An Uncertain Place

XXVIII

HIS RUCKSACK WAS BUCKLED, THE FRONT POCKET BULGING with the three files: French, English and Austrian. Finding himself back in the kitchen had brought flooding into his mind, in no particular order, images of Zerk that morning, their long confrontation and the way he had let the man go. Go on, Zerk, off you go. Off you go, cool as you like, to kill again. The commissaire didn’t lift a finger to stop you. ‘Inhibition of action’ was what Josselin had called it. Perhaps it had already been at work when he had stood to one side on Sunday and given Émile his chance to run, if that was really what he had done. But the inhibition was over now, the man with the golden fingers had removed it. Now he had to go down into the Kisilova tunnel, and plunge into this village crouching over its secret. He had had a good report on Émile, his temperature had dropped. He strapped on both watches and lifted the rucksack.

‘You’ve got company,’ said Lucio, knocking on the window.

Weill walked calmly into the room, blocking the exit with his large girth. It was customary for others to make the effort to visit Weill, never the contrary. He was a neurotic homebody, and for him to cross Paris was a painful undertaking.

‘I almost missed you,’ he said, sitting down.

‘I haven’t got much time now,’ said Adamsberg, clumsily shaking hands, since Weill had the habit of holding his hand out limply as if for a kiss. ‘I’m catching a plane.’

‘Time enough for a beer?’

‘If it’s a quick one.’

‘That’s what we’ll do then. Sit down, mon ami,’ Weill said, pointing to a chair, in the slightly disdainful tone he liked to take, as if he was at home wherever he happened to be. ‘You’re leaving the country? Wise decision. Where to?’

‘Kisilova. It’s a little village in Serbia on the Danube.’

‘This still the Garches case?’

‘Yes, still the same one.’

‘You smoke?’ Weill asked, as he lit Adamsberg’s cigarette for him.

‘Began again today.’

‘Worries,’ said Weill.

‘Probably.’

‘Certainly. That’s why I needed to talk to you.’

‘Why didn’t you phone?’

‘You’ll understand. The storm is brewing over your head, don’t go to sleep under a tree and don’t walk out holding a spear. Stay in the shadows and run fast.’

‘Details please, Weill, I need them.’

‘I’ve got no proof.’

‘Well, give me your hunch then.’

‘This Garches killer is being protected by someone.’

‘High up?’

‘Very. Some heavyweight with no scruples. They don’t want you to solve the case. They want you out of the way. A rather flimsy file has been opened on you, for allowing a suspect to escape – Émile Feuillant – and for failing to check an alibi. They’ve asked for you to be stood down temporarily. The idea was that Préval would take over.’

‘Préval’s for sale.’

‘Famous for it. I’ve managed to lose your file.’

‘Thanks.’

‘They’ve worse things they can do, and my humble power will be no good. Have you got anything in mind? Apart from flying the coop, that is?’

‘Keep one step ahead of them, catching the ball before it hits the ground.’

‘You mean you’re going to catch the killer by the scruff of the neck, and present everyone with the proof? Nonsense, mon ami. You still believe they can’t tamper with evidence?’

‘No.’

‘Right. So you need a triple plan. Plan A, yes, agreed, find your killer, everyone can agree about that, but it’s not a priority because the truth won’t necessarily get you out of jail free, especially if someone doesn’t want that. Plan B, find out who it is up there who wants you out of the way, and prepare a counter-offensive. Plan C, prepare your escape route. Via the Adriatic perhaps.’

‘You don’t sound very cheerful, Weill.’

‘We’re not dealing with cheerful people here.’

‘I have no way of identifying the man up there. The only way I can get to him is by getting closer to the killer.’

‘Not necessarily. What happens up aloft is hidden from us lesser mortals. So start at the bottom. Because the top people always use those lower down the scale who want promotion. Then work your way up. You know already who’s on the lowest rung, the bottom level?’

‘My commandant, Mordent. They’re using him, with a promise to get his daughter off a charge. Her case comes up in a couple of weeks, she’s accused of dealing.’

‘Or murder. The girl was apparently pretty out of it when Stubby Down was killed. Her friend Bones could very well have put the gun in her hand and pulled the trigger.’

‘And that’s what happened, Weill, is it? Really?’

‘Yes. Technically, she fired the shot. So Mordent has to deliver something really big to get a deal. Who’s on the next rung up? In your view.’

‘Brézillon. He’s giving Mordent orders. But I can’t think he’s involved in any plot.’

‘Never mind. Third rung of the ladder has to be the judge who’s agreed in advance to get the Mordent girl off. What does he get out of it? That’s what you need to know, Adamsberg. Who asked him to go easy on her, who’s he working for?’

‘Sorry,’ said Adamsberg, finishing his beer. ‘I haven’t had time to worry about all this. Danglard was the one who twigged. I’ve been dealing with cut-off feet, that bloodbath in Garches, Émile getting shot, the Austrian murder, the Serbian uncle, my own fuses blowing, the cat out there having kittens, so, sorry, I’ve got no idea and I’ve had no time to study this ladder you’re talking about, with all these people on it.’

‘But they’ve had plenty of time to worry about you. You’re way behind.’

‘I can believe that. Shavings from my pencil are already with the Avignon police, picked up in Pierre junior’s kitchen. All I’ve been able to do is stall the procedure. I’ve got about five or six days before they’ll be on to me.’

‘It’s not that I really want to get into this,’ said Weill slowly, ‘but I don’t like these people. They work on my mind like bad cooking on my stomach. Since you need to make yourself scarce, I could probe some of the rungs on the ladder for you.’

‘The judge?’

‘Beyond the judge, I would hope. I’ll call you. But not on your regular number or mine.’

Weill put two brand-new mobiles on the table and slid one across to Adamsberg.

‘Yours, mine. Don’t switch it on until you’re over the frontier, and never when you’re using your other phone. Your regular mobile doesn’t have GPS, does it?’

‘Yes. I need Danglard to be able to get hold of me if my mobile gives out. What if I’m all alone at the edge of the forest?’

‘What’s the problem?’

‘Nothing,’ Adamsberg said, smiling. ‘Just this demon who prowls around at Kisilova. And then there’s Zerk who’s on the loose somewhere.’

‘Who’s Zerk?’

‘The Zerquetscher. That’s what the Viennese call him. The Crusher. Before Vaudel, he massacred someone in Pressbaum.’

‘Well, he won’t be looking for you.’

‘Why not?’

‘Neutralise the GPS, Adamsberg, you’re being imprudent. Don’t give them a way to reach and arrest you, or cause some accident, you never know. I repeat: you’re looking for a murderer and someone wants at all costs to stop you finding him. Keep your regular phone switched off as much as possible.’

‘There’s no risk, only Danglard has the GPS signal.’

‘Trust no one, when the high-ups get started with their bribes and their deals.’

‘Danglard is the exception.’

‘Nobody’s an exception. Every man has his price, his demons, everyone has a grenade under the bed. It makes a great chain of people around the globe who’ve got each other by the balls. Let’s call Danglard an exception, if you like, but someone somewhere will be watching Danglard’s every movement.’

‘What about you, Weill? What’s your price?’

‘Well, I have the good fortune to be very fond of myself. It reduces my greed and what I can ask the world for. All I want is to live in grand style, in a big eighteenth-century town house, with a staff of cooks, a live-in tailor, two cats purring at my feet, my own personal orchestra, a park, a terrace, a fountain, a few mistresses and chorus girls about the place, and the right to insult anyone I like. But no one is about to give me anything like that. So they don’t try to buy me, I’m too complicated and far too expensive.’

‘I can give you a cat. There’s a little girl-cat here, one week old, as soft as cotton wool. She’s always hungry, precious and delicate, she’d fit your grand house very well.’

‘I haven’t got the first brick of the house yet.’

‘It’s a start, the first rung on the ladder.’

‘I might be interested. But get rid of the GPS, Adamsberg.’

‘I’d have to trust you.’

‘Men who are dreaming of ancient glories don’t make good traitors.’

Adamsberg passed him the phone and drank the very last drop of beer. Weill removed the battery and took out the location chip with his thumbnail.

‘That was why I had to see you in person,’ he said, giving it back.