The Chalk Circle Man by Fred Vargas Read Free Book Online Page B

who cannot express himself except through these manifestations, which are, indeed, evidence of a mind in some sense deranged, yet at the same time highly organised, you follow? But someone of above average intelligence, believe me.’
    ‘But there are mistakes in the series. The mouse and then the cat, they weren’t objects.’
    ‘As I said, there’s much less logic to the series than might appear at first, the kind of logic we would find if this were a case of authentic obsession. That’s what’s so unsettling about it. But from the point of view of our subject, he is demonstrating that death transforms a living creature into an object the moment the lifeless body ceases to feel anything – which is true enough. From the instant the top comes off the bottle, the top becomes a non-thing. And when the body of a friend stops breathing – what does it become? Our man is preoccupied with questions of this order. In fact, not to put too fine a point on it: he’s obsessed with death.’
    Vercors-Laury paused, leaning back once more in his chair. He looked Adamsberg straight in the eye, as if to say: Listen carefully, I’m about to tell you something sensational. Adamsberg did not believe he would do anything of the sort.
    ‘From your point of view as a policeman, you are wondering whether he poses any danger to human life, aren’t you, commissaire ? I’ll tell you this much: the phenomenon could remain stable at this stage and burn itself out, but on the other hand I see no reason why, theoretically , a man of this kind, in other words a deranged person who is nevertheless perfectly in control of himself (if you have followed me so far), a man burning with the need to exhibit his thoughts, should halt in his trajectory. Note that I’m saying theoretically .’
    Adamsberg walked back to the office with vague thoughts running through his head. He was not in the habit of reflecting deeply. He had never been able to understand what was happening when he saw people put their hands to their foreheads and say, ‘Right, let’s give this some thought.’ What was going on in their brains, the way they managed to organise precise ideas, inferring, deducting, concluding, all that was a complete mystery to him. He had to admit that it produced undeniable results, and that after this kind of brainstorming, people took decisions, something he admired while being convinced that he was himself lacking in some way. But when he tried it, when he sat down and said ‘Right, I’ll give it some thought,’ nothing happened in his head. It was even at moments like that that he was aware of a complete blank. Adamsberg never realised when he was thinking and the instant he became conscious of it, it stopped. As a result he was never sure where all his ideas, his intentions and his decisions came from.
    At any rate, he felt that nothing that Vercors-Laury had said had come as a surprise, and that he had always known that the man drawing the blue chalk circles was no ordinary crackpot. That some cruel motive lay underneath this apparent lunacy. That the sequence of objects could only lead to one conclusion, one blinding apotheosis: a death. Mathilde Forestier would have said that it was normal not to learn anything serious, since it was the second section of the week, but Adamsberg thought it was simply that Vercors-Laury was someone who knew his stuff all right, but wasn’t in the end all that impressive.
    The following morning, a large blue circle had appeared in the rue Cunin-Gridaine in the 3rd arrondissement . The only thing in the centre was a hairpin.
    Conti photographed the hairpin.
    The next night brought a circle in the rue Lacretelle and another in the rue de la Condamine, in the 17th arrondissement , one containing an old handbag, the other a cotton bud.
    Conti photographed the bag and then the cotton bud, without passing comment, but the look on his face betrayed his irritation. Danglard remained silent.
    The next three nights