Dog Will Have His Day by Fred Vargas Read Free Book Online Page A

waste.’
    ‘Too bad.’
    ‘Even kings don’t throw away good cold chicken.’
    Marthe had a disconcerting way of suddenly announcing maxims apropos of nothing. Louis liked that. He had a good collection of Marthe-isms and had often used them.
    ‘Right, you’re on your way to bed? Shall I see you home?’
    ‘Who said it was your business?’
    ‘Marthe, let’s not go round in circles. You are as stubborn as a pig, and I’m as stubborn as a wild boar. Why didn’t you tell me?’
    ‘I can manage. I’ve got my address book. Someone’ll find me something. Old Marthe has things up her sleeve, you’re not God Almighty.’
    ‘Your address book, your list of ancient toffs . . .’ Louis sighed. ‘Because you think those toffs will lift a finger to help an old tart who has to sleep in shop doorways in the winter.’
    ‘Yes, that’s right, they’ll help an old tart. And why not?’
    ‘You know why . . . You tried them? Did you get a result? Not a thing. Am I right?’
    ‘So what?’ muttered Marthe.
    ‘Come on, old girl. We’re not going to spend all night on this metro platform.’
    ‘Where?’
    ‘To my bunker. And since, as you say, I’m not God Almighty, it isn’t paradise on earth.’
    Louis hauled Marthe towards the stairs. It was freezing outside. They went quickly through the streets.
    ‘You can fetch your things tomorrow,’ said Louis, opening a door on a second-floor landing near the Arènes de Lutèce. ‘But don’t bring all your stuff, there’s not a lot of room.’
    Louis switched on the heating, unfolded a narrow sofa bed, and shoved aside some cardboard boxes. Marthe looked around the little room, full of files, books, piles of documents and newspapers on the floor.
    ‘Now don’t go poking about, please,’ said Louis. ‘This is my little annexe of the Ministry. Twenty-five years of records, tons of dodgy scandals of every kind, the less you know, the better for you.’
    ‘OK,’ said Marthe, sitting on the little bed. ‘I’ll try.’
    ‘You all right here? It’ll do? We’ll try to find something else. We’ll rustle up a bit of money.’
    ‘Ludwig, you’re very kind,’ said Marthe. ‘And when my mother said that to anyone, she always added, “It’ll be the ruin of you.” And do you know why?’
    Louis just smiled.
    ‘Here’s a spare set of keys. Make sure you use both the locks when you leave.’
    ‘I’m not stupid,’ said Marthe, jerking her chin towards the bookshelves. ‘Plenty of names in the files, eh? Don’t worry, I’ll look after them.’
    ‘Another thing, Marthe. Every morning, there’s this guy comes here between ten and twelve. So you need to be up. But you can stay while he works, you can explain.’
    ‘Right. What’s he doing?’
    ‘He’s filing newpapers, reading, spotting things that look wrong, cutting out and classifying. Then he writes me a summary.’
    ‘Can you trust him? He might go poking about . . .’
    Louis took out two beers and passed one to Marthe.
    ‘The key stuff’s locked away. And I chose this guy carefully, I think. He’s Vandoosler’s lad. Remember Vandoosler, the commissaire in the 13th arrondissement? Did he ever pick you up?’
    ‘Several times. He was in the vice squad a long time. Nice man. I went a few rounds with him, we understood each other. He was OK with us girls, have to say that for him.’
    ‘Plenty of other things one can say for him.’
    ‘Was he booted out? He was just the type.’
    ‘Yes. He let a murderer get away.’
    ‘Guess he had his reasons?’
    ‘Yes.’
    Louis walked around the room with his beer in hand.
    ‘Why are we talking about this?’ asked Marthe.
    ‘Because of Vandoosler. He sent this lad to sort my papers. His nephew, or godson, or something. He wouldn’t have sent me just anyone, you know.’
    ‘And what’s he like?’
    ‘I don’t know. I’ve only seen him three times in three weeks. He’s an unemployed medieval historian. He looks like the kind that asks himself