Dog Will Have His Day (4 page)

Kehlweiler took out his sandwich and started to munch it, still standing up. He let crumbs fall everywhere. The policeman got cross, not unnaturally.

‘So what’s this little thing, what’s it all about?’

‘Cooked pigs’ trotters. Look, it won’t interest you, it’s too complicated to explain.’

‘Surname, first name?’

‘Granville, Louis Granville.’

‘Your papers?’

‘Haven’t got them on me. I didn’t come for that, I came in to cooperate with the police of my country.’

‘Get lost. We can do without your cooperation.’

An inspector approached and took Louis by the shoulder. Louis turned round slowly. It was working.

‘Is it you causing this trouble?’

‘Not at all. I want to make a statement to Paquelin.’

‘Commissaire Paquelin?’

‘The very same.’

The inspector made a sign to the first cop and pulled Louis towards a glass-fronted office door.

‘The commissaire can’t be disturbed. You can tell me about whatever piddling nonsense is on your mind.’

‘It’s not piddling nonsense, it’s pigs’ trotters.’

‘Surname, first name?’

‘Gravilliers, Louis.’

‘Just now you said Granville.’

‘Don’t let’s quibble over it, inspector, I haven’t much time, I’m in a hurry.’

‘Oh really, is that a fact?’

‘You’ve heard of Blériot, the guy who got it into his head to fly the Channel, so as to get there quicker? Well, he’s my ancestor.’

The inspector put his hands to his cheeks. He was getting pretty cross.

‘So,’ Louis went on, ‘you can imagine the problem. It’s in my blood. Has to come out, as Paquelin says.’

‘You know the commissaire?’

‘Yes, well. Very well in fact. But he doesn’t know me. He can’t remember faces, which is a drawback in your job. Tell me, were you here when there was that regrettable incident in the cells over there?’

The inspector passed his hand across his eyes. This one didn’t look as if he had had much sleep, and Kehlweiler understood that kind of suffering better than anyone. While waiting for the inspector to decide to push him higher up the hierarchy, Louis took Bufo out, and held him in his left hand. He couldn’t allow Bufo to suffocate in his pocket, police station or no police station. Amphibians have their needs.

‘What the hell is that?’ asked the inspector, recoiling.

‘Nothing,’ replied Louis, a little snappily. ‘Just my toad. He’s not bothering anyone, as far as I can see.’

It’s true that people are very disappointing in their attitude to toads, they make a huge fuss about them. And yet they’re a hundred times less of a nuisance than a dog. The inspector passed his hand over his eyes again.

‘Right, off you go, out of here,’ he said.

‘Impossible. I wouldn’t have come in if I’d wanted to go out again. I’m a persistent guy. You know the story of the man who wouldn’t leave even when threatened with bayonets? Well, never mind him. All you need to know is, he was my ancestor. I don’t say it’s an advantage but that’s just how it is. You’ll have a job to get rid of me.’

‘I don’t give a damn about your ancestors!’ shouted the inspector.

‘Please yourself,’ said Kehlweiler.

He sat down and munched the sandwich slowly. It had to last. It wasn’t very praiseworthy to be harassing a cop who was short of sleep, but he was enjoying himself all the same. Pity the cop didn’t want to enjoy himself too. Anyone can play the ancestor game, it’s not forbidden. And as far as ancestors were concerned, Louis was prepared to lend out as many as you like.

Silence fell in the office. The inspector dialled a number. His superior officer no doubt. He was saying ‘captain’.

‘There’s a guy here, won’t go away . . . Yes, perhaps . . . You can come and take him and cook him in a pie if you want, you’ll be doing me a favour . . . I don’t know . . . Yes.’

‘Thank you,’ said Kehlweiler, ‘but it’s Paquelin I wanted to see.’

‘What nationality are you?’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Bloody hell, are you French?’

Kehlweiler spread his arms evasively.

‘Could be, Lieutenant Ferrière, it’s quite possible.’

Now was the moment to bring out ‘lieutenant’.

The inspector leaned forward.

‘You know my name?’

The chief inspector opened the door quietly, with aggressive calm. He was a small man and Kehlweiler took immediate advantage of that to stand up. Louis was about one metre ninety, and it often helped.

‘Please get rid of him, sir,’ said Ferrière, ‘but you may need to check him out first. This guy knows my name, he’s playing games.’

‘What did you come in here for? Lunch?’

There was something about the chief inspector’s eyes that seemed to hint that he might not greatly appreciate the doings of his boss. Kehlweiler decided it was worth taking the chance.

‘No, I’ve got something for Paquelin, to do with pigs’ trotters. Do you get on with Paquelin? I find him a bit severe, a bit prejudiced.’

The other man hesitated briefly.

‘Follow me,’ he said.

‘Not so fast,’ said Kelhweiler, ‘I have this damaged knee.’

Louis picked up his bag, and they went to the first floor; the chief inspector closed the door.

‘Did you know Adamsberg?’ Louis asked, putting Bufo on a chair. ‘Jean-Baptiste Adamsberg? The casual one? The untidy cop who sniffs things out by intuition.’

The inspector nodded.

‘Are you Lanquetot? Captain Yves Lanquetot? Am I right?’

‘Where are you from?’ asked Lanquetot defensively.

‘The Rhine.’

‘And that’s a toad? A common toad?’

‘It’s a pleasure to meet someone who knows about toads. Do you have one?’

‘Not exactly . . . Well, in the country, near the doorstep, we have one living there.’

‘And you talk to him?’

The inspector hesitated.

‘Now and then,’ he said.

‘Nothing wrong with that. Bufo and I have great chats. He’s nice. A bit slow but you can’t expect him to change the world now, can you?’

Lanquetot sighed. He wasn’t sure what to do. If he sent this individual and his toad packing, he was taking a risk, because Louis seemed to know a lot. Keeping him in his office would obviously be pointless, it was Paquelin he wanted to see. And if he didn’t get to see him, he might go on causing mayhem and scattering crumbs all over the station. But if he sent him through to Paquelin with his pigs’ trotters story, that would be taking a risk too, and a good chance he’d get torn off a strip himself. Unless this guy was aiming to put Paquelin on the spot, in which case it could be worth it, rather pleasing in fact. Lanquetot looked up.

‘You’re not finishing your sandwich?’

‘I’m waiting till I’m with Paquelin, it’s a strategic weapon. Obviously you can’t use it all the time, you have to be hungry. It’s called keeping your powder dry.’

‘And your name is? Your real name, I mean.’

Kehlweiler looked appraisingly at the chief inspector. If this man hadn’t changed, if he was still as Adamsberg had described him, it was OK to go ahead. But sometimes if the boss is strict, other people get the same way and change their spots. Kehlweiler decided to trust the face.

‘Kehlweiler,’ he answered. ‘Louis Kehlweiler. Here’s my ID.’

Lanquetot nodded. Yes, he recognised the name.

‘And what do you want with Paquelin?’

‘I’m hoping he’ll take early retirement. I want to make him an offer which he will refuse. If he accepts, well, that’ll be the worse for me. But if he refuses, which I’m counting on, I’ll handle it myself. And if this affair gets me anywhere, he’ll be in trouble for neglecting to follow up a potential crime lead.’

Lanquetot was still hesitating.

‘You needn’t be implicated,’ said Louis. ‘All I’m asking you to do is get me in to see him, and then look blank. If you could be present during our conversation, that would provide a witness, if one should be needed.’

‘That’s easy. You just have to ask permission to leave for Paquelin to make you stay. But what’s this all about?’

‘It’s just a little something, unusual, perplexing and very interesting. I think Paquelin will chuck me out before he’s realised its importance. He doesn’t understand about muddle.’

Lanquetot picked up the phone.

‘Commissaire? Yes I know, you’re very busy. It’s just that I’ve got with me this oddball, who insists he wants to see you in person . . . No, I think it might be wise to see him . . . He has a few tabs on us . . . That, er, tricky business . . . Yes, in the cells . . . He mentioned it. Perhaps he’s looking for nits to pick, perhaps he’s just boasting, but I’d prefer you made an estimate yourself. It should be all right, he hasn’t even got his ID on him. Right, I’ll bring him up.’

Lanquetot picked up Kehlweiler’s papers and stuffed them in his pocket.

‘Here we go. I’ll push and shove you a bit, into the office, to give it a bit of realism.’

‘Be my guest.’

Lanquetot threw rather than ushered Kehlweiler into the commissaire’s office. Louis grimaced, the realism had hurt his leg.

‘Here he is, sir. No ID. He changes his name every couple of minutes. Granville, Gravilliers. I’ll leave him to you, shall I?’

‘Where do you think you’re going, Lanquetot?’ asked the commissaire. He had a hoarse voice, very bright eyes, a thin and quite handsome face with that detestable mouth which Louis well remembered. Louis had started on his sandwich again, and was dropping crumbs on the floor.

‘I’m going to get a coffee, sir, with your permission. I’m exhausted.’

‘You’ll stay right where you are, Lanquetot.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Commissaire Paquelin examined Kehlweiler, without asking him to sit down. Louis put Bufo on the empty chair. The commissaire observed the scene without a word. He wasn’t stupid, Commissaire Paquelin, he wasn’t going to explode just because of a toad on a chair.

‘So, my friend, you’ve come to stir up a little shit in our offices.’

‘Could be.’

‘Last name, first name, nationality, occupation.’

‘Granville, Louis, French, none.’

‘None what?’

‘Occupation, I don’t have a job any more.’

‘So what’s your game?’

‘I’m not playing games. I just came here because it’s the principal police station in our district, that’s all.’

‘And . . .?’

‘I’ll allow you to judge. It’s about a small object that’s bothering me. I thought the correct thing would be to tell you about it. No need to look for any other motives.’

‘I’ll look for motives where I please. Why didn’t you leave this object with one of my staff?’

‘They wouldn’t have taken it seriously.’

‘What is it?’

Louis put his sandwich down on the commissaire’s desk and slowly searched his pockets. He brought out the scrap of newspaper, which he carefully unfolded under the policeman’s nose.

‘Careful,’ he warned. ‘It stinks.’

Paquelin leaned gingerly over the object.

‘What’s this bit of filth?’

‘Just what I asked myself when I found it.’

‘Do you pick up every piece of rubbish you see and take it to the police station?’

‘I’m just doing my civic duty, Paquelin.’

‘Monsieur le commissaire to you, as you well know. Your provocative behaviour is contemptible and pathetic to see. So what is this rubbish?’

‘You can see as well as I can. It’s a bone.’

Paquelin leaned over the object more closely. The little thing was gnawed, corroded, pieced with dozens of pinpricks, and slightly brown in colour. He’d seen bones before, but no, this fellow must be having him on.

‘That isn’t a bone. What are you after?’

‘I’m serious, monsieur le commissaire. I think it is a bone, and a human bone, what’s more. I agree that it’s hard to make out and not very big, but I thought to myself, that is a bone. So I came to see whether it was a matter for the police, whether there had been any reports of missing persons in the
quartier
. I found it on the Place de la Contrescarpe. Because, you see, there may have been a crime, since I’ve got a bone.’

‘My friend, I’ve seen plenty of bones in my career,’ said Paquelin, his voice rising. ‘Burnt, crushed, pulverised. And that is not a human bone, I can tell you.’

Paquelin picked up the object in his large hand and shoved it towards Kehlweiler.

‘You just have to feel its weight. It’s hollow, empty, nothing. A bone would be heavier than that. You can take it away again.’

‘I know, I weighed it too. But it might be prudent to check? Get it analysed? A report?’

Paquelin rocked on his feet, ran a hand through his fair hair; it’s true that he would have been really good-looking if not for that detestable mean mouth.

‘I see,’ he said. ‘You’re trying to trap me, Granville, or whoever you are. You’re pushing me to go on a wild goose chase, make me look ridiculous, then plant a newspaper article, it’s a little game of fool the cops . . . Well, it won’t work, my friend. The stupid attempt at provocation, the toad, the little mystery, the big joke, the silly music-hall act. Find another trick. You aren’t the first or the last person who’s tried to make a fool of me. And I’m the boss around here, OK?’

‘I insist, commissaire. I want to know if anyone’s been reported missing in this
quartier
. Yesterday, day before, recently.’

‘You’re out of luck, nothing to report.’

‘It could be that no one’s called you about it yet. Sometimes people wait a long time. I’ll have to drop in next week to find out.’

‘And then what? You want copies of all our day records?’

‘Why not?’ asked Kehlweiler, shrugging.

He screwed up the piece of paper and put it back in his pocket.

‘So that’s a no, is it? Not interested? Still, Paquelin, I think you’re being very negligent.’

‘That will do!’ said Paquelin, standing up.

Kehlweiler smiled. At last, the commissaire was losing his temper.

‘Lanquetot, chuck him in the cells,’ Paquelin muttered, ‘and get him to cough up his identity.’

‘Ah, no,’ Kehlweiler said, ‘not the cells. Impossible, I’ve got a dinner date.’

‘The cells!’ Paquelin repeated, with a sharp gesture towards Lanquetot.

Lanquetot had stood up.

‘Permit me, please, to phone my wife,’ asked Kehlweiler, ‘to let her know. That’s my right, Paquelin, you know that.’