but to make a serious point about the 4 that he’d shown her that morning. Adamsberg got up and made his way over yet more builders’ rubble into the building and Danglard’s office.
“Did you find that file?” he asked, so as to open a channel.
Danglard nodded and pointed to the screen: fingerprints were scrolling down so fast that they looked like galaxies seen from the Hubble.
Adamsberg went round to the other side of the desk so as to face Danglard.
“If you had to give a figure, how many buildings in Paris would you say had been marked with the number 4?”
“Three.”
Adamsberg raised the fingers of his hands.
“Three plus nine makes twelve. If we allow for the fact that not many people apart from neurotics and idlers would bother to report this sort of thing to the police, though I suppose there are quite a few neurotic idlers around, I would put the figure at a minimum of thirty blocks already ornamented by our action artist.”
“All the same 4s? Same shape, same colour?”
“The very identical.”
“Always on a blank door?”
“We’ll have to check that.”
“You mean you’re going to check?”
“I guess so.”
Danglard put his hands on his knees.
“I’ve seen that 4 somewhere before.”
“So has Camille.”
Danglard raised an eyebrow.
“In a book lying open on a table,” Adamsberg said. “At a friend of a friend’s place.”
“What was the book about?”
“Camille doesn’t know. She supposes it’s a history book, because the fellow who’s her friend’s friend is a cleaner by day and a medievalist by night.”
“Isn’t it normally the other way round?”
“What norm are you referring to?”
Danglard stretched out an arm towards the bottle of beer that was on his desk and raised it to his lips.
“So where did you see it, then?” asked Adamsberg.
“I can’t remember. It was a long time ago and it was not in Paris.”
“If there are previous instances of the reversed 4, then it’s not an original creation.”
“No, it’s not,” Danglard concurred.
“To count as action art, it would have to be original, wouldn’t it?”
“In theory, yes.”
“What are we going to do with your radical action artist, then?”
Danglard pursed his lips. “I think we take him off the board for now.”
“And so what do we put in his place?”
“Some oddbod who’s no business of ours.”
Adamsberg walked up and down and straight through the decorators’ mess on the floor, getting plaster dust on his well-worn shoes.
“May I remind you, sir, that we have been transferred?,” said Danglard. “Transferred to the Brigade Criminelle.”
“I’ve not forgotten that,” said Adamsberg.
“Has any offence been committed in these blocks of flats?”
“No, no offence.”
“Has there been any violence? Any threats of violence? Any intimidation of innocent parties?”
“You know very well there’s been no such thing.”
“So why are we discussing the matter?”
“Because, Danglard, there is a presumption of violence.”
“In those 4s?”
“Yes. We have a silent campaign. A very serious campaign.”
Adamsberg looked at his watch.
“I’ve got time to take …”
He opened his memory-jogger then closed it quickly again.
“… to take Barteneau with me to see some of these places.”
While Adamsberg went to fetch the jacket he’d left all crumpled on a chair , Danglard slipped on his own, making sure it hung correctly on his frame. He might not be a handsome man, but that was no reason not to keep himself looking shipshape and Bristol fashion.
XI
DECAMBRAIS CAME HOME quite late and only just had time before dinner to pick up the evening “special” that Joss had put aside for him.
[…] when come forth toade stooles and when fields and woods be covered in spiderwebs, when oxen ail or die in the meadow, likewise beastes in the forest; when bread doth quickly go mouldie; when new-hatched flies & worms & fleas can be seen on snow […]
He
“Did you find that file?” he asked, so as to open a channel.
Danglard nodded and pointed to the screen: fingerprints were scrolling down so fast that they looked like galaxies seen from the Hubble.
Adamsberg went round to the other side of the desk so as to face Danglard.
“If you had to give a figure, how many buildings in Paris would you say had been marked with the number 4?”
“Three.”
Adamsberg raised the fingers of his hands.
“Three plus nine makes twelve. If we allow for the fact that not many people apart from neurotics and idlers would bother to report this sort of thing to the police, though I suppose there are quite a few neurotic idlers around, I would put the figure at a minimum of thirty blocks already ornamented by our action artist.”
“All the same 4s? Same shape, same colour?”
“The very identical.”
“Always on a blank door?”
“We’ll have to check that.”
“You mean you’re going to check?”
“I guess so.”
Danglard put his hands on his knees.
“I’ve seen that 4 somewhere before.”
“So has Camille.”
Danglard raised an eyebrow.
“In a book lying open on a table,” Adamsberg said. “At a friend of a friend’s place.”
“What was the book about?”
“Camille doesn’t know. She supposes it’s a history book, because the fellow who’s her friend’s friend is a cleaner by day and a medievalist by night.”
“Isn’t it normally the other way round?”
“What norm are you referring to?”
Danglard stretched out an arm towards the bottle of beer that was on his desk and raised it to his lips.
“So where did you see it, then?” asked Adamsberg.
“I can’t remember. It was a long time ago and it was not in Paris.”
“If there are previous instances of the reversed 4, then it’s not an original creation.”
“No, it’s not,” Danglard concurred.
“To count as action art, it would have to be original, wouldn’t it?”
“In theory, yes.”
“What are we going to do with your radical action artist, then?”
Danglard pursed his lips. “I think we take him off the board for now.”
“And so what do we put in his place?”
“Some oddbod who’s no business of ours.”
Adamsberg walked up and down and straight through the decorators’ mess on the floor, getting plaster dust on his well-worn shoes.
“May I remind you, sir, that we have been transferred?,” said Danglard. “Transferred to the Brigade Criminelle.”
“I’ve not forgotten that,” said Adamsberg.
“Has any offence been committed in these blocks of flats?”
“No, no offence.”
“Has there been any violence? Any threats of violence? Any intimidation of innocent parties?”
“You know very well there’s been no such thing.”
“So why are we discussing the matter?”
“Because, Danglard, there is a presumption of violence.”
“In those 4s?”
“Yes. We have a silent campaign. A very serious campaign.”
Adamsberg looked at his watch.
“I’ve got time to take …”
He opened his memory-jogger then closed it quickly again.
“… to take Barteneau with me to see some of these places.”
While Adamsberg went to fetch the jacket he’d left all crumpled on a chair , Danglard slipped on his own, making sure it hung correctly on his frame. He might not be a handsome man, but that was no reason not to keep himself looking shipshape and Bristol fashion.
XI
DECAMBRAIS CAME HOME quite late and only just had time before dinner to pick up the evening “special” that Joss had put aside for him.
[…] when come forth toade stooles and when fields and woods be covered in spiderwebs, when oxen ail or die in the meadow, likewise beastes in the forest; when bread doth quickly go mouldie; when new-hatched flies & worms & fleas can be seen on snow […]
He
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