This Night's Foul Work (41 page)

‘Why?'

‘Because in the forest of Brétilly, and then again in the forest near Opportune, two male stags were slaughtered last month and left lying
on the ground. The only thing that had been done to them was that their hearts had been cut out. These killings were carried out by the same person. They were in the same place, that is within the zone of the saint's influence, and they were killed near the two women who were sacrificed. They must have been shot by our angel of death.'

‘That makes sense,' said Lamarre.

‘The stags were cut open after death in a particular place. Exactly like what happened to the cat, Narcissus. They were
operated on
in some sense. With a definite aim, to get something out. What? The living cross in the heart. So it must be inside the stag's heart, in some form.'

‘That's impossible,' said Danglard, shaking his head. ‘We'd know about it.'

‘We didn't know about the cat, or the pig's snout,' said Kernorkian.

‘Yes, I knew about those all right,' said Voisenet. ‘But I also know there's no bone in the heart of a stag.'

‘I'm sorry,
lieutenant
, but there really has to be one.'

At this point there were some mutterings and doubtful glances, as Adamsberg got up to stretch his legs, It did not seem evident to the positivists that reality should reshape itself to meet the strange ideas that the
commissaire
was putting forward, inventing a bone in the heart of the stag.

‘No,' insisted Voisenet. ‘It's the other way round. There is no bone in the heart. So we have to work around that, because it's the truth.'

‘Voisenet, there's got to be something, or none of these actions would make sense. And if there is, we need to watch for the next stag to be slaughtered. The third virgin the nurse has picked out will be in the nearby area. The cross in the heart must be as close as possible to the quick of the virgin. “Adjacent in equal quantity.” It doesn't mean “joined with it,” it means “close by”.'

‘Adjacent,' said Danglard, ‘means lying alongside, or lined up against.'

‘Thank you, Danglard. For the virgin and the stag to be close together looks right: the female and male essences giving birth to life, in this case
eternal life. When we find another stag with its heart cut out, we'll know the name of the virgin out of all those you've got on your lists.'

‘All right,' admitted Justin. ‘But how do we find this stag? Will we have to keep a watch on the forests?'

‘Someone's already doing that for us.'

A
DAMSBERG WAITED IN THE RAIN FOR THE ANGELUS TO BE RUNG IN THE
church at Haroncourt before he pushed open the door of the café. This Sunday evening, he found the assembled men all present and correct, and about to begin the first round of drinks.

‘Ah, you'll be wanting a drink then, man from the Béarn,' said Robert, without letting his surprise show.

A rapid glance at Anglebert told Adamsberg that the outsider was still welcome to sit down, even if he had dug up a grave at Opportune-la-Haute eighteen days earlier. As in the past, a place was made for him alongside the elder of the tribe, and a glass pushed towards him.

‘You've been busy,' observed Anglebert, pouring out the white wine.

‘Yes, I've had problems, police problems.'

‘Ah, that's life,' said Anglebert. ‘Robert's a roofer, he gets roof problems, Hilaire's got pork-butcher problems, Oswald's got farmer's problems, and I've got the problem of getting old. And that's no fun, believe me. Drink up.'

‘I know now why those two women were killed,' said Adamsberg, obeying the command. ‘And I know why their graves were opened as well.'

‘So now you're satisfied.'

‘No, not really,' said Adamsberg, grimacing. ‘This killer is a fiend from hell, and she hasn't finished yet.'

‘But she's going to?' said Oswald.

‘Or so you think,' punctuated Achille.

‘Yes, she does intend to finish the job,' said Adamsberg, ‘by killing a third virgin. I'm looking for this third virgin. And I need some help.'

All eyes swivelled towards him, surprised at such an open appeal.

‘Well, not wishing to cause offence,' said Anglebert, ‘but that's
your
job.'

‘Not ours,' punctuated Achille.

‘You're wrong, it does concern you. Because it's the same woman who slaughtered your stags.'

‘Told you so,' breathed Oswald.

‘How do you know?' asked Hilaire.

‘That's his business,' Anglebert interrupted. ‘If he tells you he knows, then he knows, that's all.'

‘Stands to reason,' punctuated Achille.

‘Both the human victims were linked with the death of a stag,' Adamsberg went on. ‘Or, more precisely, an attack on the heart of the stag.'

‘What's the point of that?' asked Robert

‘To get at the bone in the heart, the bone that's shaped like a cross,' said Adamsberg, staking everything on this throw.

‘Ah, could be,' said Oswald. ‘That's what Hermance thought. She's got one of them, Hermance has.'

‘A bone in her heart?' asked Achille in astonishment.

‘No, in her sideboard drawer. She's got a stag's heartbone.'

‘Going after the cross in a stag, this day and age, you've got to be a bit cracked,' said Anglebert. ‘That's stuff they did in bygone times.'

‘Kings of France used to collect ‘em, though,' said Robert. ‘To bring them good health.'

‘Like I said, it's stuff from the olden days. Nobody collects them now.'

Adamsberg drank a glass to his own health, secretly celebrating the fact that there really was a bone like a cross in the heart of a stag.

‘But what did he want with the cross, this murderer of yours?' asked Robert.

‘I told you, she's a woman.'

‘Aargh,' said Robert, with a look of disgust. ‘But anyway, you know why, do you?'

‘It was to put this cross alongside hair taken from the virgins.'

‘Well,' said Oswald, ‘that proves she's crazy. What's that supposed to be about?'

‘It's part of a recipe to give you eternal life.'

‘God's sakes,' spluttered Hilaire.

‘Eternal life, eh?' observed Anglebert. ‘All right for some, but then again, you wouldn't really want it, would you?'

‘Why not?'

‘C'm on, Hilaire, just think if you had to live for ever. What on earth would you do all day? You can't sit around drinking for thousands of years.'

‘That's a long time, all right,' said Achille.

‘She plans to kill the next woman,' Adamsberg went on, ‘after she's killed the next stag. Or maybe the other way round, I don't know. But all I can do is follow the cross in the heart. So that's why I want you to tell me as soon as another stag is found dead.'

An ominous silence suddenly fell, such as only Normans can create or tolerate. Anglebert poured another round of drinks, making the neck of the bottle clink against each glass.

‘Well, my friend, it's already happened,' said Robert.

There was another silence, while everyone swallowed a mouthful, except Adamsberg who was staring at Robert with a stricken expression.

‘When?' he asked.

‘About six days back.'

‘Why didn't you call me?'

‘You didn't seem interested any more,' said Robert sulkily. ‘All you cared about was Oswald's ghost.'

‘Where was this?'

‘At Le Bosc des Tourelles.'

‘Was it killed the same way as the others?'

‘Yeah, just the same. Heart on the ground beside it.'

‘Which are the nearest villages to it?'

‘Campenille, Troimare, Louvelot. Then a bit further away, Longeney one way and Coucy the other. Couple more. Plenty of choice.'

‘And no woman has been killed or had an accident round there?'

‘No.'

Adamsberg breathed in relief and took another sip of wine.

‘Well, there was that old Yvonne who fell over on the bridge,' said Hilaire.

‘Is she dead?'

‘You've got death on the brain as usual,' said Robert. ‘No, she broke her hip.'

‘Can you take me there tomorrow?'

‘Where? To see Yvonne.'

‘No, the stag.'

‘He's already been buried.'

‘Who's got the antlers?'

‘Nobody, he'd already lost ‘em.'

‘I'd still like to see the spot.'

‘Could be done,' said Robert, holding out his glass for a third helping. ‘But where will you sleep? In the hotel, or at Hermance's?'

‘Best be the hotel,' said Oswald quietly.

‘Yes, that'd be best,' said the punctuator.

Nobody expained why it was no longer possible to stay with Oswald's sister.

W
HILE HIS COLLEAGUES WERE CHECKING THE AREA SURROUNDING
L
E
B
OSC
des Tourelles, Adamsberg had been hospital visiting. He had seen both Veyrenc, who was now hobbling around at Bichat, and Retancourt, who was still asleep at Saint-Vincent-de-Paul. Veyrenc was due to be discharged the next day, and Retancourt's sleep appeared to be more like a natural state. She's returning to the surface quite fast, Lavoisier had said. He was taking quantities of notes on the polyvalent goddess. Veyrenc, once he had been brought up to date on the rescue of the
lieutenant
and the cross inside the stag, had formulated some advice which Adamsberg was chewing over as he walked back to the headquarters.

‘We've got a Francine Bidault here,' said Mordent, passing over an index card to Adamsberg. ‘Aged thirty-five. Lives outside Clancy, a hamlet, population two hundred, seven kilometres from the edge of the Bosc des Tourelles. The other two nearest women live fourteen or nineteen
kilometres away, and they're both closer to another forest, La Chataigneraie, which is big enough to have deer in it. Francine lives alone, in an isolated farmhouse, almost a kilometre away from the nearest neighbours. Her garden wall is easy to climb, and the house is very old. Rickety wooden doors, simple locks, easy to force.'

‘Right,' said Adamsberg. ‘Does she go out to work? Does she have a car?'

‘She's got a part-time job, cleaning in a pharmacy in Evreux. She goes there by bus every day except Sunday. Any attack would most likely come between seven at night and one the next afternoon, which is when she leaves home.'

‘And she's a virgin? They're sure about that?'

‘Well, according to the priest at Otton, yes. “A little cherub,” he calls her. Pretty, childlike, not quite all there, according to some other reports. Mind you, the priest says there's nothing really wrong with her head, but she's afraid of almost everything, specially creepy-crawlies. She was brought up by her father after her mother died, and he was a brute. He died a couple of years back.'

‘There's a problem,' said Voisenet, whose positivist credentials had been been severely dented when Adamsberg had guessed at the existence of a bone in the heart of a deer, simply by shovelling clouds. ‘Devalon's found out we're operating in Clancy, and why. He's looking bad, because he failed to spot that Elisabeth and Pascaline had been murdered. He's insisting that his outfit take charge of protecting Francine Bidault.'

‘All the better,' said Adamsberg. ‘As long as Francine's under police guard, that's all we're asking. Call him, Danglard. Tell Devalon he's got to have three men in shifts, armed, between seven at night and one p.m. next day, without leaving her unprotected for a moment. They should begin tonight. The guard should be
inside
the house and, if she doesn't object, in the bedroom. We'll send Evreux a photograph of the nurse. Who's been checking the van-hire firms?'

‘I did,' said Justin, ‘with Lamarre and Froissy. Nothing so far in the whole Ile-de-France region. Nobody remembers a woman of seventy-five hiring a van that big. They're quite positive.'

‘And the blue stains?'

‘Yes, they're definitely shoe polish.'

‘Retancourt came out with something else this afternoon,' said Estalère, ‘but it didn't amount to much.'

Intrigued faces turned towards him.

‘Did she quote Corneille again?' Adamsberg asked.

‘No, she talked about shoes. She said,
“Send some shoes to the caravan.” '

The men looked at each other in puzzlement.

‘The big girl's losing it again,' said Noël.

‘No, Noël. She promised this lady, who lives in a caravan, that she'd give her another pair of shoes to replace the blue ones she took away, the nurse's. Lamarre, can you take care of that? You'll find the address in Retancourt's files.'

‘After all she's been through, that's the first thing she thinks about telling us?' said Kernorkian.

‘That's the way she is,' said Justin with a shrug. ‘Nothing else?'

‘Yes, she said:
“But he needn't give a damn. Tell him that. He needn't give a damn.” '

‘Does she mean about this lady? And her shoes?'

‘No, no,' said Adamsberg. ‘She wouldn't say that about the lady.'

‘Who's “him”?'

Estalère jerked his chin towards Adamsberg.

‘Yeah, probably,' said Voisenet.

‘But what?' murmured Adamsberg. ‘What is it that I needn't give a damn about?'

‘Well,
I
reckon she's losing it,' said Noël, anxiety in his voice.