‘Wake up, lieutenant! Your fucking boss is the devil on skates, and he’s fooled you too.’
‘I don’t get it,’ Retancourt muttered obstinately. ‘He wouldn’t do that.’
The voice of another cop – it sounded like Philippe-Auguste, Adamsberg thought – broke in.
‘Nothing in here.’
‘Nope, nothing,’ came the dry voice of Portelance.
‘Don’t worry,’ said the first voice. ‘When we catch him, he can do his explaining to you, if you’re his “team-mate”. Come on, we’ve got to search the rest of the hotel.’
He shut the door, apologising again for bursting in rudely.
At eleven, wearing a grey suit, white shirt and tie, Adamsberg walked calmly over to his brother’s car. There were police all over the place, but he didn’t glance at them. At eleven-forty, his bus left for Montreal. Retancourt had told him to get off one stop before the terminus. All he had in his pockets was Basile’s address and a note from Retancourt.
As he watched the trees go past the bus window, he thought he had never been sheltered so solidly and securely as against Retancourt’s gleaming white body. Better than the mountain crannies where his great-uncle had taken refuge. How on earth had she managed it? It was a complete mystery. One that all Voisenet’s chemistry would never be able to explain.
XXXVII
LOUISSEIZE AND SANSCARTIER APPROACHED LALIBERTÉ’S OFFICE, without enthusiasm, to present their report.
‘The boss is about to go ape,’ said Louisseize in a whisper.
‘Yeah, he’s been cursing like crazy since this morning,’ said Sanscartier with a smile.
‘You think that’s funny?’
‘What’s really funny, Berthe, is that Adamsberg has given us all the slip. He’s rattled Laliberté’s cage all right.’
‘Well, laugh if you like, but we’re the ones who are going to pick up the tab.’
‘It’s not our fault, Berthe, we did our best. Want me to do the talking? He doesn’t scare me.’
Standing at his desk, Laliberté was completing the orders he was now issuing by telephone: photographs of the suspect to be circulated, roadblocks, police checks at all the airports.
‘Well?’ he yelled, hanging up. ‘Where did you look?’
‘We searched the whole park, superintendent,’ Sanscartier replied. ‘Nothing. He might have gone for a walk and had an accident. Met a bear?’
The superintendent wheeled round and turned on his sergeant. ‘Have you completely lost it, Sanscartier? Don’t you get it? He’s cut and run.’
‘We don’t know that for sure. He meant to come back. After all, he kept his promise about sending us all those files on the judge.’
Laliberté thumped the table with his fist.
‘His story’s a load of bullshit! Take a look at that,’ he said, holding out a sheet. ‘His precious judge died sixteen years ago! So put that in your pipe and smoke it.’
Sanscartier registered the judge’s date of death without showing surprise and nodded.
‘Maybe there’s a copycat at work,’ he suggested. ‘After all, the trident story seemed to fit.’
‘His story’s ancient history. We’ve been taken for a ride and that’s all there is to it.’
‘I didn’t think he was lying.’
‘If he wasn’t lying, it’s even worse. It means he’s completely cuckoo and living in a world of his own.’
‘He didn’t seem crazy to me.’
‘Don’t make me laugh, Sanscartier. His story was strictly for the birds.’
‘But he didn’t invent those other murders, did he?’
‘Look, sergeant,’ said Laliberté, motioning to Sanscartier to sit down, ‘you’ve been off message for a few days now, and my patience is running out. So listen hard, and get thinking. That night, Adamsberg was in a black mood, right? He’d had so much to drink he couldn’t see straight, right? When he was chucked out of L’Ecluse, he was all over the place, talking rubbish. The barman told us that, right?’
‘Right.’
‘And aggressive with it. “Come any nearer and I’ll spear ye.” Spear ye, Sanscartier, does that by any chance ring a bell? About the choice of weapon?’
Sanscartier agreed.
‘He was having a fling with that girl. And the girl often used the path, right?’
‘Right.’
‘Maybe she gave him the brush-off, maybe he was jealous and got mad at her. Possible, yes or no?’
‘Yes,’ said Sanscartier.
‘Or else, and this is what I think, she told him some stuff and nonsense about being pregnant. Maybe she wanted to get him to marry her. And it turned into a fight. He didn’t get beaten up by a branch, Sanscartier, he got beaten up because he was beating her up.’
‘We don’t even know for sure he met her.’
‘Are you listening or what?’
‘I only said, we don’t have any evidence.’
‘I’ve had it up to here with your lip, Sanscartier. We’ve got bucketsful of evidence. Fingerprints on the belt?’
‘Maybe he left them there earlier? He knew her after all.’
‘I’m beginning to wonder if you’re off your trolley as well, sergeant. I’ll spell it out. She bought the belt that day. Look, the girl turns up on the path. He sees red, goes bananas, and kills her. Full stop.’
‘I do understand what you’re saying, superintendent, it’s just that I find it hard to believe. I can’t make it fit together, Adamsberg and murder.’
‘Give up, won’t you! You met him a couple of weeks ago. What do you know about the guy? Nothing! He’s a phoney bastard. He killed her all right. And what proves he’s got a screw loose is he can’t remember what happened that night. He’s wiped it from his memory. Right?’
‘Right,’ said Sanscartier.
‘So you are going to nail this guy for me. Get the hell outta here and you’re on overtime till he’s under lock and key.’
XXXVIII
BASILE RAISED NO OBJECTION TO TAKING IN AN EXHAUSTED INDIVIDUAL with no luggage, since the man brought a recommendation from Violette, which was as good as an official pass.
‘Will this be OK?’ he asked, showing him into a small room.
‘Yes, fine, Thanks a million, Basile.’
‘Have something to eat before you go for a nap. Violette’s some woman, eh?’
‘An earth goddess, I’d say.’
‘And she fooled all the cops in Gatineau?’ Basile asked, highly amused.
So he knew roughly what had happened. Basile was small and pink-cheeked, his eyes magnified by red-framed spectacles.
‘Can you tell me how she did it?’
Adamsberg summed it up quickly.
‘Oh no, that’s too much!’ said Basile, fetching some sandwiches. ‘Sit down and give me the whole story, from the beginning.’
So Adamsberg told him the Retancourt epic, starting with her invisibility at HQ and ending with the imitation of a pylon. What for Adamsberg was an appalling situation amused Basile a great deal.
‘What beats me,’ Adamsberg ended, ‘is how she didn’t lose her balance. I weigh 72 kilos, you know.’
‘Well what you gotta understand is that Violette knows the score. She can channel her energy in any direction.’
‘I know that. She’s on my staff.’
Or was, he thought as he went to his room. Since even if they managed to cross the Atlantic, he wouldn’t be able to go and sit in his office any more, with his feet on his desk. He was a wanted man, a criminal on the run. Later, he thought. Later, he would slice up all the elements into slivers and put them through the test.
Retancourt arrived at about nine that evening. Basile, entering into the spirit of things, had already made up her room, got some food in, and obeyed her requests. He had bought enough overnight equipment, clothes and razors for Adamsberg to last him a week.
‘Piece of cake,’ Retancourt told Adamsberg, munching her way through Basile’s pancakes and maple syrup.