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

don’t advise you to go to a café with her – she mixes drinks that would knock out a Breton fisherman. She’s taken charge of those two men killed at La Chapelle. She seems to think a woman killed them. She’s going to refine her preliminary conclusions this evening.’
    â€˜A
woman?’
    The usually languid Danglard sat up, in shock. He hated the idea that women might be killers.
    â€˜Has she seen the size of those two guys? Is she joking?’
    â€˜Not so fast, Danglard. Dr Lagarde doesn’t make mistakes, or hardly ever. Suggest her hypothesis to the Drug Squad, anyway – it’ll keep them off our backs for a bit.’
    â€˜You won’t be able to hold Mortier off at all. He’s been getting nowherewith the dealer networks in Clignancourt-La Chapelle for months. It’s not looking good and he needs results. He’s called in twice already this morning. I warn you, he’s screaming blue murder.’
    â€˜Let him scream. The water will win in the end.’
    â€˜So what are you going to do?’
    â€˜About my nun?’
    â€˜No, about Diala and La Paille.’
    Adamsberg looked at Danglard in bewilderment.
    â€˜Those are their names,’ Danglard explained. ‘The two victims. Diala Toundé and Didier Paillot, known as “La Paille”. So should we go to the morgue tonight?’
    â€˜No, I’m in Normandy tonight. For a concert.’
    â€˜Ah,’ said Danglard, heaving himself to his feet. ‘You’re hoping for the points to change?’
    â€˜I’m humbler than that,
capitaine
. I’m just going to look after the baby while she plays.’
    â€˜Commandant
, I’m a
commandant
now. Don’t you remember? You were at my promotion ceremony. What concert, anyway?’ asked Danglard, who always took Camille’s interests to heart.
    â€˜It must be something important. It’s some British orchestra with period instruments.’
    â€˜The Leeds Baroque Ensemble?’
    â€˜It’s some name like that,’ said Adamsberg, who had never managed to learn a word of English. ‘Don’t ask me what she’s playing, I’ve no idea.’
    Adamsberg stood up, and flung his damp jacket over his shoulder. ‘While I’m away, can you look after the cat, and Mortier, the two bodies, and the temper of
Lieutenant
Noël, who is getting more and more difficult? I can’t be everywhere, and duty calls just now.’
    â€˜Since you’re being a responsible father,’ muttered Danglard.
    â€˜If you say so,
capitaine.’
    Adamsberg accepted without demur Danglard’s grumbling reproacheswhich he considered almost always to be justified. A single parent, the
commandant
was bringing up his five children like a mother hen, whereas Adamsberg had hardly registered that Camille’s newborn baby was his. At least he had memorised his name: Thomas Adamsberg, known as Tom. That was at least one point in his favour, thought Danglard, who never completely despaired of the
commissaire
.

VIII
    B Y THE TIME HE HAD DRIVEN THE 136 KILOMETRES TO THE VILLAGE OF Haroncourt in the
département
of the Eure, Adamsberg’s clothes had dried in the car. He had only to smoothe them out by hand before putting on his jacket and finding a bar where he could wait in the warm for his prearranged rendezvous. Sitting comfortably on a battered leather banquette, with his back to the wall and a glass of beer in front of him, the
commissaire
examined the noisy group which had just taken possession of the café, rousing him from a semi-doze.
    â€˜Want me to tell you what I think?’ said a big fair-haired man, pushing his cap back with his thumb.
    He’s going to tell them anyway, thought Adamsberg.
    â€˜Summat like that? Want me to tell you?’ the man was repeating.
    â€˜We need a drink first.’
    â€˜We do at that, Robert,’ said his neighbour, pouring out generous helpings of