The Circle by Bernard Minier Page A

technological tracking service and have the notebook examined by the criminal records office. Once he had put everything on the back seat, he stood up straight and lit a cigarette.
    The storm was soaking him but he didn’t feel it. He was far too deep in thought. He puffed on his cigarette, and the stimulating caress of the tobacco made its way into his lungs and his brain.
The music
… He could hear it again. The
Kindertotenlieder
… Was it possible?
    He looked all around him – as if Hirtmann might be there – and suddenly something caught his eye.
    There was someone there.
    A silhouette. Wrapped up in rain gear, his head shadowed by a hood. Servaz could make out the youthful lower half of the face.
    A student.
    He was watching Servaz from a little hillock a dozen or so metres away, beneath a grove of trees, his hands in the pockets of his plasticcape. A faint smile hovered over his lips. As if they knew one another, thought the cop.
    â€˜Hey, you!’ he called.
    The young man turned away and began walking unhurriedly towards the classrooms. Servaz had to run after him.
    â€˜Hey, wait!’
    The student turned round. He was slightly taller than Servaz, his blond hair and beard glistening in the outline of the hood. Large, clear, questioning eyes. A wide mouth. Instantly, Servaz wondered if Margot knew him.
    â€˜Excuse me? Are you talking to me?’
    â€˜Yes. Morning. Do you know where I can find Professor Van Acker? Does he teach on Saturday morning?’
    â€˜Room 4, the cube over there … but if I were you, I would wait for him to finish. He doesn’t like to be disturbed.’
    â€˜Oh …’
    The boy’s smile spread wider. ‘You’re Margot’s father, aren’t you?’
    Servaz was briefly surprised. In his pocket his mobile vibrated but he ignored it.
    â€˜And who are you?’
    The young man took his hand out of his cape and extended it.
    â€˜David. I’m taking the prep classes. Glad to meet you.’
    Servaz reasoned that he must be in the same class as Hugo. He squeezed his hand. A frank, strong handshake.
    â€˜So, you know Margot?’
    â€˜Everybody knows everyone, here. And Margot doesn’t exactly go unnoticed.’
    The same words Hugo had used.
    â€˜But you know that I’m her father.’
    The young man trained his golden gaze on Servaz’s.
    â€˜I was there the day you came with her for the first time.’
    â€˜Oh, I see.’
    â€˜If you’re looking for her, she must be in class.’
    â€˜Did you have Claire Diemar as a teacher?’
    The young man paused. ‘Yes, why?’
    Servaz showed him his warrant card. ‘I’m in charge of the investigation into her death.’
    â€˜Bloody hell, you’re a cop?’
    He said it without animosity. It was more that he was stunned. Servaz could not help but smile.
    â€˜Indeed.’
    â€˜We’re all devastated. She was a really wonderful teacher, we all liked her. But …’
    The young man lowered his head and looked at the toes of his trainers. When he looked up again, Servaz could read a familiar glow in his eyes. The one he often saw in the gaze of people who were close to the accused: a mixture of nervousness, incomprehension and disbelief. A refusal to admit the unthinkable.
    â€˜I can’t believe Hugo did it. It’s impossible. It’s not him.’
    â€˜Do you know him well?’
    â€˜He’s one of my best friends.’
    The young man’s eyes had misted over. He was on the verge of tears.
    â€˜Were you with him at the pub last night?’
    David’s gaze was unwavering.
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜And do you remember what time he left?’
    David looked at him more cautiously this time. He took the trouble to think before replying.
    â€˜No, but I remember he didn’t feel well. He felt … weird.’
    â€˜Is that what he said to you? Weird?’
    â€˜Yes. He didn’t feel