This Night's Foul Work by Fred Vargas Read Free Book Online

road maps. The others, the cloud shovellers – thus named after a traumatic visit by the squad to Quebec – thought that the
commissaire
‘s results quite justified the vagaries of the investigation, even if the essentials of his work methods escaped them. According to mood, or to the circumstances of the moment, which might inspire either jumpiness or relaxation, someone could be a positivist one day and a cloud shoveller the next or vice versa. Only Adamsberg and Danglard, the two principal antagonists, never varied their position.
    Among the more anodyne Unsolved Questions there was still that wedding ring glinting on the
commissaire’s
finger. Danglard chose theday of the hailstorm to ask Adamsberg about it, simply by looking pointedly at the ring. The
commissaire
took off his wet jacket, sat sideways and stretched out his hand. The hand, too big for the size of his body, weighed down at the wrist with two watches which rattled together, and now further embellished with the gold ring, did not match the way he dressed, which was negligent, bordering on the scruffy. It was as if the richly adorned hand of some old-fashioned aristocrat were attached to the body of a peasant, excessive elegance conjoined with the sunburnt skin of a mountain villager.
    â€˜My father died, Danglard,’ Adamsberg explained calmly. ‘We were both sitting under a pigeon-shooting hide, and watching a buzzard circling in the sky over our heads. The sun was very bright, and he just keeled over.’
    â€˜You never told me,’ muttered Danglard, who found the
commissaire
‘s secrets irritating, for no reason.
    â€˜I stayed there until evening, lying beside him, holding his head against my shoulder. We might be there yet, but some hunters came across us at nightfall. Before they closed his coffin, I took his wedding ring. Did you think I had got married? To Camille?’
    â€˜I had wondered.’
    Adamsberg smiled.
    â€˜That’s a Question Resolved, Danglard. You know better than I do that I’ve let Camille go ten times, thinking that the train would come along for the eleventh time on a day that suited me. But that’s just when it stops coming along.’
    â€˜You never know, the points might change.’
    â€˜Trains are like people, they don’t like going round in circles. In the end it gets on their nerves. After we buried my father, I amused myself picking up pebbles from the river bed. That’s something I
can
do. Think about the infinite patience of the water, running over the stones. And the stones allow it to run, but the river is gradually wearing away all their rough edges, without seeming to. The water wins in the end.’
    â€˜If it comes to a fight, I’d prefer stones to water.’
    â€˜As you like,’ Adamsberg replied with a shrug. ‘But talking of stones and water, there are two things to report, Danglard. First, I’ve got a ghost in my new house. A bloodthirsty and avaricious nun, who was killed by a tanner in 1771. He murdered her with his bare fists. Just like that. She’s taken up residence in a fluid sort of way in my attic. That’s the water.’
    â€˜I see,’ said Danglard, prudently. ‘And the stones?’
    â€˜I’ve seen the new pathologist.’
    â€˜Elegant woman, bit stand-offish, but works hard at her job, they say.’
    â€˜And very talented, Danglard. Have you read her thesis about murderers who are split in two?’
    A pointless question, since Danglard had read everything, even the fire-evacuation instructions in hotel bedrooms.
    â€˜On
dissociated
murderers, you mean,’ Danglard corrected.
‘Either Side of the Crime Wall
. Yes, the book made quite a stir.’
    â€˜Well, it turns out she and I had a major bust-up over twenty years ago, in a café in Le Havre.’
    â€˜So you’re enemies?’
    â€˜No, that kind of clash can sometimes create a close friendship. But I