This Night's Foul Work (40 page)

‘So that means that there is a third virgin. Somewhere else. And that Retancourt did understand something we didn't.'

‘And before we find that out,' said Noël, ‘a lot of water's going to flow under the bridge.'

‘We'll have to wait a month for her to recover properly, according to Lariboisier.'

‘Lavoisier,' said Noël. ‘Maybe a month for someone normal, but probably a week for Retancourt. Funny to think of your blood and mine circulating through her veins.'

‘And the blood of the third donor.'

‘Who's the third donor, anyway?'

‘He's a cattle farmer, I believe.'

‘That'll be a weird mixture,' said Noël, with a pensive shake of his head.

In his chilly hotel bed, Adamsberg could not close his eyes without seeing himself once more lying wired up alongside Retancourt and going back over the vertiginous thoughts that had flashed through his head during the transfusion. Retancourt's dyed hair, the quick of virgins, the horns of the ibex. There was a persistent alarm bell ringing through this combination of ideas, which would not be silenced. It must be something to do with the blood passing from him into her, recharging her heartbeats, rescuing her from the clutches of death. It must be something to do with the virgin's hair, of course. But what was the ibex doing there? That reminded him that the horns of the ibex were simply the same thing as hair in a very compressed form, or, looking at it another way, that his own hair was simply a very dispersed kind of horn. They were all the same thing. But so what? He would have to try and remember tomorrow.

A
PEAL OF CHURCH BELLS WOKE
A
DAMSBERG AT MIDDAY
.
N
O PEACE FOR
the wicked
, his mother used to say. He called the hospital at once and listened as Lavoisier gave a positive report.

‘She's talking?' he asked

‘No, she's sleeping soundly now,' said the doctor, ‘and probably will for some time. Remember, she's also got concussion.'

‘Is she saying anything in her sleep?'

‘Yes, she mutters stuff from time to time. But it's not really conscious or even intelligible. Don't get excited.'

‘I'm quite calm, doctor. But I just want to know what she says.'

‘She keeps saying the same thing over and over. A bit of poetry that everyone knows.'

Poetry? Was Retancourt dreaming about Veyrenc? Or had he somehow infected her? Seducing all the women into his entourage one after the other?

‘So what poetry would that be?' asked Adamsberg, with some annoyance.

‘Lines by Corneille we all learned at school:

They were indeed two of the few lines of verse that even Adamsberg knew by heart.

‘That's not her style,' he muttered. ‘Is that really what she's saying?'

‘Oh, if you heard what people sometimes say under sedatives or anaesthetic, you'd be astonished. I've heard blameless people come out with unbelievable obscenities.'

‘Is that what she's doing?'

‘Like I said, she recites Corneille. Nothing surprising about that. Mostly people in her state say things they remember from their childhood, especially stuff they learned at school. She's just going back to what she was made to learn for homework, that's all. Once I had a government minister who was in a coma for three months, and he went through his primary education, multiplication tables and all. He could still remember it pretty well.'

As he listened to the doctor, Adamsberg was staring at a sentimental picture over his hotel bed, a forest glade in which a mother deer was being followed by a cute little fawn through the ferns. ‘An accompanied hind,' Robert would call her.

‘I've got to go back to Paris today, to my own hospital team,' the doctor was saying. ‘It won't hurt to move her now, so I'm taking her in the ambulance. We'll be at Saint-Vincent-de-Paul Hospital by this evening.'

‘Why are you taking her with you?'

‘Because it's such an extraordinary case,
commissaire
. I'm going to see this one through.'

Adamsberg hung up, still looking at the painting. The tangled skein was in there too, the quick of virgins and the ‘living cross from the heart of the eternal branches'. He looked for a long time at the hind as if hypnotised, trying to touch something just beyond his reach. An element he still had not grasped.
There's a bone in the snout of a pig, and a bone in the penis of a cat
. And if he was not much mistaken,
and unlikely though that seemed, maybe there was
a bone in the heart of a stag
. A bone in the form of a cross, which would take him straight to the third virgin.

T
HE TEAM HAD BEEN WORKING IN THE HANGAR SINCE TEN IN THE
morning, with the help of two technicians and a photographer recruited from the local force at Dourdan. Lamarre and Voisenet had been in charge of searching the surrounding area, looking for tyre tracks in the field. Mordent and Danglard had each taken half the hangar. Justin was checking the tool cupboard where Retancourt had been found. Adamsberg joined them as they were starting a picnic lunch, sitting in the field under a pleasant April sun: sandwiches, fruit, beer, and hot drinks from a thermos, all impeccably organised by Froissy. There were no chairs in the hangar, so they sat on old car tyres, forming a curious circular convention in the field. The cat, which had not been allowed to travel in the ambulance, was curled up at Danglard's feet.

‘The vehicle must have come in this way,' explained Voisenet, his mouth full, pointing to a gap leading from the road. ‘It stopped by the side door at the end of the hangar, after reversing to have the boot facing the entry. There are plants everywhere, it's impossible to find tracks. But judging by the way the grass is crushed down, it would be some kind of transit van, probably with a capacity of nine cubic metres. I don't think the nurse has anything like that. She must have hired it. We might be able to trace it via agencies specialising in freight vehicles. An old woman renting a big van can't be that common.'

Adamsberg had sat down cross-legged in the warm grass, and Froissy had laid out an ample supply of food beside him.

‘The transport of the body was carefully organised,' said Mordent, taking over. Perched on a large tyre, he looked more than ever like a heron on its nest. ‘The nurse must have had a trolley, or hired it with the van. It looks as if there was a ramp you could let down. All she had to do was roll the body down the slope and put it on the trolley. Then she pushed the trolley through the hangar to the tool cupboard.'

‘Can you see tracks from its wheels?'

‘Yes, they go through the hall. She must have neutralised the dogs with meat laced with Novaxon. Then the tracks turn, and we can see them going along the corridor. Partly covered by the return trip.'

‘Footprints?'

‘You're going to like this,' said Lamarre, with the smile of a child who has been hiding a present behind his back to increase the surprise. ‘The angle of the corridor wasn't easy to negotiate, so she had to lean hard on the trolley and pivot on her feet – see what I mean?'

‘Yes.'

‘And the concrete floor is rough there.'

‘Yes?'

‘And just there we found traces …'

‘Of navy shoe polish,' said Adamsberg.

‘You've got it.'

‘Isolated from the ground on which her crimes are committed,' said the
commissaire
slowly, ‘but still leaving traces behind. Nobody can really be a Shade. We'll get her through these blue marks.'

‘There aren't any full prints anywhere, so we can't be sure about the size. but it looks as if they were women's shoes, flat-heeled and solid.'

‘Now the cupboard,' said Justin. ‘That's where she injected the dose of Novaxon, before shutting the door on its hook.'

‘Nothing of significance in the cupboard?'

A short silence punctuated Justin's report.

‘Yes,' he said. ‘The syringe.'

‘You can't be serious,
lieutenant!
She surely didn't leave her syringe behind?'

‘Yes, absolutely. On the floor. Wiped completely clean, of course – no prints.'

‘So now she's signing her work,' said Adamsberg, getting to his feet as if the nurse was openly challenging him.

‘That's what we thought too.'

The
commissaire
paced around for a few moments on the grass, his hand behind his back.

‘Right,' he said. ‘She's crossed some kind of threshhold. She thinks she's invincible, and she's telling us so.'

‘Seems logical,' said Kernorkian, ‘for someone who wants a recipe for eternal life.'

‘But she still hasn't laid hands on the third virgin,' said Adamsberg.

Estalère did his round of the officers, pouring coffee into the plastic cups they held out. The makeshift picnic site and the absence of milk made it impossible for him to conduct his usual complicated ceremony.

‘She'll get there before we do,' said Mordent.

‘Don't be too sure,' said Adamsberg.

He returned to the circle of officers and sat down cross-legged in the centre.

‘The quick of virgins,' he said, ‘didn't just mean the dead women's hair.'

‘But Roman settled that for us,' said Mordent. ‘We know this maniac cut off some locks of hair.'

‘If she cut off some locks of hair, it was in order to gain access.'

‘To what?'

‘To the
real
hair of death. To the hair that goes on growing
after
death.'

‘Oh, of course!' exclaimed Danglard ruefully. ‘The quick. The part that keeps on living – and growing – even after death.'

‘That's the reason,' Adamsberg went on, ‘why it was essential for the nurse to come back and dig up her victims a few months later. The
quick
needed time to grow. And that's what she was after, the two or three centimetres of hair growing out from the root, in the grave. It was more than a symbol of eternal life. It was a concrete example of vital resistance, life refusing to stop after death.'

‘Ugh, sickening,' said Noël, summing up the general reaction.

Froissy packed up the food, which no longer tempted anyone.

‘But how will that help us identify the third virgin?' she asked.

‘Now that we understand that, Froissy, the rest will follow logically: it has to be crushed with the
“living cross in the heart of the eternal branches,”
adjacent in equal quantity.'

‘We'd already settled that,' said Mordent. ‘It must mean wood from the Holy Cross.'

‘No,' said Adamsberg. ‘That doesn't fit. Like the rest, the text has to be read absolutely literally, word for word. Christ's cross can't live
in
the heart of anything, it doesn't make sense.'

Danglard, sitting sideways on his tyre, screwed up his eyes, on alert.

‘The recipe says,' Adamsberg went on, ‘that it's a
living
cross.'

‘That's just what doesn't make sense,' commented Mordent.

‘A cross, living inside a body that represents eternity,' said Adamsberg slowly, pronouncing every word clearly. ‘A body related to eternal branches.'

‘In the Middle Ages,' said Danglard, ‘the creature that signified eternity was the stag.'

Adamsberg, who up to this point hadn't been entirely sure of his ground, smiled across at his deputy.

‘Why was that,
capitaine?'

‘Because the stag's antlers reach up to heaven. Because the antlers die and fall, then grow again every year, like the leaves of trees, with an extra point, getting more powerful, year by year. It's an amazing phenomenon, to do with the beast's vital force. It was once considered a symbolic
representation of eternal life, always beginning again, and always growing larger, like the antlers. Sometimes one finds representation of stags with Christ on their heads, or a cross between the antlers.'

‘The stag's antlers grow out of its skull,' said Adamsberg. ‘Like hair.'

The
commissaire
ran his hand over the spring grass.

‘The
eternal branches
could be a metaphor for the stag's antlers.'

‘Do they have to be in the mixture, then?'

‘No, because we need a cross. And every word in the recipe counts, like I said. The cross that lives
in the heart of the eternal branches
. So the cross must be inside the stag. It must be a bone, like the antlers, and incorruptible.'

‘Perhaps the bone at the base of the antlers, where it makes an angle,' said Voisenet.

‘It doesn't look to me as if deer's antlers make a cross,' said Froissy.

‘No, no,' said Adamsberg. ‘I think the cross is somewhere else. I think it's a secret bone that you have to know about, like the cat's. The penile bone represents the male principle. We need something of the kind in the stag. A bone in the shape of a cross, that would represent the stag's links with eternity, but hidden inside its body. A living bone.'

Adamsberg looked round at his colleagues, waiting for a response.

‘I don't see it,' said Voisenet.

‘Well, I think,' Adamsberg went on, ‘that we'll find this bone in the heart of a stag. The heart is the symbol of life, it beats. A cross that lives, a cross inside the heart of the stag with eternal antlers.'

Voisenet turned to Adamsberg.

‘It sounds good,
commissaire,'
he said. ‘The only problem is that there isn't a bone in the heart of a stag. Or in anyone else's heart. Not in the shape of a cross or anything else.'

‘Well, Voisenet, there has to be something like that.'