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

questions all the time, and they pull him in twelve directions at once. So on the question of doubt, he seems very sound, he’s unlikely to incline towards inflexible perfection.’
    ‘Should suit you then. What’s he look like?’
    ‘A bit odd, very thin, always wears black. Vandoosler’s got three of them living with him, he sent me this one. You’ll meet him and sort it out yourself. I’m leaving you now, Marthe. I’ve got a lead to follow up, looks intriguing.’
    ‘Bench 102?’
    ‘Yes, but not what you think. The deputy’s nephew I’m leaving to Vincent. He’s a big boy now. No, it’s something else, a bit of human bone I found near the bench.’
    ‘So what do you think about it?’
    ‘Murder.’
    Although Marthe couldn’t see the connection, she trusted Ludwig. At the same time his restless activity worried her. Since he’d been sacked from the Ministry, Ludwig hadn’t managed to slow down. She was wondering whether he was beginning to look for anything anywhere, bench to bench, town to town. He could just have given up, after all. But clearly that wasn’t on the agenda. Before, he didn’t make mistakes, but he’d always been connected, always in charge of a team. Now that he was freelancing, and not in charge of anything, it worried her, she was afraid he’d go crazy. She’d asked him, and Ludwig had snapped at her that he wasn’t crazy, but he had no intention of bringing the train to a halt. Then he had put on his German expression, as she called it. So, OK, I give up.
    She looked at Louis, now leaning against a bookcase. He seemed calm, as usual and as she had always known him. She knew a thing or two about men, that was something she was proud of, and this man was one of her favourites, apart from the four she had loved, none of whom had been either as gentle or as entertaining as Ludwig. She didn’t want him to go crazy, he really was one of her favourites.
    ‘Is there a reason you’re thinking it’s murder, or are you just inventing a good story?’
    Louis pulled a face.
    ‘A murder’s not a good story, Marthe, I’m not doing this just to avoid twiddling my thumbs. In the case of 102, I suppose I could be wrong, and perhaps there’s nothing suspicious about this bone. I hope so. But it bothers me, I’m not sure, so I’m keeping my eyes open. I’m going to take a stroll up that way. Sleep well.’
    ‘Shouldn’t you get some sleep too? What are you going to look at?’
    ‘Dogs pissing against trees.’
    Marthe sighed. Nothing to be done. Louis was determined, a runaway train. Slow, but no brakes.

VII
     
    MARC VANDOOSLER HAD jumped at it when his godfather had suggested this little job for two thousand francs. By combining it with his part-time work at the local library, starting in January, it would help out. In the ramshackle house where he lived, they had been able to switch on three more radiators.
    Of course, he had been suspicious at first. You always felt a bit suspicious about any contact of his godfather who, when he was in the force, had always done things his own way. A very special way. You never knew who might be among the elder Vandoosler’s contacts. In this case, the job was to go and classify press cuttings for ‘a friend’, without touching anything on the shelves. His godfather had said it was confidential, that Louis Kehlweiler had gathered kilos of information and now that he had been sacked from the Ministry of the Interior, he was still collecting stuff. All on his own? Marc had asked. And he manages? No, that’s the point, that’s why he needs some help.
    Marc had said OK, he wouldn’t poke about in the files, see if he cared. If they’d been medieval archives, of course, it would have been another story. But crimes, lists, names, networks, trials, no, nothing to interest him there. Perfect, the godfather had said, you can start tomorrow. ‘Ten o’clock in his bunker. He’ll explain, he might tell you the story; muddle and certainty –