The Chalk Circle Man (11 page)

Mathilde’s resonant voice rang out above the din, and Reyer kept his face turned towards the Queen, looking happy. Adamsberg mentally noted once more the blind man’s prodigiously beautiful profile, but it annoyed him to see Reyer keeping his eyes firmly fixed on Mathilde, if that was the right expression. And why in the world should that annoy him? Was it because he sensed that the blind man was going to be snapped up by Mathilde? No. Mathilde was no ordinary woman, and she would lay no nasty traps in which the weaker party is devoured. But at the same time, when someone laid a hand on Mathilde it was difficult just now not to see a hand being laid on Camille. No, he mustn’t confuse them. And anyone had the right to touch Camille, this was a salutary principle he had long ago established. But perhaps it was that Danglard too seemed on the point of being drawn in, despite having been so categorically opposed to Mathilde. It looked as if the two men were engaged in some kind of contest as they sat around the table; the scene smacked of tried and tested seduction gambits, and it had to be admitted that Mathilde, being by now well launched into the white wine, was not insensitive to the atmosphere. After all, she had a perfect right. And Danglard and Reyer too had a perfect right to act like teenagers if they felt like it. What was coming over him, pushing him to act the censor and dictate rules of conduct? Had his own conduct been above reproach toward the young woman in the flat downstairs, with whom he had spent the night? No, not at all. Although a little taken back by the opportunity when it had presented itself, he had chosen his words carefully and had applied his own rules meticulously throughout. But had his conduct towards Christiane been above reproach? Absolutely not; much worse. That reminded him that he hadn’t remembered to think about her. So he might as well have a drink with the others. And ask himself what the hell they were doing there anyway.

When he looked more closely, Danglard was not as carried away as all that by the charms of the two suspects sitting at his table. And if one looked more closely again, Danglard the thinker was watching, observing, listening and provoking, however drunk he might appear. Even in his cups, for Danglard’s incisive brain Mathilde and Reyer remained a couple of people rather too closely mixed up in a murder case. Adamsberg smiled and went over to the table.

‘I know,’ said Danglard, indicating the wine, ‘it’s against the rules. But these persons are not here to see me officially. They’re just passing through. It was you they wanted to see.’

‘And how!’ said Mathilde.

From Mathilde’s face, Adamsberg could tell that she was furious with him. Better avoid a row in front of everyone. He gave up on the idea of a drink and took them into his office, making a conciliatory sign to Danglard. But Danglard couldn’t have cared less – he had already returned to his paperwork.

‘So. It seems that Clémence didn’t hold her tongue?’ Adamsberg inquired gently of Mathilde as he sat sideways at his desk.

‘Why should she?’ said Mathilde. ‘Apparently you badgered her with a whole lot of questions about her own life and then about Réal. Adamsberg, for heaven’s sake, what kind of behaviour is that?’

‘Police behaviour, I suppose,’ said Adamsberg. ‘But I didn’t badger her. Clémence has plenty to say for herself unaided, even if she whistles through her teeth. And I wanted to meet Réal Louvenel. I’ve just got back from seeing him.’

‘I know!’ said Mathilde. ‘And that
really
makes me see red!’

‘That’s perfectly normal,’ said Adamsberg.

‘What did you want to see him for?’

‘ To find out what you said at the
Dodin Bouffant
.’

‘For God’s sake, what’s so important about that?’

‘Sometimes, but only sometimes, I’m tempted to find out what people are concealing from me. And according to that article in the 5th
arrondissement
newsletter, you’ve been acting like a flytrap for anyone who wants to get close to the chalk circle man. So I have to take an interest. I think you have a pretty good idea who he is. I had hoped you would have said a bit more that evening, and that Louvenel would have told me about it.’

‘I never imagined you’d go in for such underhand dealings.’

Adamsberg shrugged.

‘What about you, Madame Forestier? The first time you came into the police station. Was that straightforward dealing?’

‘I had no choice,’ said Mathilde. ‘But you’re supposed to be an honest man. And all of a sudden you’ve turned slippery.’

‘I’ve got no choice, either. Anyway, that’s how I am, I’m slippery. I have to change all the time.’

Adamsberg rested his chin on his hand, still facing sideways. Mathilde was watching him.

‘It’s as I said,’ Mathilde continued. ‘You’re amoral – you should have been a prostitute.’

‘Just what I am being, in order to get information.’

‘About what?’

‘About him. The chalk circle man.’

‘Well, you’re going to be disappointed. I made it all up about the identity of the circle man, based on a few vague memories. I’ve got no proof of any of it. Pure invention.’

‘Little by little,’ murmured Adamsberg, ‘I’m managing to extract a few fragments of the truth. But it takes a long time. Would you be able to tell me who he is? Even if you’re making it up, it still interests me.’

‘It’s not based on anything serious. Only the circle man reminds me of someone I used to follow some years ago, over by Pigalle too, as it happens. I used to follow this particular man to a dark little restaurant where he lunched alone. He worked while he was eating, and never took his raincoat off. He covered his table with piles of books and papers. And when he dropped something, which happened all the time, he would lift up the hem of his raincoat as if it was a bridal train, whenever he bent down to pick it up. Sometimes his wife would come along, with her lover, to have coffee with him. Then he looked pathetic, desperate to accept any humiliation in order to hang on to whatever was left. But when the wife and her lover had gone, he would be seized with rage, he’d stab at the paper tablecloth with his knife and obviously he was pretty upset. In his place I would have had a drink, but he seemed not to touch alcohol. I noted in my book at the time “Little man greedy for power but doesn’t have it. How will he get out of this?” See, I tend to make snap judgements. Réal tells me that too: “Mathilde, you make too many snap judgements.” Then I stopped bothering with this man, he made me feel sad and edgy. I follow people to do myself good, not to go poking about in their misery. But when I saw the circle man, and his habit of holding the hem of his coat when he bent down, it reminded me of someone. I looked through my notebooks and remembered the little man who was greedy for power but had none at all, and I thought “Well, why not? Is this perhaps the way he’s found to exercise some kind of power?” Another snap judgement, and that’s where I left it. You see, Adamsberg, you’re disappointed, aren’t you? It wasn’t worth making all those underhand visits to my place and Réal’s to get this kind of pointless information.’

But Mathilde’s anger had subsided.

‘Why didn’t you tell me all this in the first place?’ Adamsberg asked her.

‘I wasn’t sure about it, I had no evidence. And anyway, you must have noticed that I feel rather protective towards the circle man. Perhaps he has nobody but me on his side. That makes it a duty I can’t escape. And anyway, hell’s bells, I would hate to think that my personal notes could get into police files as reports on someone.’

‘Quite understandable,’ said Adamsberg. ‘Why did you use the word “greedy” about him? Funny thing, Louvenel used the same word. At any rate, when you were holding forth at the
Dodin Bouffant
you attracted a lot of attention. Anyone would only have had to come to you to find out more.’

‘But why?’

‘Like I said before. The manic ways of the circle man are an encouragement to murder.’

As he spoke, using the term ‘manic’ for convenience, Adamsberg remembered that Vercors-Laury had explained to him that the man did not in fact present any of the characteristics of a compulsive mania. And that rather pleased him.

‘You didn’t get any unusual visits after the night at the
Dodin Bouffant
and the newspaper article?’ he went on.

‘No,’ said Mathilde. ‘Unless perhaps all the visits I get are unusual.’

‘After that night, did you follow the circle man any more?’

‘Yes, of course, several times.’

‘And nobody else was around?’

‘I didn’t notice anything. But I wasn’t particularly bothered anyway.’

‘What about you?’ said Adamsberg, turning towards Charles Reyer. ‘What have you come along for?’

‘I’m accompanying madame,
monsieur le commissaire
.’

‘Why?’

‘For something to do.’

‘Or to find out more. They tell me that when Mathilde Forestier goes diving, she goes alone, contrary to the rules of the profession. She’s not in the habit of taking someone along to accompany or protect her.’

The blind man smiled.

‘Madame Forestier was furious. She asked me if I wanted to come and witness the meeting. I said yes. It gives me something to do at the end of the day. But I’m disappointed too. You managed to calm her down rather too quickly.’

‘Don’t you believe it,’ said Adamsberg, with a smile. ‘She’s got plenty more lies up her sleeve. But did
you
, for instance, know about the article in the 5th
arrondissement
magazine?’

‘It’s not published in Braille,’ said Charles crossly. ‘But yes, I heard about it. Happy now? And Mathilde, does that bother you? Does it scare you?’

‘Couldn’t give a damn either way,’ said Mathilde. Charles shrugged and ran his fingers under his dark glasses.

‘Someone mentioned it at the hotel,’ he went on. ‘One of the guests standing in the lobby.’

‘See?’ said Adamsberg, turning to Mathilde. ‘News travels fast, it even reaches people who can’t read. And what did he say, this guest in the lobby?’

‘Something like “That deep-sea diving lady is at it again. Now she’s pally with the madman who does the circles.” That’s all I heard. Not very informative.’

‘Why did you tell me so willingly that you knew about it? It puts you in an awkward position. You know that you’re already regarded with some suspicion. You arrived at Mathilde’s by some sort of miracle, and you’ve got no alibi for the night of the murder.’

‘You know that, do you?’

‘Naturally – Danglard’s been doing his job.’

‘If I hadn’t told you myself, you would have tried to find out and you
would
have found out. Better to avoid being detected in a lie, isn’t it?’

Reyer gave one of those wicked smiles with which he would have liked to carve up the universe.

‘But I
didn’t
know,’ he added, ‘that the person I spoke to in the café in the rue Saint-Jacques was Madame Forestier. I only made the connection later.’

‘Yes,’ said Adamsberg, ‘you already told me that.’

‘Well, you repeat yourself too.’

‘It’s always like that at certain moments in an investigation. People repeat themselves. Then the press reports that “the police are baffled”.’

‘Sections two and three,’ sighed Mathilde.

‘And then, suddenly, things move on,’ said Adamsberg, ‘and you don’t have time to say anything.’

‘Section one,’ added Mathilde.

‘You’re right, Mathilde,’ said Adamsberg, looking at her. ‘Same as in everything else. It all goes either too slowly or too fast.’

‘Not very original as an idea,’ muttered Charles.

‘I often say unoriginal things,’ said Adamsberg. ‘I repeat myself, I make obvious remarks – in short, I disappoint people. Does that never happen to you, Monsieur Reyer?’

‘I try not to let it happen,’ said the blind man. ‘I detest banal conversations.’

‘They don’t bother me at all,’ said Adamsberg.

‘That’ll
do
,’ said Mathilde. ‘I don’t like it when the
commissaire
starts talking like this. We’ll get nowhere. I prefer to wait for your investigation to make a leap forward,
commissaire
, and then your eyes will light up again.’

‘Not a very original idea, either,’ said Adamsberg with a smile.

‘It’s true that in her poetico-sentimental metaphors, Mathilde does not flinch from the grossest banalities,’ remarked Reyer. ‘Though they’re different from yours.’

‘Have you two quite finished? Can we just go now?’ said Mathilde. ‘You’re perfectly exasperating, the pair of you. In your different ways.’

Adamsberg waved his hand and smiled, and found himself alone.

Why had Charles Reyer found it necessary to say: ‘That’s all I heard’?

Because he had heard more than that. Why, then, had he confessed to a fragment of the truth? To stop inquiries going any further.

So Adamsberg called the Hôtel des Grands Hommes. The porter on duty remembered the article in the newsletter and what the guest had said. And yes, of course he remembered the blind man too. How could you forget a blind man like Reyer?

‘Did Reyer want to know any more about the article?’ asked Adamsberg.

‘Yes, indeed,
monsieur le commissaire
,’ said the porter. ‘He asked me to read the whole thing out to him. Otherwise I might not have remembered.’

‘And how did he react?’

‘Hard to say,
monsieur le commissaire
. He used to have an icy smile that made you feel like a moron. That day he was smiling like that, but I never knew what that meant.’

Adamsberg thanked him and hung up. Charles Reyer had wanted to find out more. And he had accompanied Mathilde to the station. As for Mathilde, she certainly knew more about the chalk circle man than she was letting on. But of course none of that might be important. Thinking about this kind of information made Adamsberg feel tired. He got rid of it by passing it on to Danglard. If necessary, Danglard would do whatever had to be done better than he would. So now he could go on thinking about the chalk circle man without distraction. Mathilde was right, he was waiting for a sudden leap in the inquiry. And he also knew what she had meant about his eyes lighting up. Cliché though it might be, it means something when you say that a person’s eyes light up. It happens or it doesn’t. In his case, it depended on the moment. And just now he knew that his gaze was lost far out to sea.