‘Officer,’ he said, ‘could you fetch me my briefcase? I need to make some notes.’
With the rapidity of a reptile, Vétilleux abandoned his slouched pose, whipped out the flask, undid the top, and swallowed several mouthfuls. By the time the officer was back, the whole thing was back under the pullover. Adamsberg admired such skill and dexterity. Practice had perfected the reflexes. Vétilleux was not stupid.
‘There was one thing,’ he said, with a little more colour in his cheeks. ‘I dreamed I was in a nice comfortable place all warm, ready to doze off. But I was fed up because I couldn’t use it.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because I wanted to throw up.’
‘Does that usually happen? Do you throw up often?’
‘Nah, never!’
‘Do you usually dream you’re in a warm place?’
‘Listen, mate, if I spent every night dreaming I was warm, I’d be in heaven.’
‘Do you own a carpenter’s awl?’
‘No, how would I, not unless that guy gave it me. The one who’d seen better days. Or maybe I pinched it? How do I know? All I know is I must’ve killed that poor girl with it. Maybe she fell off her bike in the road, and I thought she was a bear or something and went for her, how do I know?’
‘Is that what you think?’
‘They say my prints are on it, and I was right there, near her.’
‘But why would you have dragged the bear, and the bicycle, off the road?’
‘Someone like me, when I’ve drunk that much, who knows what’s going on in my head? All I know is I’m really sorry, because personally I wouldn’t hurt a soul. I don’t hurt animals, why would I hurt people, know what I mean? Even if I was a bear. Not even afraid of bears. Lot of bears in Canada. They go round the dustbins, like I do. Wouldn’t mind that, going round the dustbins with the bears.’
‘Vétilleux, if you want to know something about bears…’
Adamsberg bent close to Vétilleux and whispered in his ear.
‘Don’t say anything, don’t confess,’ he hissed. ‘Just keep mum, nothing but the truth, you can’t remember a thing. Promise me.’
‘Hey!’ said the guard. ‘Sorry, commissaire, but no whispering to the detainee.’
‘My apologies, officer. I was just telling him a risqué joke about bears. Poor guy hasn’t much to distract him.’
‘Even so, commissaire, I can’t permit it.’
Adamsberg gave Vétilleux a silent look, and made a sign indicating ‘Understood?’
Vétilleux nodded.
‘Promise?’ Adamsberg mouthed.
Another wink, from those red-rimmed but watchful eyes. This cop had given him a hip flask, he was on his side.
Adamsberg got up and on his way out squeezed Vétilleux’s shoulder lightly with his good hand, meaning ‘I’m going now, but I’m counting on you.’
On the way back to the office, the guard asked Adamsberg if, with respect, sir, he would mind telling him the story about the bear. Adamsberg was saved by Trabelmann’s appearance.
‘So what do you think?’ asked Trabelmann.
‘He had quite a bit to say.’
‘Ah, did he now? Not with me. He just sits there in a heap, sort of collapsed.’
‘Yes. It’s a warning sign. Don’t take this the wrong way, commandant, but with an alcoholic as far gone as he is, depriving him of drink too suddenly is dangerous. He might just die on you.’
‘I do know that, commissaire. He gets a glass of wine with every meal.’
‘If I were you, I’d triple the dose. Believe me, commandant, it would be best.’
‘Right you are,’ said Trabelmann without taking offence. ‘And in all this chat from him,’ he went on, sitting down at the desk, ‘did anything interesting turn up?’
‘Not stupid. He catches on fast, and he’s even fairly sensitive.’
‘Could be. But once a guy starts drinking like that, he’s had it. There are men who beat their wives, but they can be meek and mild until nightfall.’
‘But Vétilleux doesn’t have any form, does he? Never been in any fights? Did the Strasbourg police confirm that?’
‘Affirmative. No, he’d never given them any trouble. Until now. Are you going to tell me you’re on his side?’
‘I listened to him.’
Adamsberg rapidly recounted the interview with Vétilleux, naturally leaving out the hip flask bit.
‘One possibility that can’t be ruled out,’ he concluded, ‘is that Vétilleux was bundled into the back of a car. He says he felt warm and comfortable, but at the same time he felt sick.’
‘So commissaire, you’ve dreamed up a car, a trip out to the countryside, and a driver, just because “he felt warm”. And that’s it?’
‘Yes. That’s it.’
‘You make me laugh, Adamsberg. You make me think of the guys who pull rabbits out of hats.’
‘The rabbits really do come out of the hats though, don’t they?’
‘You’re thinking about this other wino, I suppose?’
‘A la-di-da wino who drank from his own bottle and carried a plastic cup around with him. A wino who’d seen better days. And was “oldish”.’
‘But a wino all the same.’
‘Possibly, but not definitely.’
‘Tell me something, commissaire. In all your career, has anyone ever been able to make you change your mind?’
Adamsberg took a moment to try and think honestly about the question. ‘No,’ he admitted finally, with a touch of regret in his voice.
‘That’s what I was afraid of. So let me tell you you’ve got an ego the size of a kitchen table.’
Adamsberg squeezed his eyes shut without replying.
‘I’m not trying to pick a quarrel, commissaire. But in this case, you’ve come here with a load of your own dreamt-up ideas that nobody else has ever believed. Then you try and rearrange the facts till they suit you. I don’t say there aren’t some interesting things in your version. But you don’t look at the other side, you don’t even listen to it. And I’ve got a suspect who was found drunk, a few feet away from the victim, with the weapon at his side and his fingerprints all over it. Do you hear what I’m saying?’
‘I perfectly understand your point of view.’
‘But you couldn’t give a damn about it, could you? And you’ll carry on with your own theory. Other people can just take a running jump, can’t they, with their work and their ideas and impressions. Just tell me one thing. There are killers still walking the streets all over France. Cases we’ve never solved, you or me, sacks of them in the archives. And you don’t bother yourself with them. So why this one?’
‘When you read dossier no. 6, for the year 1973, you’ll see that the teenager who was brought to trial was my brother. It ruined his life and I lost him.’
‘That’s your “childhood memory,” is it? You might have said so earlier.’
‘You wouldn’t have listened to the rest of the story. You’d have said I was too closely involved, that it was too personal.’
‘Affirmative. Nothing like having one of your relations in the shit, to send a policeman off the straight and narrow.’
He pulled out dossier no. 6 and put it on top of the pile with a sigh.
‘Listen, Adamsberg,’ he said. ‘Because of your reputation, I’ll look at your dossiers. So we’ll have had a full, frank and impartial exchange of information. You’ve had a look at my patch, I’ll look at yours. Fair enough? I’ll see you again tomorrow morning. There’s a perfectly good hotel, a couple of hundred metres up the road on the right.’
Adamsberg walked for a long time along country roads, before checking into the hotel. He couldn’t blame Trabelmann, who had been very cooperative, all things considered. But the commandant wouldn’t go along with him, any more than anyone else. Everywhere, he had had to face incredulous stares; everywhere, he had had to carry the weight of the judge on his shoulders, alone.