irritation mounting once more.
‘Yes, I guessed,’ Adamsberg confirmed. ‘Your neck looks pink and you smell of camphor.’
‘I had a stiff neck. It’s not a crime, far as I know.’
‘On the contrary. It’s perfectly in order to get yourself treated and I admire Retancourt’s talents. But if you don’t mind, and since all that is signed off, I’m going for a walk. I’m tired.’
Danglard made no comment on the contradiction, which was typical of Adamsberg, nor did he try to have the last word. Since Adamsberg obviously wanted to have the last word, let him have it. This kind of verbal sparring wasn’t going to resolve their quarrel.
In the Chapter Room, Adamsberg beckoned Noël over.
‘Where are we with the Favre business?’
‘He’s been questioned by the divisionnaire , and suspended until the inquiry has concluded. You’re to be questioned tomorrow at eleven o’clock in Brézillon’s office.’
‘I saw the note.’
‘There wouldn’t be any problem, if you hadn’t smashed the bottle. Given the way he is, he couldn’t know whether you were going to attack him with it or not.’
‘Neither did I, Noël.’
‘What?’
‘Neither did I,’ Adamsberg repeated calmly. ‘At the time, I’m not sure what might have happened. I don’t think I would have attacked him, but I’m not certain. Stupid bastard that he is, he just made me furious.’
‘For Christ’s sake, commissaire , don’t say anything like that to Brézillon, or you’ve had it. Favre would be able to plead legitimate self-defence and as for you, who knows where it could go? You’d have lost all credibility, all authority, do you realise?’
‘Yes, Noël,’ Adamsberg replied, surprised by the level of solicitude unexpectedly being shown by his lieutenant . ‘At the moment, I’m all on edge. I’m dealing with a ghost and it isn’t easy.’
Noël was used to incomprehensible remarks from his superior officer, so he made no comment.
‘But not a word to Brézillon,’ he added anxiously. ‘No introspection or attacks of conscience. Just say you broke the bottle to intimidate Favre. That you were going to drop it, naturally. That’s what we all thought, and that’s what we’ll say.’
The lieutenant looked directly at Adamsberg, waiting for his agreement.
‘Yes, very well, Noël.’
Shaking hands, Adamsberg had the curious feeling that their positions had momentarily been reversed.
XIII
ADAMSBERG WALKED THE COLD STREETS FOR A LONG TIME, HUGGING his coat round him, and still carrying his overnight bag. He crossed the Seine, then started walking uphill to the north, without any destination in mind, his thoughts jangling in his head. He would have liked to return to that moment of calm, three days earlier, when he had put his hand on the cold tank of the heating system. Ever since then, he seemed to have been at the centre of a series of explosions, like the toad with its cigarette. Several toads in fact, going off at short intervals. A cloud of entrails thrown in the air and raining down images of blood. The sudden appearance of the judge from the depths, the idea of the dead awakening, the three stab wounds in Schiltigheim, the hostility of his closest colleague, his brother’s features, the spire of Strasbourg Cathedral (142 metres), the prince transformed into a dragon, the bottle brandished in Favre’s face. And his outbursts of rage, against Danglard, against Favre, against Trabelmann, and insidiously, against Camille who had left him. No, that was wrong, he was the one who had left Camille. He was getting things the wrong way round, like the prince and the dragon. Getting angry with everyone. So, what you mean, Ferez would have said calmly, is that you’re angry with yourself. Oh, go fuck yourself, Ferez.
He stopped walking when he realised that as he had zigzagged through the chaos of his thoughts, he had reached the point of wondering whether if you stuffed a dragon into the doors of Strasbourg
‘Yes, I guessed,’ Adamsberg confirmed. ‘Your neck looks pink and you smell of camphor.’
‘I had a stiff neck. It’s not a crime, far as I know.’
‘On the contrary. It’s perfectly in order to get yourself treated and I admire Retancourt’s talents. But if you don’t mind, and since all that is signed off, I’m going for a walk. I’m tired.’
Danglard made no comment on the contradiction, which was typical of Adamsberg, nor did he try to have the last word. Since Adamsberg obviously wanted to have the last word, let him have it. This kind of verbal sparring wasn’t going to resolve their quarrel.
In the Chapter Room, Adamsberg beckoned Noël over.
‘Where are we with the Favre business?’
‘He’s been questioned by the divisionnaire , and suspended until the inquiry has concluded. You’re to be questioned tomorrow at eleven o’clock in Brézillon’s office.’
‘I saw the note.’
‘There wouldn’t be any problem, if you hadn’t smashed the bottle. Given the way he is, he couldn’t know whether you were going to attack him with it or not.’
‘Neither did I, Noël.’
‘What?’
‘Neither did I,’ Adamsberg repeated calmly. ‘At the time, I’m not sure what might have happened. I don’t think I would have attacked him, but I’m not certain. Stupid bastard that he is, he just made me furious.’
‘For Christ’s sake, commissaire , don’t say anything like that to Brézillon, or you’ve had it. Favre would be able to plead legitimate self-defence and as for you, who knows where it could go? You’d have lost all credibility, all authority, do you realise?’
‘Yes, Noël,’ Adamsberg replied, surprised by the level of solicitude unexpectedly being shown by his lieutenant . ‘At the moment, I’m all on edge. I’m dealing with a ghost and it isn’t easy.’
Noël was used to incomprehensible remarks from his superior officer, so he made no comment.
‘But not a word to Brézillon,’ he added anxiously. ‘No introspection or attacks of conscience. Just say you broke the bottle to intimidate Favre. That you were going to drop it, naturally. That’s what we all thought, and that’s what we’ll say.’
The lieutenant looked directly at Adamsberg, waiting for his agreement.
‘Yes, very well, Noël.’
Shaking hands, Adamsberg had the curious feeling that their positions had momentarily been reversed.
XIII
ADAMSBERG WALKED THE COLD STREETS FOR A LONG TIME, HUGGING his coat round him, and still carrying his overnight bag. He crossed the Seine, then started walking uphill to the north, without any destination in mind, his thoughts jangling in his head. He would have liked to return to that moment of calm, three days earlier, when he had put his hand on the cold tank of the heating system. Ever since then, he seemed to have been at the centre of a series of explosions, like the toad with its cigarette. Several toads in fact, going off at short intervals. A cloud of entrails thrown in the air and raining down images of blood. The sudden appearance of the judge from the depths, the idea of the dead awakening, the three stab wounds in Schiltigheim, the hostility of his closest colleague, his brother’s features, the spire of Strasbourg Cathedral (142 metres), the prince transformed into a dragon, the bottle brandished in Favre’s face. And his outbursts of rage, against Danglard, against Favre, against Trabelmann, and insidiously, against Camille who had left him. No, that was wrong, he was the one who had left Camille. He was getting things the wrong way round, like the prince and the dragon. Getting angry with everyone. So, what you mean, Ferez would have said calmly, is that you’re angry with yourself. Oh, go fuck yourself, Ferez.
He stopped walking when he realised that as he had zigzagged through the chaos of his thoughts, he had reached the point of wondering whether if you stuffed a dragon into the doors of Strasbourg
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