This Night’s Foul Work

XXXVI

BY FOUR-FORTY THAT AFTERNOON HÉLÈNE FROISSY WAS FINE-TUNING THE reception for the receiver she had installed in Adamsberg’s bedroom. She could hear Veyrenc’s voice quite well, although it was overlaid by the voices around and by sounds of chairs scraping, footsteps and papers rustling. The microphone was too powerful, the bug on the mobile only needed to pick up sound from a radius of five metres. That would be enough to cover Veyrenc’s small flat, and it would allow her to tune out much of the interference.

Now she could hear Veyrenc’s voice quite distinctly. He was talking to Retancourt and Justin. Froissy listened in for a few moments to the light tone and husky sound of the lieutenant’s voice while eliminating the last remnants of outside interference. Now Veyrenc was sitting down at his desk. She heard the click of a keyboard and then he said quietly to himself: ‘I have no place to go to bury deep my pain.’ Froissy glanced angrily at the bug she had just installed, at the diabolical device that could pour Veyrenc’s innermost thoughts direct into Adamsberg’s room. There was something violent about putting these tracking devices on Veyrenc. Froissy hesitated before setting everything to ‘go’, then turned all the switches on, one by one. A battle between macho boys, she thought as she closed the door, and she had been drawn into it on her full responsibility.