By the Thursday morning Le Nermord’s legs were genuinely shaking and he was in a pitiful state. The prosecuting magistrate had asked for him to be charged, and Danglard had just told him of the decision. At this point, Le Nermord said nothing for a long time, just as he had the other night in his house, seeming to weigh up arguments for and against. As before, Adamsberg signalled to Danglard above all not to intervene.
Then Le Nermord said:
‘Give me a piece of chalk. Blue chalk.’
Since nobody moved, he found a little authority from somewhere and added:
‘Come on. I asked for some chalk.’
Danglard went out and found some in Florence’s desk – a repository for everything.
Le Nermord got up with all the precautions of an invalid and took the chalk. Standing against the white wall, he took some time to think again. Then very quickly, he wrote in large letters: ‘Victor, woe’s in store, what are you out here for?’
Adamsberg did not move a muscle. He had been expecting this since the previous day.
‘Danglard,’ he said, ‘go and get Meunier. I think he’s around somewhere.’
While Danglard left the room, the chalk circle man turned to Adamsberg, determined to look him in the face.
‘Well met at last,’ said Adamsberg. ‘I’ve been looking for you for a long time.’
Le Nermord did not reply. Adamsberg looked at his unattractive face, which had regained a little firmness since this confession.
Meunier, the handwriting specialist, followed Danglard into the room. He considered the large writing which covered the entire length of the wall.
‘Nice souvenir for your office, Danglard,’ he murmured. ‘Yes, that’s the writing. It couldn’t be imitated.’
‘Thank you,’ said the chalk circle man, handing the chalk back to Danglard. ‘I can fetch more proof if you want it. My notebooks, the times when I went out, and my street map, which is covered with crosses, my list of objects. Anything you like. I know I’m asking too much, but would it be possible for this to be kept quiet? I would dearly like it if my students and colleagues didn’t find out. But I imagine that’s not possible. Still, it puts a different complexion on things, doesn’t it?’
‘Yes, I suppose so,’ Danglard admitted.
Le Nermord got up, finding more strength, and accepted a glass of beer. He paced from the window to the door, going to and fro in front of his line of graffiti.
‘I had no choice, I had to tell you. There was too much evidence piling up against me. But now I’ve told you, it alters things, doesn’t it? Do you think that if I’d really wanted to kill my wife, I’d have done it in one of my own circles? Without even bothering to disguise my handwriting? I hope we can please agree about that, at least.’
He shrugged his shoulders.
‘Of course, there’s no point now in hoping to be elected to the Academy. Or preparing my lectures for next year. The Collège won’t want to have anything to do with me after this. Perfectly understandable. But I didn’t have any choice. I had to go for the lesser of two evils, because the murder charge was so serious. It’s up to you to find out what’s really been happening. Who’s been using me? Ever since the first murder victim was found in one of my circles, I’ve been trying to understand – I felt I’d been caught in some sort of ghastly trap. I was very frightened when I heard about that first murder. As I told you, I’m not a brave man. In fact, frankly, I’m a coward. I racked my brain trying to understand. Who could have done it? Who’d been following me? Who’d put that woman’s body in my circle? And if I went on drawing circles after that, it wasn’t, as the press said, to tease the police. No, not at all. It was in the hope of finding out who was dogging my steps, who was the murderer, and to give myself some chance of proving my own innocence. I took a few days to reach that decision. You don’t easily decide to tempt a murderer to follow you at night, especially if you’re as cowardly as me. But I thought that once you found out who I was, I’d certainly be accused of murder. And that’s what the murderer must have been thinking: he was hoping that I‘d pay for his crimes. So it was a sort of struggle between him and me. The first real struggle I’d had in my life. And in that sense, I don’t regret it. But the only thing I didn’t for a moment imagine was that he would attack my own wife. All night, after you came to see me, I sat up asking myself why he had done that. I could think of only one explanation. The police had still not identified me with the circles, and that was spoiling the murderer’s plans. So he did this, he murdered my own Delphie, so that you’d come straight to me, and then he would be left in peace. Am I right?’
‘It’s possible,’ said Adamsberg.
‘But he was mistaken in one thing: any of your shrinks will tell you that I’m perfectly sane, I haven’t lost my mind. I suppose a lunatic might kill two strangers and then his own wife. But not me. I’m not insane. And I would never have killed Delphie and dragged her into one of my circles. Delphie. If it hadn’t been for my damned circles, she’d still be alive.’
‘Well, if you’re as sane as you say,’ asked Danglard, ‘why on earth did you draw those damned circles?’
‘So that lost things would belong to me, would be grateful to me. No, I’m not putting this very well.’
‘No, you’re not – I don’t get it at all,’ said Danglard.
‘I can’t help it,’ said Le Nermord. ‘I’ll try to write it down, that might work better.’
Adamsberg was thinking of Mathilde’s description: ‘A little man who’s lost everything and is greedy for power, how will he get out of this?’
‘Please find him,’ Le Nermord begged, in distress. ‘Find this killer. Do you think you can find him? Really?’
‘If you help us,’ said Danglard. ‘For instance, did you ever see anyone following you when you went out?’
‘Nothing clear enough to help you, unfortunately. At the beginning, two or three months ago, this woman sometimes followed me. It was long before any murder, and it didn’t bother me. I found her odd, but somehow friendly. I had the feeling that she was encouraging me from a distance. At first I was a bit scared of her, then I got to like seeing her. But what can I say? I think she was fairly tall, dark hair, good-looking and perhaps not young. But I can’t give you more detail than that. Still, I’m certain it was a woman.’
‘Yes,’ said Danglard, ‘we know about her. How many times did you see her?’
‘About a dozen times.’
‘And after the first murder?’
Le Nermord hesitated, as if he didn’t wish to remember something.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘After that I did see someone twice, but it wasn’t the dark woman. Someone else. Because I was scared, I hardly turned to look and ran off once I’d done my circle. I didn’t really have the guts to follow through on my plan, which was to try and see the face of the person. It was quite a small figure. Could have been a man or a woman, a peculiar outline. See, I can’t help you much.’
‘Why did you always have your bag with you?’ Adamsberg interrupted.
‘My briefcase?’ said Nermord. ‘With my papers? After I’d drawn my circle, I would go away quickly, usually by metro. I was so nervous that I needed to read, get back to my notes and return to being a professor. I’m sorry, I don’t know if I can explain it better than that. What will happen to me now?’
‘Well, we’ll probably let you go for now,’ said Adamsberg. ‘The magistrate won’t want to risk a false murder charge.’
‘No, of course not,’ said Danglard. ‘This does somewhat change things.’
Le Nermord looked a little better. He asked for a cigarette and packed the tobacco into his pipe.