dead and buried, kaput! This isn’t a fairy story, Adamsberg, it’s science fiction. And don’t tell me you didn’t know. Your notes stop in 1987.’
‘Yes, of course I know. I went to his funeral.’
‘And you’ve made me waste a whole day on your crazy story? Just to tell me that this figment of your imagination killed the Wind girl at Schiltigheim? You didn’t think for one minute that a stupid gendarme like Trabelmann might have checked up on the judge’s current whereabouts?’
‘It’s true, I didn’t think you would have got that far yet, and I apologise. But if you took the trouble to check the record, at least it means that you were intrigued enough by the Fulgence story to follow it up.’
‘What the hell is your game, Adamsberg? Are you on a ghost hunt? I hope not, or you shouldn’t be in the police force, but locked up somewhere. So why the fuck did you come all the way out here?’
‘To take the measurements, to get a chance to question Vétilleux, and to tell you about this possibility.’
‘Perhaps you thought he had an imitator? A disciple? A son?’
Adamsberg had the impression he was going back through his conversation with Danglard of two days before.
‘No, I don’t think he has a disciple, and he had no children. Fulgence is a lone wolf.’
‘Do you realise you’re standing there with a straight face and telling me you’re out of your tiny mind?’
‘I realise you think that, commandant . May I have permission to see Vétilleux once more before I leave?’
‘No, you may not!’ shouted Trabelmann.
‘Well, if you want to go ahead and hand an innocent man over to the courts, that’s your business.’
Adamsberg had to go round Trabelmann to pick up his files. He pushed them clumsily into his bag, which took him a little time, one-handed. The commandant did not make a move to help, any more than Danglard had. Adamsberg offered to shake hands, but Trabelmann kept his arms firmly folded.
‘Well, we may meet again one day, Trabelmann. When I bring you the judge’s head on a trident.’
‘Adamsberg, I was wrong.’
The commissaire looked up in surprise.
‘Your ego isn’t as big as a kitchen table, it’s the size of Strasbourg Cathedral.’
‘Which you don’t like?’
‘Affirmative.’
Adamsberg headed for the exit. In the office, the corridors and the hall, silence had fallen like a shower of rain, stifling all movement, voices orfootsteps. Outside the doors, he saw the young duty officer, who took a few steps alongside him.
‘Commissaire , that story about the bears?’
‘Don’t come with me, officer, or you might lose your job.’
He winked quickly at the young man and went off on foot, without any car to take him to the station. But unlike Vétilleux, the commissaire was not put off by a few kilometres; the walk was barely long enough for him to rid his mind of the new enemy whom Judge Fulgence had added to Adamsberg’s collection.
XII
THE PARIS TRAIN WAS NOT DUE TO LEAVE FOR ANOTHER HOUR, SO Adamsberg decided, as if in defiance of Trabelmann, to pay a visit to the cathedral. He walked all the way round the outside, since according to the commandant , his ego was equal to the colossal dimensions of another era. Then he explored the nave and the side aisles, and took the trouble to read the notices. ‘A Gothic edifice in the purest and most radical style.’ What more could Trabelmann ask for? He looked up to the top of the spire, ‘a masterpiece, soaring to a height of 142 metres’. Adamsberg had only just reached the regulation height to qualify for the police force.
In the train, when he went to the bar, the rows of miniature bottles brought his thoughts back to Vétilleux. By now, Trabelmann was no doubt pressing him to confess, like a dumb beast going to the slaughter. Unless, that is, Vétilleux was heeding his instructions, and resisting the pressure. It was odd how much he blamed the unknown Josie for having left Vétilleux, thus letting
‘Yes, of course I know. I went to his funeral.’
‘And you’ve made me waste a whole day on your crazy story? Just to tell me that this figment of your imagination killed the Wind girl at Schiltigheim? You didn’t think for one minute that a stupid gendarme like Trabelmann might have checked up on the judge’s current whereabouts?’
‘It’s true, I didn’t think you would have got that far yet, and I apologise. But if you took the trouble to check the record, at least it means that you were intrigued enough by the Fulgence story to follow it up.’
‘What the hell is your game, Adamsberg? Are you on a ghost hunt? I hope not, or you shouldn’t be in the police force, but locked up somewhere. So why the fuck did you come all the way out here?’
‘To take the measurements, to get a chance to question Vétilleux, and to tell you about this possibility.’
‘Perhaps you thought he had an imitator? A disciple? A son?’
Adamsberg had the impression he was going back through his conversation with Danglard of two days before.
‘No, I don’t think he has a disciple, and he had no children. Fulgence is a lone wolf.’
‘Do you realise you’re standing there with a straight face and telling me you’re out of your tiny mind?’
‘I realise you think that, commandant . May I have permission to see Vétilleux once more before I leave?’
‘No, you may not!’ shouted Trabelmann.
‘Well, if you want to go ahead and hand an innocent man over to the courts, that’s your business.’
Adamsberg had to go round Trabelmann to pick up his files. He pushed them clumsily into his bag, which took him a little time, one-handed. The commandant did not make a move to help, any more than Danglard had. Adamsberg offered to shake hands, but Trabelmann kept his arms firmly folded.
‘Well, we may meet again one day, Trabelmann. When I bring you the judge’s head on a trident.’
‘Adamsberg, I was wrong.’
The commissaire looked up in surprise.
‘Your ego isn’t as big as a kitchen table, it’s the size of Strasbourg Cathedral.’
‘Which you don’t like?’
‘Affirmative.’
Adamsberg headed for the exit. In the office, the corridors and the hall, silence had fallen like a shower of rain, stifling all movement, voices orfootsteps. Outside the doors, he saw the young duty officer, who took a few steps alongside him.
‘Commissaire , that story about the bears?’
‘Don’t come with me, officer, or you might lose your job.’
He winked quickly at the young man and went off on foot, without any car to take him to the station. But unlike Vétilleux, the commissaire was not put off by a few kilometres; the walk was barely long enough for him to rid his mind of the new enemy whom Judge Fulgence had added to Adamsberg’s collection.
XII
THE PARIS TRAIN WAS NOT DUE TO LEAVE FOR ANOTHER HOUR, SO Adamsberg decided, as if in defiance of Trabelmann, to pay a visit to the cathedral. He walked all the way round the outside, since according to the commandant , his ego was equal to the colossal dimensions of another era. Then he explored the nave and the side aisles, and took the trouble to read the notices. ‘A Gothic edifice in the purest and most radical style.’ What more could Trabelmann ask for? He looked up to the top of the spire, ‘a masterpiece, soaring to a height of 142 metres’. Adamsberg had only just reached the regulation height to qualify for the police force.
In the train, when he went to the bar, the rows of miniature bottles brought his thoughts back to Vétilleux. By now, Trabelmann was no doubt pressing him to confess, like a dumb beast going to the slaughter. Unless, that is, Vétilleux was heeding his instructions, and resisting the pressure. It was odd how much he blamed the unknown Josie for having left Vétilleux, thus letting
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