Wash This Blood Clean from My Hand

LXIII

ADAMSBERG GREETED THE TWO POLICEMEN, UNKNOWN TO HIM, WHO were on duty on Camille’s landing, and showed them his badge – still in the name of Denis Lamproie.

He rang the bell. He had spent the previous day coming back to life in solitude and in a daze, finding great difficulty in getting back in touch with himself again. After these seven weeks buffeted by winds from all four quarters, he found himself thrown up on the sandy shore, soaked and calmed, with the wounds inflicted by the Trident all healed. And at the same time, stunned and surprised. He knew at least that it was imperative that he tell Camille that he had not killed anyone. At least he must do that. And if he could manage it, he would tell her that he had expelled the image of the new father with the dogs from his mind. He felt ill at ease, with his uniform cap under his arm, his sharply-creased trousers, his jacket with its gold epaulettes and his medal in the button hole. The cap would at least have covered the remains of his tonsure.

Camille opened the door and signalled to the two officers that she knew her visitor.

‘There are two policemen on the landing the whole time,’ she said, ‘and I don’t seem to be able to reach Adrien.’

‘Danglard’s at the Prefecture. He’s putting the finishing touches to a massive file. The uniforms will be guarding you for two months.’

Pacing up and down the studio, Adamsberg managed to tell his story, more or less. Trying not to say too much about Noëlla. and mixing up various elements. He interrupted himself half-way through.

‘And you know,’ he said, ‘I’ve sorted out that business about the man with the dogs.’

‘Ah,’ said Camille slowly. ‘So what do you think of him now?’

‘He’s much the same as his predecessor.’

‘Glad you like him.’

‘It’s easier this way. We can shake hands.’

‘For instance.’

‘Exchange a few words, like human beings.’

‘Yes…’

Adamsberg nodded, and went on with the story: Raphaël, exile, dragons. He gave her back the rules of Mah Jong, and left, closing the door quietly behind him. The quiet click shocked him. Each of them on one side of the wooden barrier, living on separate levels. Separated by his own actions. At least the two watches were not separate, but locked together in a a discreet coupling on his left wrist.