This Night’s Foul Work

LXVII

DANGLARD HAD TAKEN ADVANTAGE OF RETANCOURT’S RETURN FROM hospital, earlier than expected, to decree a break in honour of the third virgin, after bringing up some bottles from the basement. In the resulting festivity, only the cat remained calm, sleeping peacefully curled up on Retancourt’s powerful forearm.

Adamsberg walked slowly acros the room, feeling awkward, as usual when there was some kind of celebration. He took the glass that Estalère held out for him as he passed, pulled out his mobile and called Robert’s number. In the café in Haroncourt, the second round of drinks had just begin.

‘It’s the Béarnais cop,’ Robert announced to the evening assembly, covering the telephone with his hand. ‘He says his troubles are over and he’s going to have a drink and think of us.’

Anglebert considered his reply.

‘You can tell him that’s fine by us.’

‘He says he’s found two of Saint Jerome’s bones in a flat in Paris in a toolbox,’ reported Robert, covering the phone again. ‘And he’ll come and put them back in the reliquary at Le Mesnil. Because he doesn’t know what else to do with ‘em.’

‘Well, neither do we, for God’s sake,’ said Oswald.

‘He says we should tell the priest anyway.’

‘Makes sense,’ commented Hilaire. ‘Just because Oswald can’t be bothered with them, don’t mean to say the priest won’t. Got his own worries, the priest, hasn’t he? Got to reckon with that.’

‘You can tell him that will be fine by us,’ Anglebert commanded. ‘When’s he coming?’

‘Saturday.’

Robert returned to the telephone, and concentrated in order to transmit the response of the elder of the tribe.

‘Now he’s saying he’s got some stones from his river back home, and he wants us to have them, if we’ve no objection.’

‘What the heck are we supposed to do with them?’

‘I get the feeling it’s like the antlers of the Red Giant. It’s sort of an honour in return.’

Undecided faces turned to Anglebert.

‘If we refuse,’ said Anglebert, ‘he might be offended.’

‘Stands to reason,’ punctuated Achille.

‘You can tell him that’s fine by us too.’

Leaning against the wall, Veyrenc watched as the members of the squad circulated. This evening they had been joined by Dr Roman, who had also returned to earth, and Dr Lavoisier, who was closely monitoring Retancourt’s case. Adamsberg was walking quietly from place to place, here now, then absent, like a lighthouse going on and off. The strain of his long pursuit of Ariane, the Shade, had left dark traces on his face. He had spent three hours walking in the waters of the Gave and picking up pebbles before he’d joined Veyrenc to take the train back to Paris.

The commissaire took a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and motioned to Danglard to come over. Danglard well knew that smile and that twitch of the head. He went across, looking suspicious.

‘Veyrenc would say that fate likes to play games with us. You know that there are ironies of fate, and that’s how we recognise it.’

‘Veyrenc’s going away, it seems.’

‘Yes, he’s going back to his mountains. He’s going to have a think with his feet in the river and his hair blowing in the wind, to work out whether he’ll come back to us or not. He hasn’t decided.’

Adamsberg held out the paper.

‘Got that this morning.’

‘I can’t understand a word of it,’ said Danglard looking down.

‘Naturally – it’s in Polish. Apparently it informs us that the district nurse has just died, capitaine. It was a straightforward road accident. She was knocked over by a car in Warsaw. Squashed flat by a driver who didn’t stop at the lights and couldn’t tell the road from the pavement. And we know who the driver was.’

‘A Pole, I presume.’

‘Yes, but not just any Pole.’

‘A Pole who was drunk?’

‘No doubt. But what else?’

‘I don’t know what you’re getting at.’

‘An old Pole. Ninety-two years old. The woman who killed old people was killed by one of them.’

Danglard thought for a moment.

‘That makes you laugh?’

‘Yes, Danglard.’

Veyrenc saw Adamsberg grip the commandant’s shoulder, he saw Lavoisier fussing over Retancourt, he saw Roman coming back to life, Estalère running round filling glasses, Noël bragging about his blood donation. None of it concerned him. He hadn’t come to Paris to get interested in people’s lives. He had come to sort out once and for all the matter of his hair. Which he had.

‘ It is over, soldier, the tragedy is run.

You are free to go now where you please ‘neath the sun.

What sorrowful regret holds you here in this hall?

Why do you not make haste, bid farewell to them all?’

Yes, why not? Veyrenc drew on his cigarette and watched as Adamsberg left the hall, discreet and light-footed, carrying the great stag’s antlers, one in each hand.

‘O ye Gods,

I beseech you, indulge the charm that holds me here.

Their vain humanity is both tragic and dear.’

Adamsberg walked home along the darkened streets. He would not tell Tom a word about Ariane’s atrocities. He had no wish that such horrors should reach the child so early in life. In any case, there was no such thing as a dissociated ibex. Only human beings have a talent for bringing about this kind of calamity. Whereas ibex can make their horns grow out of their skulls, just like stags. That’s something humans can’t do. So we’ll stick to stories about the ibex.

Then the wise old chamois who’d read lots of books realised that he had made a big mistake. But the ginger ibex never found out that the wise chamois had thought he was wicked. And then the ginger ibex realised that he’d made a big mistake too and that the brown ibex wasn’t wicked, either. Right you are, said the brown ibex, that’s ten centimes you owe me.

In the little garden, Adamsberg put the antlers down while he looked for his keys. Lucio appeared immediately from the darkness and joined him under the hazel tree.

‘All right, hombre?’

Lucio slipped across to the hedge without waiting for a reply and came back with two beers, which he opened. His radio was hissing away in his pocket.

‘This woman,’ he said, passing Adamsberg a bottle. ‘The one who hadn’t finished her task. You gave her the potion?’

‘Yes.’

‘And she drank it?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good.’

Lucio took a few mouthfuls, before pointing to the ground with the tip of his walking stick.

‘What’s that you’re carrying around?’

‘A ten-pointer from Normandy.’

‘Live or cast?’

‘Live.’

‘Good,’ said Lucio again. ‘But don’t separate them.’

‘Yes, I know.’

‘You know something else too?’

‘Yes, Lucio, the Shade has gone. Dead, finished, out of the way.’

The old man stood for a moment without speaking, tapping the top of the little bottle against his teeth. He looked at Adamsberg’s house, then turned to the commissaire.

‘How?’

‘Guess.’

‘They used to say she could only be killed by an old man.’

‘Well, that’s what happened.’

‘Tell me.’

‘It happened in Warsaw,’

‘The day before yesterday, in the evening?’

‘Yes, why?’

‘What happened?’

‘An old Polish man, aged ninety-two, ran her over. She went under the front wheels of his car.’

Lucio thought, and rolled the bottle across his mouth.

‘Just like that?’ he said, gesturing with his only fist.

‘Just like that,’ Adamsberg said.

‘Like the tanner, with his bare hands.’

Adamsberg smiled and picked up his antlers.

‘Stands to reason,’ he punctuated.