Wash This Blood Clean from My Hand

LXV

THE EIGHT FORMER MEMBERS OF THE QUEBEC MISSION HAD GONE TO see Laliberté and Sanscartier off from the airport on their 16.50 flight for Montreal. In seven weeks, this was the sixth time Adamsberg had been to the airport, and in six different states of mind. As they stood together in front of the departures noticeboard, he was almost surprised not to find Jean-Pierre Emile Roger Feuillet there; a good sort, old Jean-Pierre, whose hand he would have liked to shake.

He walked a little way off from the group with Sanscartier, who wanted him to have his special all-weather padded jacket with twelve pockets.

‘Now look, it’s special, because it’s reversible. The black side’s waterproof, snow and rain just run off it, you won’t feel a thing. The blue side makes it easy to spot you in the snow, but it’s not waterproof. It’ll get wet. So depending on your mood you can wear it one way or the other. Don’t take this the wrong way, but it’s like life.’

Adamsberg ran his hand through his short hair.

‘I understand,’ he said.

‘C’mon, take it,’ said Sanscartier, pushing it into Adamsberg’s arms. ‘That way, you won’t forget me.’

‘No chance of that,’ murmured Adamsberg.

Sanscartier gave him a warm pat on the shoulder. ‘Switch on your lights, put on your skis and follow your nose, pal. All the best.’

‘Say hullo to the squirrel on sentry duty for me.’

‘Ah, you noticed him? Gerald?’

‘That’s his name?’

‘Yup. At night he sleeps in a little hole in the drainpipe where it’s been covered in anti-freeze. Cunning little fellow. And in the daytime he’s back on duty. You know he had some woman trouble himself?’

‘I didn’t know that. I was in a hole too.’

‘Did you notice he had a girlfirend?’

‘Yes, I did notice that.’

‘Well, his girlfriend gave him up for a while. Gerald was so upset he stayed in the hole all day. So back home I crushed some hazelnuts, and put them by his drain. After three days, he cracked and came out. The boss wanted to know who the dope was who was bringing Gerald food, so you can bet your boots I kept mum. I was already in his bad books over you.’

‘And now?’

‘He didn’t stay off duty long, he’s back on the job and the girlfriend’s returned.’

‘Same one?’

‘Now that I can’t tell you. With squirrels it’s hard to tell. But, hey, Gerald I’d recognise him anywhere. Would you?’

‘Yes, I think so.’

Sanscartier gripped his shoulder again and Adamsberg reluctantly let him go into the departure lounge.

‘Come back and see us,’ beamed Laliberté, with a hearty shake of his hand. ‘I owe you one, and I wanted to tell you. Feel free to come over and see the red leaves in the Fall, and you could even go trail walking again: it’s been exorcised now.’

Laliberté kept hold of Adamsberg’s hand in his iron grip. Over the superintendent’s face where he had never seen more than three expressions, bonhomie, rigour and anger, there now passed a reflective look which altered his face. There’s always something else under the surface, like in Pink Lake, he thought.

‘Know what I think?’ Laliberté went on. ‘We need a few of them in our job, cloud shovellers.’

He let go his hand, and disappeared after the others. Adamsberg watched as his massive back disappeared into the crowd. He could still see Sanscartier. He would have liked to take a sample of his goodness, put it on to a disk and isolate it, so that he could inject a little into his own DNA.

The seven other members of the squad were heading for the exit. He heard Voisenet’s voice calling him and turned round, rejoining them slowly, holding the sergeant’s thick jacket over his shoulder.

Strap on your skis and follow your nose, cloud shoveller.

Put all this in your pipe.

And smoke it.