Wash This Blood Clean from My Hand

L

BUT IT WASN’T THE MOMENT TO TALK ABOUT FROGS. ALMOST AS SOON as he got in, a call from Retancourt informed him that Michel Sartonna, the young man in charge of cleaning the departmental office, had been found murdered. He normally came in to work between five and nine in the evening. When he had not been seen for two days, someone was sent round to his flat. He had been shot dead, with two bullets in the chest from a handgun with a silencer, some time between Monday night and Tuesday morning.

‘Could it have been a gangland killing, lieutenant? I had the feeling Michel was into drug dealing.’

‘If so, he wasn’t rich. Except for a large sum of money deposited in his bank on 13 October, four days after the news item appeared in the Nouvelles d’Alsace. And there was a brand new laptop in his flat. I should also say that he’d put in for two weeks’ leave, without warning, which exactly tallies with the dates we were in Quebec.’

‘You’re thinking he was the mole, Retancourt? But I thought we’d established there wasn’t one.’

‘Well, we might have to think again. Michel could have been contacted after Schiltigheim, and been paid to do some spying, and perhaps follow us out to Quebec. And it might have been him who got into your flat.’

‘And then killed Noëlla on the path?’

‘Why not?’

‘I can’t believe that, Retancourt. Even if we suppose there was someone else there, the judge would hardly have left it to someone like Michel to carry out such a refined kind of vengeance. And certainly not with the trident.’

‘Danglard doesn’t think so either, actually.’

‘As for murder with a gun, that doesn’t sound like the judge.’

‘I’ve told you what I think about that. A gun is OK for outsiders, murders that don’t fit the scheme. No need to use the trident on Michel. My guess is that the stupid boy misjudged his contact, asked for too much money or maybe even threatened blackmail. Or perhaps the judge just wanted to get him out of the way.’

‘If it was the judge.’

‘We took a look at Michel’s laptop. The hard disk’s empty, or rather it’s been wiped. Our computer people are coming tomorrow to see if they can resurrect anything.’

‘What about his dog?’ Adamsberg asked, surprising himself by his concern for the large dog that went everywhere with Michel.

‘Shot as well.’

‘Retancourt, since you’re going to send me the bullet-proof vest, can you send over the laptop? I’ve got a Grade A hacker here.’

‘Mm-hm, how’m I going to do that? You’re not a commissaire at the moment.’

‘Yes, I do realise that,’ said Adamsberg, seeming to hear Clémentine’s voice reminding him of it. ‘Ask Danglard, convince him, you’re good at that. Since the exhumation, Brézillon’s more favourably inclined to me, and Danglard knows it.’

‘All right, I’ll try, but he’s the boss for now.’