penance for the murder of Thomas a Becket and for his dead son’s sacrilegious plundering of the shrine? Ask for dispensation. Secure himself a nihil obstat.
Mind you, he hadn’t actually killed anybody recently. Unless the girl had drowned, of course. Or the woman in the car had asphyxiated herself. Her husband had definitely still been twitching, when last he looked and Samana had been indisputably responsible for his own death.
All in all, then, Bale’s conscience was clear. He could steal the Black Virgin with impunity.
41
‘We’ve found them again. They’re heading towards Limoges.’
‘Excellent. Tell the pinheads to give us a new reading every half an hour – that way we’ll have a chance to make up for lost time and get them back on our screen.’
‘Where do you think they’re going, Sir?’
‘To the seaside?’
Macron didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry. He was becoming more and more convinced that he was teamed up with an unregenerate madman – someone who bent all the rules on principle, simply to suit his own agenda. The two of them should have been back in Paris by now, happily confining themselves to a 35-hour week and leaving the continued investigation of the murder to their colleagues in the south. Macron could have been working at his squash and improving on his six-pack at the police gym. Instead, they were subsisting on prepacked meals and coffee, with the occasional catnap in the back seat of the car. He could feel himself going physically downhill. It didn’t matter to Calque, of course – he was a wreck already.
‘The weekend’s approaching, Sir.’
‘And?’
‘And nothing. It was just an observation.’
‘Well, confine your observations to the case in hand. You’re a public servant, Macron, not a lifeguard.’
***
Yola emerged, fully clothed, from behind the bushes.
Sabir shrugged his shoulders and made a face. ‘I’m sorry we had to undress you. Alexi was against it, but I insisted. I apologise.’
‘You did what you had to. Did Alexi see me?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘Well, now he’ll know what he’s been missing.’
Sabir burst out laughing. He was astonished at how resilient Yola was being. He had half expected her to react hysterically – to lurch into a depression, or melancholia, triggered by delayed shock from the attack. But he had underestimated her. Her life had scarcely been a bed of roses up to that point and her expectations about the depths to which people would stoop in terms of their behaviour were probably a good deal more realistic than his own. ‘He’s angry. That’s why he’s gone off. I think he feels responsible for the attack on you.’
‘You must let him steal the Virgin.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Alexi. He is a good stealer. It is something he does well.’
‘Oh. I see.’
‘Have you never stolen anything?’
‘Well, no. Not recently.’
‘I thought so.’ She weighed something up in her head. ‘A gypsy can steal every seven years. Something big, I mean.’
‘How did you figure that one out?’
‘Because an old gypsy woman saw Christ carrying the Cross on the way to the Calvary hill.’
‘And?’
‘And she didn’t have any idea who Christ was. But when she saw His face, she felt pity for Him and decided to steal the nails with which they were to crucify Him. She stole one, but before she could steal the second, she was caught. The soldiers took her and beat her. She cried out to the soldiers to spare her because she had stolen nothing for seven years. A disciple heard her and said, ‘Woman, you are blessed. The Saviour permits you and yours to steal once every seven years, now and forever.’ And that’s why there were only three nails at the Crucifixion. And why Jesus Christ’s feet were crossed and not spread apart, as they should have been.’
‘You don’t believe all that hokum, do you?’
‘Of course I believe it.’
‘And that’s why gypsies steal?’
‘We have the right.
Mind you, he hadn’t actually killed anybody recently. Unless the girl had drowned, of course. Or the woman in the car had asphyxiated herself. Her husband had definitely still been twitching, when last he looked and Samana had been indisputably responsible for his own death.
All in all, then, Bale’s conscience was clear. He could steal the Black Virgin with impunity.
41
‘We’ve found them again. They’re heading towards Limoges.’
‘Excellent. Tell the pinheads to give us a new reading every half an hour – that way we’ll have a chance to make up for lost time and get them back on our screen.’
‘Where do you think they’re going, Sir?’
‘To the seaside?’
Macron didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry. He was becoming more and more convinced that he was teamed up with an unregenerate madman – someone who bent all the rules on principle, simply to suit his own agenda. The two of them should have been back in Paris by now, happily confining themselves to a 35-hour week and leaving the continued investigation of the murder to their colleagues in the south. Macron could have been working at his squash and improving on his six-pack at the police gym. Instead, they were subsisting on prepacked meals and coffee, with the occasional catnap in the back seat of the car. He could feel himself going physically downhill. It didn’t matter to Calque, of course – he was a wreck already.
‘The weekend’s approaching, Sir.’
‘And?’
‘And nothing. It was just an observation.’
‘Well, confine your observations to the case in hand. You’re a public servant, Macron, not a lifeguard.’
***
Yola emerged, fully clothed, from behind the bushes.
Sabir shrugged his shoulders and made a face. ‘I’m sorry we had to undress you. Alexi was against it, but I insisted. I apologise.’
‘You did what you had to. Did Alexi see me?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘Well, now he’ll know what he’s been missing.’
Sabir burst out laughing. He was astonished at how resilient Yola was being. He had half expected her to react hysterically – to lurch into a depression, or melancholia, triggered by delayed shock from the attack. But he had underestimated her. Her life had scarcely been a bed of roses up to that point and her expectations about the depths to which people would stoop in terms of their behaviour were probably a good deal more realistic than his own. ‘He’s angry. That’s why he’s gone off. I think he feels responsible for the attack on you.’
‘You must let him steal the Virgin.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Alexi. He is a good stealer. It is something he does well.’
‘Oh. I see.’
‘Have you never stolen anything?’
‘Well, no. Not recently.’
‘I thought so.’ She weighed something up in her head. ‘A gypsy can steal every seven years. Something big, I mean.’
‘How did you figure that one out?’
‘Because an old gypsy woman saw Christ carrying the Cross on the way to the Calvary hill.’
‘And?’
‘And she didn’t have any idea who Christ was. But when she saw His face, she felt pity for Him and decided to steal the nails with which they were to crucify Him. She stole one, but before she could steal the second, she was caught. The soldiers took her and beat her. She cried out to the soldiers to spare her because she had stolen nothing for seven years. A disciple heard her and said, ‘Woman, you are blessed. The Saviour permits you and yours to steal once every seven years, now and forever.’ And that’s why there were only three nails at the Crucifixion. And why Jesus Christ’s feet were crossed and not spread apart, as they should have been.’
‘You don’t believe all that hokum, do you?’
‘Of course I believe it.’
‘And that’s why gypsies steal?’
‘We have the right.
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