‘But I ain’t got nothing to say,’ he said in a voice without expression. ‘I dunno what happened, can’t remember.’
‘Yes, I know. But before all that, before they picked you up on the road?’
‘Don’t even know how I got there, guv. Don’t like walking. Couple of kilometres is a long way for me.’
‘Yes, but before that,’ repeated Adamsberg. ‘Before you were on the road, what were you doing, can you remember?’
‘Yeah, I remember that, course I can. I haven’t forgotten the rest of my bleedin’ life, have I? Just how I got to be on the fuckin’ road and all that stuff after.’
‘I know,’ Adamsberg repeated patiently, ‘but before that.’
‘I was drinking, wasn’t I?’
‘Where?’
‘At the counter, to start with.’
‘What counter?’
‘In the bar, Le Petit Bouchon, by the greengrocer’s. See, I know where I was, at least.’
‘Then what?’
‘Then they chucked me out, as per usual, I was broke. But I was so pissed I couldn’t even hold my hand out. So I looked for somewhere to kip down. Because it’s bleedin’ cold here, I tell you. And my usual spot, these other so-and-sos had pinched it, and they had dogs with ’em. So I had to move on, and where I went was in this playground I know, with a sort of plastic cube-thing the kids play in. It’s a bit warmer in there, it’s kind of like a dog kennel. Little door, and on the floor there’s soft stuff like moss, only not real moss, so the kids don’t get hurt.’
‘What playground was this?’
‘It’s got ping-pong tables, it’s by the bar, ’cause I don’t like walking, I told you.’
‘And after that? You were on your own there, were you?’
‘Ah no, there was this fella, wasn’t there, he was after the same pitch. Bugger that, I thought. But I changed my mind pretty quick, ’cause this guy he had a couple of litres with him. My lucky day, seemingly, so what I said was, you want to come in here, you share the hooch. And he said OK, you’re on, fair enough. Piece of luck.’
‘Remember anything about him, what he looked like?’
‘Can’t remember everything, can I? I’d had a skinful already, and it was pitch dark. Anyway you don’t ask questions, someone comes along with some booze. I wasn’t interested in him, just his bottles.’
‘Come on, surely you can remember something about him. Try. Just tell me anything you noticed, what he talked like, how he drank. Was he big or small, old or young, does anything at all come back?’
Vétilleux scratched his head as if to try and get his mind working, then sat up on the bed and looked at Adamsberg through red-rimmed eyes.
‘They don’t give me nothing in here.’
Adamsberg had come forearmed, with a small hip flask of brandy in his pocket. He looked meaningfully at Vétilleux, indicating the officer on guard at the cell door.
‘Ah,’ said Vétilleux, catching on.
‘Wait a minute,’ mouthed Adamsberg, silently.
Vétilleux got the message immediately and nodded.
‘Come on, I’m sure your memory’s not that bad,’ Adamsberg continued. ‘Tell me about this other man.’
‘Oldish,’ said Vétilleux, ‘but kind of youngish too. Can’t say exactly what I mean. He wasn’t decrepit. But old.’
‘Clothes?’
‘Looked just like any other wino on the streets, wanting a place to shelter. Old coat, scarf, couple of woolly hats, gloves, tucked up against the cold, you gotta, haven’t you, unless you want your balls to freeze off.’
‘Glasses? Beard?’
‘Nah, no glasses, could see his eyes under his cap. No beard neither, but he hadn’t shaved for a bit. He didn’t smell, mind.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I wouldn’t share a kip with a guy who smells, it’s just a thing with me. I go to the showers twice a week, I don’t like smelling bad. And I don’t piss in the kids’ playground either. Just because I like a drink don’t mean I’m going to be nasty to kids, does it? They’re nice, they talk to me. They say “ain’t you got no mummy or daddy?” They’re OK, kids are, till the grown-ups get at them. So I don’t piss in their playground. They respect me, I respect them.’
Adamsberg turned to the duty guard.
‘Officer,’ he said, ‘would you mind fetching me a couple of aspirin and some water. It’s for the pain,’ he added, lifting the bandaged arm.
The officer nodded and went out. Vétilleux shot out his hand to snatch the hip flask, and put it in his pocket. When, a minute or so later, the officer came back with a plastic cup of water and the aspirin, Adamsberg forced himself to swallow them.
‘Now then,’ said Vétilleux, pointing to Adamsberg’s cup. ‘That reminds me. The guy who shared with me, he did something funny. He had a cup just like that. And he had his bottle, and I had mine. He didn’t drink it straight from the bottle, see. So he was a bit la-di-da, bit of a toff.’
‘Are you sure about that?’
‘Yeah, course I am. And I said to myself, he’s seen better days, I’ll bet. There’s people like that, you know. Some woman chucks ’em out, they start drinking, then it’s downhill all the way. Or their business goes bust or something. No guts. Giving up just because you’ve lost your woman or your job. Me, I’d carry on. But then me, it’s different, s’not that I haven’t got guts. But no way I could go downhill, see, ’cause I was already bottom of the pile. It’s not the same, is it?’
‘No, I see,’ Adamsberg agreed.
‘Mind you, I’m not setting myself up to judge anyone, but there’s a difference. And when my Josie left me, maybe it did give me an extra push. But I was already drinking by then, and that’s why she left me, you wanna know. Can’t blame her, I’m not judging her. Or anyone really. Except for those rich buggers who never even throw me a coin. Yeah, I’ve gone and dumped sometimes on their doorsteps, people like that. But I wouldn’t do it in the kids’ playground.’
‘Are you sure this other man had seen better days?’
‘Oh yeah, easy to see. And not so long ago, I’d say. ’Cause once you’re down and out, you don’t go round with your own cup for long. Maybe you hang on to it for three, four months, then you just drink from any old bottle like everyone else. Except I won’t drink with guys who smell bad, that’s different, that’s just me, I don’t like smells, I’m not judging them.’
‘So you think he hadn’t been on the streets that long? Three or four months?’
‘How would I know? But I’d say not long. My guess is some woman’s chucked him out, he finds himself with nowhere to go, something like that.’
‘Did you talk to him much?’
‘Nah, not a lot. Just stuff like nice drop of wine, bloody cold outside, that sort of thing.’
Vétilleux had his hand resting on his thick sweater, over the shirt pocket where he had slipped the flask.
‘Did he stay long?’
‘Don’t ask me that, time don’t mean much to me.’
‘What I’m saying is, did he go away again? Or did he sleep there, same place as you?’
‘No idea. That’s when I must have passed out. Or gone walkies, I don’t know.’
‘And after that?’
Vétilleux opened his arms and dropped them again.
‘Found myself on the road, in the morning, gendarmes all over me.’
‘Did you dream? Remember seeing anything, smelling anything, any sensations at all?’
The man frowned, looking puzzled, his hand on his worn old sweater, and his long nails scratching at the wool. Adamsberg turned to the guard, who was stamping his feet to keep his circulation going.