‘I know you’ve got your orders,’ Laliberté said with a grin. ‘But, don’t take this personally, I don’t know what good she’s going to be to you, your fatso lieutenant. She doesn’t look as if she could rub two sticks together. Wouldn’t want her in my squad.’
XXXIV
BACK IN HIS HOTEL ROOM, ADAMSBERG WONDERED IF HE SHOULD CALL Danglard, and warn him to pull out the papers connected with his brother’s case. But perhaps his line was bugged. And once Laliberté learned that Fulgence was dead, things would heat up, in any case. Well, so what? The superintendent didn’t know about his liaison with Noëlla, and if it hadn’t been for the anonymous letter, he wouldn’t have thought about him at all. On Tuesday, they would have to say goodbye and agree to differ, as with Trabelmann, and then each go their separate ways.
He packed quickly and closed his overnight bag. He was intending to drive through the night, snatching a couple of hours’ sleep on the way, and to arrive at Detroit at dawn, so as to be sure to catch his brother. It was such a long time since he had seen Raphaël that he could feel no emotion, so unreal did the situation seem. He was changing his T-shirt when Retancourt walked in.
‘Christ, Retancourt, you might knock.’
‘Sorry, but I was afraid you might already have gone. When do we leave?’
‘I’m going on my own. Private trip.’
‘I’ve got my orders,’ the lieutenant repeated obstinately. ‘I’m supposed to accompany you. Everywhere.’
‘Look, I appreciate your sympathy and help, Retancourt, but this is my brother, and I haven’t seen him for thirty years. Just leave me alone.’
‘Sorry, sir, but I’m coming. I’ll leave you alone with him, don’t worry.’
‘Lieutenant, will you please just leave me alone, full stop.’
‘OK, but I’ve got the car keys. You won’t get far on foot.’
Adamsberg took a step towards her.
‘You may be strong, commissaire, but you won’t get these keys off me. I suggest we stop messing about like kids. We go together, and we can take it in turns to drive.’
Adamsberg gave up. Fighting it out with Retancourt might take at least an hour of his time.
‘Very well,’ he said resignedly. ‘Since I’m stuck with you, get your things. You’ve got three minutes.’
‘All done. I’ll see you at the car.’
Adamsberg finished getting dressed and met her in the car park. His blonde bodyguard had channelled her energy into sticking to him like glue for his personal protection.
‘I’ll drive first,’ said Retancourt. ‘You’ve been arguing all afternoon with the superintendent, while I was taking a nap. I’m perfectly fresh.’
She pushed back the driving seat to accommodate her legs, and took off on the highway to Detroit. Adamsberg had to remind her of the ninety kilometre speed limit and she slowed down. In fact, Adamsberg was not reluctant to let someone else do the driving. He stretched out his legs, and put his hands on his thighs.
‘You didn’t tell them he’s dead, did you?’ said Retancourt after a few kilometres.
‘They’ll find that out soon enough tomorrow. But you’re worrying unnecessarily. Laliberté hasn’t any evidence against me. It’s just that anonymous letter that’s bugging him. I’ll finish my business with him Tuesday, and we’re out of here Wednesday.’
‘If you finish your business with them on Tuesday, we certainly won’t get away on Wednesday.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because if you set foot there on Tuesday, they’re not going to have any more friendly chats. They’re going to charge you.’
‘You certainly like to dramatise, Retancourt.’
‘I’m simply observing. There was a car outside the hotel. They’ve been following us since Gatineau. They’re following you to be precise. Philibert Lafrance and Rhéal Ladouceur.’
‘Putting a tail on someone isn’t the same as arresting him. You’re channelling your energy into exaggerating things.’
‘You know that anonymous letter that Laliberté didn’t want you to see? There were two faint black lines on it, five centimetres from the top of the page, one centimetre from the bottom.’
‘A photocopy, you mean?’
‘Yep. With the heading and bottom of the page covered up. A hasty DIY job. The paper, the typeface and layout were all just like the paper we used on the course. I had to put together the dossier in Paris if you remember. And the formula “Has taken a personal interest in it” sounded a bit official to me. The RCMP fabricated that letter.’
‘What on earth for?’
‘To provide a credible motive to get your bosses to send you back over. If Laliberté had revealed why he really wanted you, Brézillon would never have allowed him to extradite you.’
‘Extradite me? What are you driving at, lieutenant? Laliberté will want to know what I was doing on the night of the 26th, yes, OK. I wonder the same thing myself. And he may well wonder what I was up to with Noëlla. I wonder about that myself too. But good grief, Retancourt, I’m not a suspect for her murder!’
‘This afternoon, you all went off to send faxes, forgetting fat old Retancourt on her chair, yes? Remember?’
‘Sorry, you could perfectly well have come along.’
‘Absolutely not. The whole point was that I was already invisible, none of them realised they’d left me there on my own. Alone, sitting next to the big green dossier. I had time to get away with it.’
‘Get away with what?’
‘Photocopying it. I’ve got the essentials in my bag.’
Adamsberg looked at his lieutenant in the dark. The car was going well over the speed limit.
‘Do you do that back home? Photocopy dossiers whenever you feel like it?’
‘When we’re back home, I’m not on a mission to protect.’
‘Slow down. It’s not the moment to get caught by those inspectors with a timebomb in your bag.’
‘You’re right,’ said Retancourt, taking her foot off the gas. ‘It’s these damned automatics, I can’t seem to go slowly.’
‘That’s not the only risk you’ve taken. The shit would really have hit the fan if one of those cops had caught you at the photocopier.’
‘The shit would have hit all right if I hadn’t made the copies. It was Sunday and there was no one else around. I could hear everything you were saying echoing down the corridor. At the least scrape of a chair, I would have been able to get back in position. I know what I’m doing.’
‘I wonder.’
‘They’ve done their homework on you. A lot of it. They know you were sleeping with the girl.’
‘How? From the friends she was staying with?’
‘No. But Noëlla had a pregnancy test in her handbag, a urine sample.’
‘And was she? Pregnant?’
‘Can’t have been. There aren’t any tests that would give a result in a few days, but men wouldn’t know that.’
‘So why did she have the test in that case? Her old boyfriend?’
‘Just to get you hooked. Find the report, it’s in my bag. Blue file, round about page 10.’
Adamsberg opened Retancourt’s capacious bag which seemed to contain an entire survival kit: pliers, rope, pitons, make-up, knife, flashlight, various plastic bags. Putting on the overhead light, he looked up page 10, analysis of Noëlla Corderon’s urine, evidence item RRT 3067. ‘Residual traces of semen,’ he read. ‘Comparison with sample STG 6712, taken from the bedding in the apartment of Adamsberg, Jean-Baptiste. DNA comparison positive. Formal identification of sexual partner.’
Underneath the text were two diagrams showing the DNA sequences in 28 strips, one taken from the test tube, one from his own sheets. Exactly the same. Adamsberg put away the file and turned off the light. Although he would not have been over-intimidated by talking about semen to his lieutenant, he was grateful to her for letting him read this stuff in silence.