This Night's Foul Work (14 page)

‘When did you see this?'

‘Two or three nights before the stone was broken. So I've stopped going in.'

‘Well, we have to go in, and you're coming with us. We won't leave you on your own. I've got a
lieutenant
here who'll protect you.'

‘You're not giving me any choice, is that it? Cops, always the same. And you've brought a baby along? And you're not scared?'

‘The baby's asleep. The baby isn't scared of anything. If he's going in, you can, can't you?'

Flanked by Retancourt and Voisenet, the attendant led them quickly towards the grave, still extremely anxious to get back to the safety of his hut.

‘There you are,' he said. ‘It was there.'

Adamsberg pointed a torch at the tombstone, a horizontal slab.
‘A young woman,' he said. ‘Who died aged thirty-six, over three months ago. Do you know how?'

‘A car crash, that's all they told me. Sad.'

‘Yes.'

Estalère was looking at the alley between the graves.

‘The gravel, sir,' he said. ‘It's the same.'

‘Yes,
brigadier
. Take a sample, though.'

Adamsberg turned the beam of his torch on to his two watches.

‘Almost half past five. In another half an hour, we can wake the family. We'll need their permission.'

‘To do what?' asked the guardian, now somewhat reassured by his group escort.

‘To take the slab off.'

‘How many times is this blessed slab going to be moved?'

‘If we can't take it up, how are we going to find out why they did it?'

‘Logical,' murmured Voisenet.

‘But they didn't dig anything up,' protested the attendant. ‘I've already told you. There wasn't anything out of place, not a scratch. And on the earth there were still faded rosebuds from the funeral. That proves they didn't touch it, doesn't it?'

‘Possibly, but we need to make sure.'

‘Don't you believe me?'

‘Listen, two men were killed two days later because of this. They got their throats cut. High price to pay, isn't it, for turning over a tombstone? Just out of vandalism.'

The attendant scratched his stomach in puzzlement.

‘So they must have done something else,' Adamsberg continued.

‘Well, I don't see what.'

‘That's what
we
‘re going to see.'

‘OK.'

‘And to do that we need to take the stone off again.'

‘Yes, sir.'

Veyrenc pulled Retancourt to one side.

‘Why does the
commissaire
wear two watches?' he asked. ‘Is he on US time or something?'

‘No, he's not on any time in particular. I think he already had one, then his girlfriend gave him one, so he put that one on as well. And since then he's had two watches.'

‘Because he can't decide between them?'

‘No, I think it's simpler than that. He's got two watches, so he wears two watches.'

‘I see.'

‘You'll soon learn.'

‘I can't work out why he thought of checking the cemetery. Given that he was asleep.'

‘Retancourt,' Adamsberg called. ‘The men can go and rest. I'll come back with another team when I've taken Tom back to his mother. Can you hold the fort until then, and take care of the permissions?'

‘I'll stay with her,' proposed the New Recruit.

‘Oh yes, Veyrenc?' asked Adamsberg sharply. ‘You think you can stay awake long enough?'

‘And you don't think I can?'

The
lieutenant
had briefly closed his eyes, and Adamsberg was cross with himself for alluding to it. Ibex bucks in the mountains. The
lieutenant
ran his hand through his strange hair. Even at night the auburn streaks showed up.

‘We've got work to do, Veyrenc, nasty work,' said Adamsberg in a gentler tone. ‘If it's waited thirty-four years, it can wait a few more days. I propose we have a truce.'

Veyrenc seemed to hesitate. Then he nodded silently.

‘OK,' said Adamsberg, walking away. ‘I'll be back in about an hour.'

‘What was all that about?' asked Retancourt as she walked after the
commissaire
.

‘A war,' replied Adamsberg shortly. ‘The war of the two valleys. Don't get involved.'

Retancourt stopped, looking annoyed and scuffing the gravel with her shoe.

‘Serious war?' she asked.

‘Pretty serious.'

‘What did he do?'

‘Or what
will
he do? You like him a lot, don't you, Violette? Well, don't get between the tree and the bark. Because one day you may have to choose. Between him and me.'

B
Y TEN O'CLOCK IN THE MORNING THE TOMBSTONE HAD BEEN RAISED
, revealing a surface of smooth compacted earth. The attendant had been quite right: the soil was intact, and covered with the blackened remains of roses. The team of police, tired and disappointed, wandered around it in perplexity. What would old Anglebert have said if he had seen their demoralised state, Adamsberg wondered.

‘Take a few photographs anyway,' he said to the freckled photographer, a talented and friendly lad whose name he regularly forgot.

‘Barteneau,' whispered Danglard, one of whose self-imposed jobs was to remedy the social deficiencies of the
commissaire
.

‘Barteneau, take some photos. Close-ups as well.'

‘I told you,' the attendant was muttering. ‘They didn't do anything else. Not a scratch on the earth.'

‘There's got to be something,' Adamsberg replied. The
commissaire
was sitting cross-legged on the tombstone, chin on his hands. Retancourt moved away, leaned up against a nearby memorial statue and closed her eyes.

‘She's taking a little nap,' the
commissaire
explained to the New Recruit. ‘She's the only one in our squad who's capable of doing this, sleeping standing up. She explained to us once how she does it, and they all had a go. Mercadet almost managed it. But as soon as he dropped off, he fell over.'

‘Anyone would, wouldn't they?' whispered Veyrenc. ‘So she doesn't fall over?'

‘No, that's just it. Take a look – she really is asleep. You can talk in a normal voice. Nothing will wake her if she's made up her mind.'

‘It's a question of concentration,' said Danglard. ‘She can channel her energy in any direction she likes.'

‘Still doesn't work for the rest of us, though,' remarked Adamsberg.

‘Maybe all they did was piss on the grave,' suggested Justin, who was sitting near the
commissaire
.

‘That's a lot of trouble and a lot of money, just to piss on someone's grave.'

‘Sorry, I was just trying to relieve the tension.'

‘I'm not criticising you, Voisenet.'

‘Justin.'

‘I'm not criticising you, Justin.'

‘But it didn't relieve the tension anyway.'

‘Only two things really relieve tension, laughing or making love. We're not doing either at the moment.'

‘So I see.'

‘What about sleeping?' asked Veyrenc. ‘Doesn't that relieve the tension?'

‘No,
lieutenant
, that just allows you to rest. There's a difference.'

The team fell silent and the attendant asked if it was finally all right for him to leave them. Yes, it was.

‘We ought to take advantage of the lifting equipment to put the stone back,' Danglard proposed.

‘Not straight away,' said Adamsberg, his chin still on his hands. ‘We keep looking. If we don't find anything, the sodding Drug Squad will have the bodies from us by tonight.'

‘We're not going to stay here for days just to stop Drugs getting them, are we?'

‘His mother said he didn't touch drugs.'

‘Oh, mothers,' said Justin, with a shrug.

‘You're relieving the tension too much there,
lieutenant
. One should believe mothers when they say something.'

Veyrenc was coming and going off to one side, occasionally throwing an intrigued glance at Retancourt who was indeed fast asleep. From time to time, he spoke to himself.

‘Danglard, try and hear what the New Recruit is saying.'

The
commandant
took a casual stroll in the alleyways and came back.

‘Do you really want to know?'

‘I'm sure that
will
relieve the tension.'

‘Well, he's muttering some lines of poetry, beginning with “O Earth”.'

‘What comes next?' asked Adamsberg, feeling discouraged.

And so on. I can't remember it all. I don't know who it's by.'

‘That's because it's by him. He speaks in verse as easily as other people blow their noses.'

‘Odd,' said Danglard, with a perplexed frown.

‘It runs in the family, like all odd things. Tell me the lines again,
capitaine.'

‘They're not very good.'

‘At least they rhyme. And they're saying something. Tell me again.'

Adamsberg listened attentively, then stood up.

‘He's right, the earth does know and we don't. Our ears are too weak to hear what it's telling us, and that's the problem.'

The
commissaire
returned to the graveside, with Danglard and Justin at his sides.

‘If there's a sound to be heard, and we're not hearing it, it means
we're deaf. The earth isn't dumb, but we're not skilled enough. We need a specialist, an interpreter, someone who can hear the sound of the earth.'

‘What do you call one of those?' asked Justin, anxiously.

‘An archaeologist,' said Adamsberg, taking out his telephone. ‘Or a shit-stirrer, if you prefer.'

‘You've got one in the team?'

‘I have,' Adamsberg started to say, as he tapped in the number, ‘a specialist who's excellent at discovering …' The
commissaire
paused, looking for the right word.

‘Fleeting traces of the past,' suggested Danglard.

‘Exactly. You couldn't put it better.'

It was Vandoosler Senior, a cynical retired detective, who picked up the phone. Adamsberg quickly explained the situation.

‘Stymied and snookered, are you?' asked Vandoosler, with his cackling laugh. ‘Out for the count?'

‘No, Vandoosler, since I'm calling you. Don't play games with me, I'm short of time today.'

‘OK. Which one do you want this time? Marc?'

‘No, I need the prehistoric expert.'

‘He's in the cellar, working on arrowheads.'

‘Tell him to get up here as fast as he can, the cemetery in Montrouge. It's urgent.'

‘Given that he's working on something from 12,000
BC
, he'll tell you nothing's urgent. It's very hard to tear Mathias away from his flints.'

‘Look, it's me, Adamsberg, Vandoosler. Don't give me grief like this. If you don't help me, the case is going over to Drugs.'

‘Oh, that's different. I'll send him right away.'

‘W
HAT DO WE EXPECT HIM TO DO? ASKED JUSTIN, WARMING HIS HANDS ON
a cup of coffee in the keeper's lodge.

‘What the New Recruit said. We want him to find out the secret of the earth. Your twelve-syllable verses sometimes make sense, Veyrenc.'

The daytime attendant looked at Veyrenc with curiosity.

‘He makes up poetry,' Adamsberg explained.

‘On a day like this?'

‘Especially on a day like this.'

‘Right,' said the keeper, accepting it. ‘Poetry – that complicates things, doesn't it? But perhaps if you complicate things, you understand them better. And if you understand, you simplify. In the end.'

‘Yes,' said Veyrenc, surprised.

Retancourt was back with them, looking rested. The
commissaire
had woken her simply by touching her shoulder, as if he was pressing a button. Through the window of the lodge, she watched as a blond giant crossed the street: he had shoulder-length hair, was wearing very few clothes, and his trousers were held up with string.

‘Here comes our interpreter,' said Adamsberg. ‘He smiles a lot, but it's not always easy to say why.'

Five minutes later, Mathias was kneeling alongside the grave, looking at the earth. Adamsberg signalled to his team to keep quiet. The earth doesn't speak loudly, so you have to listen very carefully.

‘You haven't touched anything?' Mathias asked. ‘Nobody has moved the rose stems?'

‘No,' said Danglard, ‘and that's what's so mysterious. The family scattered roses all over the grave, and the tombstone was placed on top. That proves the soil hasn't been disturbed.'