS pale face. He had a horror of exhumations and other atrocious aspects of the profession. The idea that some diabolical grave-robber should be forcing him to look into an open coffin was driving him to the edge of psychic collapse.

‘Eat up, Danglard,’ Adamsberg insisted. ‘You need some sugar. And drink your wine.’

‘Hell’s bells, they must be seriously sick to want to put something in a coffin,’ Danglard muttered.

‘To put something in, or perhaps to take something out.’

‘Whatever. Surely there are enough hiding places in the world not to go poking about there.’

‘Maybe this person was in a hurry. Or perhaps they’d put something into the coffin before they screwed it down.’

‘Must be something very precious if he had the stomach to go and fetch it three months later,’ commented Retancourt. ‘Money or drugs, perhaps – it always comes back to that.’

‘What doesn’t fit,’ Adamsberg said, ‘is not so much whether this individual is sick. It’s that he chose the head of the coffin and not the foot. After all, there’s less room at the head, and it’s much more distressing.’

Danglard nodded silently, still contemplating his dessert.

‘Unless whatever it was was already in the coffin,’ said Veyrenc. ‘If he didn’t put it there himself, he didn’t have any choice.’

‘For instance?’

‘Earrings, maybe, or a necklace belonging to the dead woman.’

‘Jewel robberies are deeply uninteresting,’ muttered Danglard.

‘People have been robbing tombs since the beginning of time, capitaine, and precisely for stuff like that. We’re going to have to find out if this woman was rich. Anything on the register?’

‘Elisabeth Châtel, unmarried, no children, born at Villebosc-sur-Risle, near Rouen,’ Danglard reeled off.

‘What is it with these people from Normandy? I can’t seem to get away from them. What time are we expecting Ariane?’

‘Who’s Ariane?’

‘The pathologist.’

‘Six o’clock.’

Adamsberg pushed his finger round the rim of his wineglass, producing a painful whine. ‘Eat the damn pudding, capitaine. You don’t have to stick around for the rest of this.’

‘If you’re staying, I’m staying.’

‘Sometimes, Danglard, you have a medieval way of carrying on. Hear that, Retancourt? I stay, he stays.’

Retancourt shrugged, and Adamsberg once more made a strident noise with his wineglass. The television set in the café was transmitting a rowdy football match. The commissaire stared for a while at the figures running all over the pitch, their movements followed with fascination by the dining customers, whose heads were all turned towards the screen. Adamsberg had never been able to understand this passion for football matches. If some fellows liked kicking a ball into a goal mouth, which he could well understand, why give yourself the bother of having to do it against another lot of characters who were determined to stop you? As if the world wasn’t full enough already of people who stopped you kicking the ball where you wanted it to go.

‘What about you, Retancourt?’ Adamsberg asked. ‘Are you staying? Veyrenc can go home, he’s exhausted.’

‘I’ll stay,’ said Retancourt rather sulkily.

‘How long for, Violette?’

Adamsberg smiled. Retancourt untied and redid her ponytail, then got up to go to the washroom.

‘Why are you bugging her?’ Danglard asked when the other two were out of earshot.

‘Because she’s getting away from me.’

‘Where to?’

‘To the New Recruit. He’s powerful – he’s going to drag her off.’

‘If he wants to.’

‘That’s just it, we don’t know what he wants. It’s going to be a worry. He’s trying to place his kick somewhere, but what kind of a kick and where? This isn’t the kind of game where we can afford to be caught off guard.’

Adamsberg took out his notebook, its pages now sticking together, wrote four names on it and tore out the sheet.

‘When you’ve got a moment, Danglard, can you get me some info on these four names?’

‘Who are they?’

‘They’re the ones who cut up his scalp when he was a kid. It’s left visible traces on the outside, but much worse ones on the inside.’

‘What am I looking for?’

‘I just want to know if they’re alive and well.’

‘Is this serious?’

‘Shouldn’t be. I hope not.’

‘You said there were five of them.’

‘Yes, there were.’

‘So what about the fifth one?’

‘Well?’

‘Well, what do we do about him?’

‘The fifth one, Danglard, I’ll take care of personally.’