Theory of Remainders (17 page)

“I drove. From Yvetot.”

Morin shook his head in disappointment. “Train travel is a superior form of locomotion. And it is so much better for the environment. You have seen, I am sure, how concerned we are for the environment in the world today?”

“I’ve noticed that,” Philip replied, still trying to get a bead on the oddities of Morin’s voice. It wasn’t just German that tinged his accent. The buzzing Z was everywhere:
sorry
turned into
zorry
;
seen
became
zeen
; and
concerned
,
conzerned
. He wondered if it was actually not an accent at all, but rather a speech impediment. He didn’t recall any such thing from fifteen years ago.

Morin stared, but Philip could tell that his gaze had shifted lower, to Philip’s neck or shirt pocket. He had a vaguely pained expression, but then looked up again. “You took the
route nationale
, through Barentin, of course.”

“No. The back roads.”

“I see. Passing by Le Mont de l’If.”

“That’s right.”

“Your Mountain.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“An
if
is a tree, Mr. Adler. A yew, in English—yew, you, you and me. Le Mont de l’If: Yew Mountain, You Moutain, Your Mountain. Unless you’d prefer The Mountain of If. The Mountain of Possibilities. That is an evocative name, don’t you think?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

He sighed. “Unfortunately, there is no mountain at Le Mont de l’If. It’s nothing but a long hill.”

Morin’s speech was halting and singsong. The intonations were all wrong. “I am very fond of cartography,” he continued. “Doctor Suardet may have told you that I have something of a passion for maps.”

Suardet perked up as he heard his name. He was struggling to keep pace with the English.

Philip folded his hands on the table. “No,” he replied. “I was unaware of that.”

“Well, it’s true. France has 36,682 independent municipalities, more than in your entire country, Mr. Adler, despite the fact that France is one seventeenth as large as the United States. I can identify all 3233 municipalities in Normandy, and many from the surrounding regions. I am working on the rest.”

Zurrounding
, Philip heard.
Working on the rezt
. “Very impressive,” he said.

Morin glanced down at Philip’s throat again. “Would you mind very much, Mr. Adler?”

“Mind what?”

“I hate to be a pest. But would it inconvenience you to button your left shirt collar? Only one side is buttoned, you see. That is uneven, which I find quite distracting.”

Philip paused. Without haste, he reached up and fumbled for the collar.

“Thank you very much. I do think it’s best for things to be neat. While we are on the topic, there is something the matter with your glasses.”

“That’s right. I broke them. I had to tape the frame together.”

“How unfortunate.” He huffed out a breath. “I suppose there is no fixing that now.” He frowned. “You know, I’ve often thought that if things had gone differently, I would have liked to work with the cartographic service.”

“However,” Philip said, “things did not go differently.”

“Indeed.” Morin paused. “You know, you really should have come by rail. It has been a very long time since I last rode on a train. However, there is a line that passes not far from here. Within eyeshot of the clinic.” He cocked his head. “Can one say that in English, Mr. Adler—eyeshot?”

“I don’t believe so. No. You can say earshot, but not eyeshot.”

“Because eyeshot is in the dictionary, you know.”

“Then I must be mistaken.”

“But I have not seen it used in my readings. The Internet would be useful for this kind of search, but unfortunately they do not seem to trust us with the Internet here.” He turned to Suardet. “
N’est-ce pas, cher docteur?
”

“Tell me, Édouard—may I call you that?” Philip said.

“I would prefer not. I don’t think we are on a first-name basis.”

“Monsieur Morin, then. Tell me, do you know why I am here?”

“Not to help me with my English?”

“No.”

“And probably not to discuss train timetables,” Morin replied.

“No.”

“I suppose it is also not to debate the advantages and disadvantages of various forms of transportation?”

“Not that either.”

Morin pressed his hands together and furrowed his brow in thought, then looked up. “Perhaps it is to reminisce about Thursday, July 2, 1993, that sunny—though somewhat humid—day when I had sexual intercourse with your daughter, whose skull I then beat with a rock until she was dead in order that she should not tell on me?”

The room lapsed into silence, disturbed only by the sound of the clock. Philip clenched his fist under the table and ran his tongue over his dry lips. “That’s right,” he replied. “That’s the topic I wish to discuss.”

“Doctor Suardet mentioned something about that. Unfortunately, I don’t think I can teach you anything new. Unless you have forgotten some of the details from fourteen years and ten months ago.”

“No, I have not forgotten.”

“I suspected as much. Neither have I. What good memories we both have. So what can I do for you?”

Philip leaned forward, keeping his eyes on Morin, who smoothed down his hair once again.

“Something is out of place,” Philip said.

Morin’s eyes widened slightly, then narrowed, as if he were pondering an interesting move. “I beg your pardon?”

Philip didn’t reply.

“Out of place?” the younger man repeated. Then he looked to the side and spat out a series of phrases, “Out of kilter.
Sghembo
.
Nicht an der richtigen Stelle
.
In loco falso
.
Égaré. Descolocado
.”

“Yes. That’s right.”

Morin’s Adam’s apple dipped. “That is certainly an intriguing assertion, Mr. Adler. One could think about it a good deal. Morning, noon, and night. I love that expression. Don’t you?
Morning, noon, and night
. It has a wonderful rhythm to it.” He paused. “But in the end, I think you are wrong. Nothing is out of place.”

Philip certainly hadn’t expected Morin to open up easily, but the breeziness with which he deflected questions and dominated the conversation irked him. It was time to flex a bit of muscle. He exchanged a glance with Suardet, and the doctor nodded his assent for Philip to continue.

“Tell me, Monsieur Morin, why did you agree to meet with me?”

Édouard settled back in his chair. “To see. To hear what you would say.”

“So, as a form of entertainment.”

“I suppose you could call it that.”

“And is it working? Do you find this amusing?”

“Quite,” he replied with a smile. “Otherwise at this hour I would be required to participate in arts and crafts, you see. There is nothing more pathetic than a room full of idiots with round-tipped scissors, I assure you.”

Philip pressed his fingertips together. “My job consists of listening to people,” he said. “And if twenty-five years of practice has taught me anything at all, it’s that people speak for one reason, and one reason alone.”

“All right,” Morin said. “I’ll play along. What is that reason, Mr. Adler?”

“It’s because they have something to say.”

The two men stared at each other. Suddenly Morin laughed.

“And what would I have to say?”

“Perhaps something that was left out fifteen years ago.”

“I don’t think so.”

“For instance, something that might be askew?”

“No,” Morin insisted, an edge to his voice. “I told you. Nothing is out of place.”

“Are you finding our conversation less entertaining now?”

He looked aside. “Rather, yes.”

“Then why stay?”

“I shouldn’t. It is a waste of my time. And time is such a precious thing, it should never be spent carelessly.”

Philip left a pause. “I can tell you what’s wrong,” he said. “And I can help you fix it.”

Morin relaxed, leaning back in his chair again. “Do you play poker, Mr. Adler? Because I have read several books on this subject. Many people believe it is a game of probability. But that is incorrect. I wish it were, in fact, because I am very good with numbers. And yet the experts agree that poker is a matter of making one probability appear to be another. It’s what they call bluffing.”

“This is not a bluff.”

“Then why don’t you tell me what is out of place, Mr. Adler?”

Philip let another silence hang. “My daughter,” he said.

Morin’s face clouded. “I very truly beg your pardon?”

“My daughter’s body. It’s not where it belongs.” He watched Morin gaze back at him. “Doesn’t that nag at you? You who likes things so tidy. Hasn’t that bothered you all these years?” He paused. “I’m not asking for much, Monsieur Morin. Just a little help finding her remains. So Sophie can get to the right place.”

Morin’s brow furrowed briefly, and then he laughed again. “Yes, that certainly is bluffing. Quite exactly.”

The laugh galled Philip. He would have liked nothing better than to take a swing at Morin, but he kept the mask of his calm in place. “It costs you nothing,” he said. “There’s no risk to you. Just let me put my daughter in her grave. This is not a legal matter. I have no power to help you or harm you. I am asking you this only as a father.”

Morin’s eyes darkened and he looked away.

“As a father looking for his child.”

The other man cupped his hand over his jaw, as though cradling a toothache. He turned to Suardet. “Can you believe this, Doctor?
Pouvez-vous le croire?
” He turned back to Philip. “Trust me, my dear sir. There is nothing out of place here. Everything is where it belongs.”

Philip was running out of tools. He couldn’t think how to keep Morin engaged, and he needed to avoid pleading. He kept his voice level. “No one can do anything more to you. The courts have already ruled. All I want is to lay her to rest.”

Morin pursed his lips and leaned forward. “I understand. I really do. You feel you need to make things even. You like order, too. But it’s the problem of remainders, Mr. Adler.”

Philip stiffened. “What do you mean?”

He opened his hands to explain. “You know: remainders. You divide a number, seven by three, but it doesn’t fit. There’s something left over. That’s why I find numbers like pi so interesting. Or the square root of two. They call them irrational numbers, although in some ways they are the most rational of all, for they can only exist in the mind, or perhaps in heaven. In the real world we don’t like remainders that trail off forever. You know what we do when that happens?”

“What?”

Morin pulled back. “Come now, Mr. Adler. You know what I’m talking about. When we divide a number and the remainder is too long, we cut the numbers off. It’s called
rounding
. That’s how we make theory fit with reality. That was a very hard lesson for me, but I think I’ve learned it. Sometimes one really does have to round. Do you see what I mean?”

“I see that you’re avoiding the topic.”