‘So she must have been killed before the freeze, if the murderer could throw her in the water.’
‘No, the murderer had broken the ice, pushed her under, and weighted her down with stones. The ice froze over again in the night like a lid.’
‘How can you tell that?’
‘The victim had bought herself a new belt that day. She was wearing it. We know where she ate her supper and what she ate. See, with the cold, the stomach contents stayed quite fresh. Now we know the date and time of the murder. No need to ask me more questions on that kind of stuff, we’re specialists here.’
‘Isn’t that a bit suspicious, an anonymous letter turning up next day? The moment the murder was announced in the press?’
‘No, why should it be? We get lots of anonymous letters. People don’t like contacting the cops directly.’
‘I can understand them.’
Laliberté’s expression changed slightly. He was a skilled player but Adamsberg was able to read changes in a look more quickly than the RCMP laser detector. Laliberté was moving on to the attack and Adamsberg increased his air of nonchalance, folding his arms and leaning back in the chair.
‘Noëlla Corderon died on the evening of 26 October,’ the superintendent said simply. ‘Some time between 22.30 and 23.30.’
Perfect, if that was the right choice of word. The last time he had seen Noëlla alive was when he had jumped out of the sash window on Friday 24 October. He had been afraid that Laliberté was going to bring that sash down on his neck by saying she had been killed on the 24th.
‘Can you be any more precise about the time?’
‘No, she had supper about seven-thirty, and digestion was quite advanced.’
‘Which lake did you find her in? Was it far from here?’
Pink Lake, it has to be, Adamsberg thought. Where else?
‘Look, we’ll leave this till tomorrow,’ announced Laliberté suddenly, standing up. ‘Otherwise you’re going to go round saying the Québécois cops are bastards. I just wanted to tell you about it, that’s all. We’ve reserved you two rooms in the Hotel Brébeuf in Gatineau Park, OK?’
‘Brébeuf’s the name of someone?’
‘Yeah, a Frenchie, stubborn as a mule, who got eaten by the Iroquois because he preached them a pack of lies. We’ll pick you up about 2 p.m. so you can get over the jet-lag.’
Looking amiable once more, the superintendent held out his hand.
‘Then you can tell me all about this trident.’
‘If you’ll listen, Aurèle.’
In spite of all his resolutions, Adamsberg could not think calmly about the ghastly connection which had brought him face to face with the Trident half way across the world. The dead can travel fast, like lightning. He had felt the danger in the little church in Montreal, when Vivaldi had whispered to him that Fulgence knew he was on his trail and he’d better watch out. Vivaldi, the judge, the quintet, that was all he had time to think about before he fell asleep.
Retancourt knocked at his door towards midday, local time. His hair was still wet, he had just finished dressing and the prospect of starting the day by a conversation with his steely lieutenant did not cheer him up. He would have preferred to lie down and think, that is, wander through the million particles of his mind, which were now completely mixed up in the damned process wells. But Retancourt sat down calmly on the bed, placing on the low table a thermos of real coffee – how had she managed that? – two cups and some fresh rolls.
‘I went downstairs to get these,’ she explained. ‘Then if those two guys turn up early, we can talk in private here. Mitch Portelance’s face would ruin my appetite.’
XXXII
RETANCOURT SWALLOWED HER FIRST CUP OF COFFEE AND A ROLL, without saying a word. Adamsberg made no attempt to engage her in conversation, but his silence did not seem to bother her.
‘I’d like to understand something,’ said Retancourt, after finishing her first roll. ‘This murderer with the trident, we’ve never heard anything about him back in Paris. It’s a long-standing business, I suppose. And going by your expression when you saw the body, there’s some personal connection, am I right?’
‘Retancourt, you’ve been sent out here because Brézillon won’t let any of his staff go abroad alone. But you haven’t been asked to explore my private affairs. I don’t have to take you into my confidence.’
‘Forgive me,’ objected the lieutenant, ‘but I’m here to protect you, that’s what you told me. And if I don’t know anything, I’m not going to be able to provide any defence.’
‘But I don’t need any. Today, I’ll give Laliberté the information I have, and that’s it.’
‘What information?’
‘You’ll hear it the same time he does. He may accept it or not, that’s up to him. And tomorrow we’re out of here.’
‘Oh really? You think so?’
‘Why not, Retancourt?’
‘Commissaire, you’re a sensitive man. Don’t pretend you haven’t noticed anything.’
Adamsberg looked at her questioningly.
‘Laliberté isn’t the same man any more,’ she continued. ‘Nor are Portelance and Philippe-Auguste. The superintendent was taken aback when you took those measurements. He was expecting something else.’
‘Yes, I noticed that.’
‘He was expecting you to crack. When you saw the wounds, and again when you saw the face of the victim, which he took good care to uncover in two stages. But it didn’t happen, and that shook him. It shook him, but it didn’t deflect him. The inspectors are in on it too. I watched them the whole time.’
‘You didn’t seem to be taking any notice, just sitting in a corner, looking bored.’
‘That was an act.’ said Retancourt, pouring out two more cups of coffee. ‘Men pay no attention to a fat, plain woman.’
‘That’s not at all what I meant, lieutenant.’
‘But it’s exactly what I mean, sir,’ she said waving away the objection. ‘They don’t bother looking at her, she’s just part of the furniture, and they actually forget she’s there. I depend on that. Add a bored expression and hunched shoulders, and you’re sure to be able to see everything without being seen. Not everyone can get away with it, and it’s served me well in the past.’
‘You channelled your energy?’ said Adamsberg with a smile.
‘Into being invisible,’ said Retancourt, quite seriously. ‘I could watch Mitch and Philippe-Auguste quite easily. During the first two acts, when they showed you the wounds, then the face, they were sending each other signals. Same thing when we got to Act Three at headquarters.’
‘When was that?’
‘When Laliberté told you the date of the crime. Your failure to react disappointed them again. I wasn’t fooled. You’re very good at looking phlegmatic, commissaire, and it seemed authentic, while at the same time it had a bit of play-acting about it. But I need to know more, if I’m going to work for you.’
‘You’re accompanying me, Retancourt. Your mission is simply that.’
‘I belong to the squad and I’m doing what I’m supposed to do. I think I know what they’re after, but I need your version. You ought to trust me, sir.’
‘But why, lieutenant? You don’t really like me, do you?’
This impromptu accusation did not upset Retancourt.
‘Not much,’ she confirmed. ‘But that really doesn’t matter. You’re my boss and I’m doing my job. Laliberté is trying to trap you; he’s sure you knew that girl.’
‘Not true.’
‘You have to trust me,’ Retancourt repeated coolly. ‘You’re relying entirely on yourself. That’s your usual way, but today it would be a bad mistake. Unless, that is, you have a cast-iron alibi for the night of the 26th after ten-thirty.’
‘That bad?’