This Night’s Foul Work

XL

THE SURGEON WALKED INTO THE WAITING ROOM AND LOOKED AROUND TO see which one was the commissaire de police waiting for news of the three men with bullet wounds.

‘Where is he?’

‘Over there,’ said the anaesthetist, pointing to a small dark man who was fast asleep, stretched out across two chairs, with his head resting on his jacket for a pillow.

‘If you say so,’ said the surgeon, and shook Adamsberg by the shoulder.

The commissaire sat up, felt his aching back, rubbed his face, and ran his hands through his hair. Ready for the day, thought the surgeon, but then he hadn’t had time to shave either.

‘They’re OK, all three of them. The knee injury will need physiotherapy, but the kneecap wasn’t touched. The shoulder wound’s almost nothing, he can go home in a couple of days. The one with the thigh injury’s lucky, it was pretty close to an artery. He’s feverish, and he’s talking in verse.’

‘What about the bullets?’ asked Adamsberg, shaking out his jacket. ‘I hope they haven’t been mixed up?’

‘No, each one in a box, labelled with the bed number. What happened?’

‘Hold-up at a cash machine.’

‘Oh,’ said the surgeon, disappointed. ‘Money’s the root of all evil, I suppose.’

‘Where’s the knee injury?’

‘In Room 435 with the shoulder.’

‘And the thigh?’

‘Room 441. What happened to him?’

‘The one with the knee injury shot him.’

‘No, I meant his hair.’

‘Oh, that’s natural. Well, a sort of natural accident.’

‘I’d call that an intradermic keratin variation. Very rare – exceptional, really. Do you want some coffee? A bit of breakfast? You look rather pale.’

‘I’ll find a machine,’ said Adamsberg, standing up.

‘The coffee in the machine’s horse piss. Come with me, I’ll fix you up with something.’

As doctors tend to be obeyed, Adamsberg went off docilely behind the man in the white coat. Have something to eat. Have something to drink. You’ll feel better soon. Stumbling a little, Adamsberg had a quick thought for the third virgin. It was midday, nearly time for lunch. No need to feel scared now, things would be all right.

The commissaire walked into Veyrenc’s hospital room at lunchtime. The patient was gloomily considering a bowl of soup and a pot of yogurt on a tray in front of him.

‘Got to eat,’ said Adamsberg, sitting down by the bed. ‘No choice.’

Veyrenc nodded and picked up a spoon.

‘When your childhood memories come to the surface, Veyrenc, it gets risky. For everyone. You had a narrow escape.’

Veyrenc lifted the spoon, then put it down again, staring at his bowl of soup.

‘My soul is divided by a cruel stroke of fate.

My honour persuades me to bless the man who rode

To save me from the blows of unspeakable hate.

Yet my heart still rebels and cannot shed its load

Of resentment at him, from whom this bounty flowed.’

‘Yes, that is indeed the problem. But I’m not asking for anything from you, Veyrenc. And I’m no better placed than you are. I’ve saved the life of a man who may ruin my own.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Because you’ve taken from me what I hold most dear.’

Veyrenc raised himself on one elbow, with a grimace of pain that pulled his crooked lip upwards.

‘Your reputation? I haven’t done anything to harm that yet.’

‘What about my woman? Seventh floor, door facing the stairs.’

Veyrenc fell back against the pillows, open-mouthed.

‘I wasn’t to know,’ he said in a low voice.

‘No. Nobody knows everything, perhaps you should try to remember that.’

‘It’s like in the story,’ said Veyrenc after a silence.

‘What story?’

‘The king, who sent one of his generals into battle and certain death, because he loved his wife.’

‘I don’t understand,’ said Adamsberg, sincerely. ‘I’m tired. Who loved who?’

‘Once upon a time, there was this king,’ said Veyrenc.

‘Yes.’

‘And he was in love with the wife of this other guy.’

‘Right.’

‘So the king sent the other guy off to war.’

‘Right.’

‘And the guy got killed.’

‘I see.’

‘So the king took the woman.’

‘Well, that’s not the same as me.’

The lieutenant stared at his hands, concentrating and far away.

‘But you could have.

In the dark of the night, my lord, there came a time

To rid your sight of one whose presence was a crime.

Death lay in wait at last for him who wished you ill,

And who in love and war, is now your rival still.’

‘Yeah, right,’ said Adamsberg.

‘What pity, what concern, made you reign your wrath in,

And led you to rescue the man behind the sin?’

Adamsberg shrugged his shoulders, which were aching with fatigue.

‘You were tailing me?’ asked Veyrenc. ‘Because of her?’

‘Yes.’

‘You recognised the guys in the street?’

‘When they pushed you into the car,’ Adamsberg lied, choosing to keep quiet about the microphones.

‘I see.’

‘We’re going to have to understand each other, lieutenant.’

Adamsberg got up and closed the door.

‘We’re going to let Roland and Pierrot get away. Without a policeman on duty outside their room, they’ll take the first opportunity to make a run for it.’

‘A present?’ asked Veyrenc, with a fixed smile.

‘Not for them, for us, lieutenant. If we press charges, there’ll be accusations and a trial, yes? You agree?’

‘I should certainly hope there will be a trial. And sentences.’

‘They’ll defend themselves, Veyrenc. Their lawyers will argue for self-defence.’

‘How could they make that out? They held me up at gunpoint in my flat.’

‘By claiming that it was you who killed Fernand and Big Georges and that you were planning to kill them too.’

‘But I didn’t kill those others,’ said Veyrenc sharply.

‘And I didn’t attack you on the High Meadow,’ said Adamsberg, equally sharply.

‘I don’t believe you.’

‘Nobody’s prepared to believe anyone else. And none of us can prove any of the accusations we make – it’s one man’s word against another’s. The jury will have no more reason to believe you than them. Roland and Pierrot could get away with it, believe me, and that could leave you in even bigger trouble.’

‘No,’ said Veyrenc. ‘They wouldn’t be able to prove it, so there would be no verdict against me.’

‘No, but you’d have a new reputation, lieutenant, and there’d be rumours. Did he kill those two other guys or not? The suspicion will stick to you like a tick. And you’ll still be scratching away at it in sixty years’ time, even if you’re acquitted.’

‘I see,’ said Veyrenc, after a pause. ‘But why should I trust you? What’s in this for you? You want to fix their escape, so they can start again another time?’

‘You’re still harking back to that, Veyrenc? Do you really think it was me that sent Roland and Pierrot after you last night? And that that’s why I was downstairs outside your house?’

‘Well, I have to consider the possibility.’

‘Why would I have saved you, then?’

‘In order to cover yourself, for a second attack that would succeed.’

A nurse breezed in and put two tablets in a cup on the night table.

‘Painkillers,’ she said. ‘To be taken with meals, there’s a good boy.’

‘Come on, swallow them down,’ said Adamsberg, handing them over. ‘Take them with a spoonful of soup.’

Veyrenc obeyed, and Adamsberg put the cup back on the tray.

‘Yes, that does make sense,’ said the commissaire, returning to sit down and stretching his legs. ‘But it’s not true. Sometimes an untruth can be very convincing, and still not be true.’

‘Well, what is the truth?’

‘I’ve got a personal reason for wanting them to escape. I didn’t tail you, lieutenant, I put a bug on you. I bugged your mobile phone and your car.’

‘You went that far?’

‘Yes. And I should prefer that not to get known. If there’s a prosecution, it will all come out – phone-tapping, the lot.’

‘Why, who’s going to tell them?’

‘The officer who installed it on my orders. Hélène Froissy. She trusted me and did what I asked. She thought she was acting in your own best interests. She’s an honest woman and she’ll tell the truth if the magistrate asks her.’

‘I see,’ said Veyrenc carefully. ‘So it’s in both our interests.’

‘Yes.’

‘But it’s not so easy, escaping from here,’ objected Veyrenc. ‘They can’t get out of the hospital without attacking the duty policemen. That wouldn’t look good. And you’d be suspected, or at best accused of negligence.’

‘Yes, they will attack a couple of policemen. I’ve got a couple of youngsters who’ll swear blind that the criminals knocked them to the ground.’

‘Estalère?’

‘Yes, and Lamarre.’

‘But why would Roland and Pierrot try to escape? They probably think it’s impossible to get out of the hospital. There could be more police at the exits.’

‘They’ll escape because I’ll tell them to.’

‘And they’ll obey you.’

‘Of course.’

‘And who says they won’t try it on again?’

‘I do.’

‘So you’re still giving them orders, commissaire?’

Adamsberg stood up and went round the bed. He looked at the temperature chart: 38.8 degrees.

‘We’ll talk about it again, Veyrenc, when we can each listen to what the other one’s saying. When your fever has gone down.’