The Ghost Riders of Ordebec (Commissaire Adamsberg) (38 page)

‘And he won’t have the courage before that?’

‘Apparently not. What are you doing with those apples?’

‘Aiming at vole holes. Why are you so sure about the will?’

‘Last night in the forest, it came to me.’

As if the forest could dictate truths in some way. Veyrenc preferred to disregard the typical lack of coherence in Adamsberg’s reply.

‘What on earth were you doing in the forest?’

‘I spent some of the evening on the Chemin de Bonneval. There were some wild boar, I heard a stag bellowing and I saw a barn owl. Which is a bird, isn’t it? Not a crustacean or a spider.’

‘A bird. The owl that screeches like a human.’

‘Exactly. And why are you aiming at vole holes?’

‘I’m playing golf.’

‘You’ve missed all the holes.’

‘Yes. So you mean that Valleray will have divided his will among the three children and that will have changed everything. But only if someone knows that.’

‘Someone does know that. Denis de Valleray doesn’t like his stepfather. He must have been watching him for a long time. We might imagine that his mother warned him, so that he wouldn’t be done out of two-thirds of his fortune by some grubby little bastards from the village. I’d be very surprised if he doesn’t know about his father’s will.’

Veyrenc put down his handful of apples and helped himself to a second coffee, holding out his hand to Adamsberg to ask for the sugar.

‘I’m fed up with all these stories about sugar,’ said the commissaire, passing him a lump.

‘It’s over now. Fleg’s sugar lump led you to Christian Clermont’s sugar lump; you can pack up the box.’

‘I certainly hope so,’ said Adamsberg, leaning hard on the lid of the sugar box, which was tricky to close. ‘We’d better put a rubber band round
it, that’s what Léo does and we should respect her little ways. She must find everything in its place when she gets back. Danglard’s already helped himself to her Calvados, and that’s quite enough. So I think it’s certain that Denis is no mollusc and that he knows about his father’s will. Perhaps he’s known for a year, ever since the count started his rebellion. If his father dies now, he’ll be in trouble financially and socially. Vicomte Denis de Valleray, high-class auctioneer in Rouen, finds he’s the brother of two peasants, brother of the madman with six fingers and the madwoman who sees visions, and the stepson of a count who has strayed from the path.’

‘Unless he eliminates the Vendermot children. That would be a big step to take.’

‘Not necessarily. Denis probably sees the Vendermots as negligible people. I should think he despises them in a spontaneous instinctive manner. Their disappearance would even seem legitimate to him. From where he sits, not a serious loss. Comparable to you trying to stop up the vole holes.’

‘I’ll unblock them again though.’

‘But anyway, infinitely less important than losing two-thirds of his inheritance and all his social status. He could be playing for very high stakes.’

‘You’ve got a wasp on your shoulder.’

‘An insect,’ said Adamsberg, sweeping it away with a gesture.

‘Yes. And if Denis knows about the will – if it exists – he wouldn’t just despise the Vendermots, he’d detest them.’

‘And will have done for a year or more. We don’t know when the count might have done it.’

‘But it’s not Hippo and Lina who’ve been killed.’

‘I know,’ said Adamsberg, putting the sugar box behind him, as if the sight of it troubled him. ‘So this isn’t an impulsive killer. He thinks, he prowls. To get rid of Hippo and Lina would be risky. Suppose someone else knows about their birth. If Danglard worked it out in a day or two, one might think other people are in on it. So Denis might hesitate. Because if the two Vendermots were to die, he’d automatically be suspected.’

‘By Léo for instance. She looked after them when they were little and she’s known Valleray for seventy years.’

‘It must have been Denis who hit her on the head. And in that case, the attack wouldn’t have anything to do with Léo’s discovery in the woods. The wasp’s on you now.’

Veyrenc blew on his shoulder and turned his bowl over so that the remains of the sweet coffee wouldn’t attract the insect.

‘Turn your bowl over too,’ he instructed Adamsberg.

‘I didn’t take sugar.’

‘I thought you did.’

‘I told you, right now the very thought of sugar annoys me. As if sugar were an insect. At any rate, it seems to be surrounding me like a swarm of wasps.’

‘In the end,’ Veyrenc said, ‘Denis was waiting for a suitable occasion for him to kill without being suspected. And the perfect opportunity presented itself when Lina had her vision.’

Adamsberg leaned against the tree trunk, almost turning his back on Veyrenc, who was occupying the other half of the tree. At nine thirty the sun’s warmth was getting through. The lieutenant lit a cigarette and passed another over his shoulder to the commissaire.

‘Yes, the perfect opportunity,’ Adamsberg agreed. ‘Because if the three “seized” men were to die, the terror of the local people would be directed at the Vendermots. Against Lina, who’s responsible for the vision, as an intermediary between the living and the dead. But also against Hippo, because everyone knows he had six fingers on each hand, the mark of the devil. So in an atmosphere like that, the murder of those two wouldn’t surprise anyone, and half the inhabitants of Ordebec could be suspects. Exactly like the villagers in seventeen-something who took their pitchforks to some chap called Benjamin who had also described the people seized by the Riders. So to put an end to the deaths, the mob killed him.’

‘But this isn’t the eighteenth century, the method will change. Nobody’s going to massacre Lina and Hippo on the market square, it will be much more discreet.’

‘So Denis kills Herbier, Glayeux and Mortembot. Apart from Herbier,
he does it in an ancient manner, more or less observing the ritual, to make people scared. He’s the kind of guy who’d belong to a snobbish crossbow club, wouldn’t he?’

‘That’s the first thing we’d better check,’ said Veyrenc, throwing his twentieth apple.

‘You won’t aim very well while you’re sitting down. And since the three victims were notorious bastards and probably guilty of murder themselves, Denis has all the fewer scruples in killing them.’

‘So that, as we speak, Lina and Hippo are in mortal danger.’

‘Not before nightfall.’

‘You do realise that for now the whole story depends on the purple woodlouse.’

‘We can take a look at Denis’s alibis.’

‘You won’t be able to get close to him, any more than you did the Clermonts.’

The two men remained silent for a long moment, after which Veyrenc threw all the remaining apples away and started to collect up the dishes on a tray.

‘Look,’ whispered Adamsberg, catching him by the arm. ‘Hellebaud’s coming out.’

And indeed the pigeon had ventured about two metres from the door of Adamsberg’s bedroom.

‘Did you put some birdseed out there?’ asked Veyrenc.

‘No.’

‘Well, in that case, he’s looking for insects on his own.’

‘Insects, crustaceans, arthropods.’

‘Yes.’

XLV

Capitaine émeri listened to Adamsberg and Veyrenc, looking stunned. No, he had never seen the birthmarks, he had never heard it said that the Vendermot children had been fathered by Valleray.

‘He certainly slept around, yes, everyone knew that. And also that his second wife hated him: she turned young Denis against him.’

‘And we heard later, didn’t we, sir, that his wife wasn’t too particular either,’ said Blériot.

‘It’s not appropriate to wash more dirty linen, Blériot. The situation is difficult enough as it is.’

‘Yes. Émeri,’ insisted Adamsberg, ‘we
do
need to wash the dirty linen. There’s this crustacean and that can’t be dodged.’

‘What crustacean?’ asked Émeri.

‘The woodlouse,’ Veyrenc explained, ‘it’s a crustacean.’

‘What the fuck’s that got to do with anything?’ exploded Émeri, getting up abruptly. ‘Don’t just stand there, Blériot, go and get us some coffee. I warn you, Adamsberg, and please listen carefully, I refuse to entertain the slightest suspicion of Denis de Valleray. You hear me? I refuse.’

‘Because he’s a nobleman?’

‘Don’t insult me. You’re forgetting that Empire nobility has no truck with
ancien régime
aristocracy.’

‘Well, why then?’

‘Because your story doesn’t make sense. You think someone would kill three people, just to be able to get rid of the Vendermots?’

‘It makes perfect sense.’

‘No, it doesn’t, unless Denis is either wicked or bloodthirsty. I know him, he’s neither. He’s sly, he’s opportunistic and he’s ambitious.’

‘He’s also status-conscious, pompous and arrogant.’

‘All of that, all right. But he’s lazy, careful and timid, he’s just not a decisive character. You’re barking up the wrong tree. Denis would never have the nerve to shoot Herbier in the face, to chop Glayeux up with an axe or fire a crossbow at Mortembot. We’re looking for someone who’s audacious and crazy, Adamsberg. And you know perfectly well where crazy and audacious people are to be found in Ordebec. What’s to say it isn’t the other way round? What’s to say it isn’t Hippo who killed these three men, before planning to attack Denis de Valleray?’

Blériot put the tray down and gave out the cups clumsily, very differently from Estalère’s precise service. Émeri took his without sitting down and passed round the sugar.

‘Go on,’ he said, ‘what’s to prove it isn’t that way round?’

‘I hadn’t thought of that,’ Adamsberg admitted. ‘Yes, it’s not impossible.’

‘It’s extremely possible. Imagine that Hippo and Lina have found out who their father is, and about the will. They could have, couldn’t they?’

‘Yes,’ said Adamsberg, firmly refusing the sugar which Émeri was offering him.

‘Your reasoning could then apply perfectly well, but the other way round. It’s entirely in their interests to get rid of Denis. But as soon as the will becomes known, they’d be the first to be suspected. So Lina invents this vision, leaving the fourth victim unidentified.’

‘Yes, OK,’ admitted Adamsberg.

‘Victim number four would be Denis de Valleray.’

‘No, that doesn’t work, Émeri. That wouldn’t put the Vendermots above suspicion, on the contrary.’

‘Why?’

‘Because it would seem as if it was Hellequin’s Riders who had carried off the four men, and that still leaves the finger pointing at the Vendermots.’

‘Hell’s teeth,’ said Émeri, putting down his cup. ‘Think of something else then.’

‘OK, first of all let’s check whether Denis de Valleray can use a crossbow,’ said Veyrenc, who had kept one little green apple and was rolling it between his palms.

‘What about local gun clubs?’

‘There are lots of them,’ said Émeri, looking discouraged. ‘Eleven in the region and five just in our
département
.’

‘Is there one club that’s more exclusive than the others, among the eleven?’

‘The Compagnie de la Marche, in Quitteuil-sur-Touques. You have to be proposed for it by two members.’

‘Perfect. Ask them if Denis is a member.’

‘How’m I going to do that? They’d never tell me. These circles protect their members. And I don’t want to reveal to them that the gendarmerie has opened an investigation of the count’s stepson.’

‘No, it’s too early, that’s true.’

Émeri paced round the room, squaring his shoulders, hands behind him, face looking stern.

‘All right,’ he said after a moment, faced with Adamsberg’s insistent gaze. ‘I’ll bluff it out. But please leave me alone to do it. I hate telling lies in public.’

Ten minutes later, the capitaine opened the door and signalled to them to come back in, with an angry gesture.

‘I called myself François de Rocheterre. I explained that the Vicomte de Valleray had agreed to sponsor me. I asked if that was enough or if I needed two sponsors.’

‘Very good, sir,’ said Blériot appreciatively.

‘Forget it, brigadier. I like being straightforward, I don’t like this kind of subterfuge.’

‘Result?’ asked Adamsberg.

‘Yes,’ sighed Émeri. ‘Valleray does belong to the club. And he’s a good shot. But he’s never agreed to take part in the Normandy championships.’

‘Too common, probably,’ commented Veyrenc.

‘Yes, sure. But there’s a problem. The club secretary was chatting on too much. Not for the pleasure of giving me information, but because he
seemed to be testing me. I’m sure he smelt a rat. And that means the Compagnie de la Marche may well phone Denis de Valleray to check if he knows a certain François de Rocheterre. Then Denis will understand that someone with a false name has been asking questions about him.’

‘And about how good he is with a crossbow.’

‘Precisely. Denis is no genius, but he’ll soon realise he’s being suspected of killing Mortembot. Either by the cops or some unknown person. He’s going to be on his guard.’

‘Or he’ll want to get the job finished quickly. To get Hippo and Lina out of the way.’

‘That’s ridiculous,’ said Émeri.

‘Denis has everything to lose,’ Adamsberg insisted. ‘Think about it seriously. It would be best to have the chateau watched.’

‘Out of the question. I’d have Valleray and Denis on my back – in other words, my superiors would come down on me like a ton of bricks. Non-motivated surveillance, damaging suspicions, professional misconduct.’

‘He’s right,’ said Veyrenc.

‘Well, in that case, we watch the Vendermot house. But it’s much less safe. Can you get hold of Faucheur again?’

‘Yes.’

‘We won’t need him before it gets dark. We can start at 10 p.m. and stop at 6 a.m. Eight hours, we can manage that.’

‘Very well,’ admitted Émeri, looking suddenly tired. ‘But where’s Danglard gone now?’

‘He’s had a delayed reaction, gone home to recover.’

‘So there are just the two of you.’

‘It’ll be enough. If you take 10 p.m. to 2 p.m., I’ll relieve you with Veyrenc. We’ll have time to have a meal at the Boar first.’

‘No, let’s do it the other way round. I’ll take the second watch with Faucheur from two to six. I’m exhausted, I’ll sleep first.’