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Last Christmas Merry Christmas (with Fred Vargas)

year to wish you a Merry Christmas I chose a detective story by Fred Vargas to address the holiday with a bit 'of irony and a shiver of mystery.

I wish you all a Merry Christmas.

The night of brutal Fred Vargas

So, if people did not fuss with Christmas, there would be less tragedies
. It is disappointed, the people, by force. This triggers
dramas.
only in the office, doodling Adamsberg,
taking a notebook resting on your thighs. He had chosen the night shift together at
Deniaut, dozing at the entrance. It was December 24,
a special evening, everyone else was out.
is preparing to celebrate the arrival on the scene of winter. Some would
lost if not for anything in the world, most were unable to escape. For Jean-Baptiste Adamsberg
was different: he feared the Christmas and
was held ready. Claus and his string of accidents. Claus and his legion of
dramas. Christmas, the ferocious night.

to be.
He rose slowly and went to put my forehead against the glass
tarnished. Outside, strings of light bulbs cast
short bursts on the bodies of the bums, frozen, holed up in the corners.
tried to calculate how much money you were pulverized so, for three weeks,
in the sky of Paris, ended without a single coin in his pocket
tramps. Christmas, the night of sharing.
He put the block and pencil, laid flat with two
a corner of the table, pulled out a bottle of wine, checked the contents of the oven and called
Deniaut.
to force people to be exasperating. The tension of the long count
down, after which must come the light-heartedness,
grinds the nerves, to the people. For five weeks old
with the white beard and the dress is red all over the walls,
jovial and full of promise. It is bomb-proof, that guy. Yet he looks like a
who has given us in for a lifetime with cheap wine.
But there's nothing to do, is steel. And apparently not even
suffer the cold. Never has a cold. He's a character
happy and blessed with the boots and clean round.
soon appears that old, the tension gradually rises.
The whole country, succubus, stiffens and prepare for the inevitable
joy.
Christmas falls on a day like everyone else. But thoughtful people everywhere
and dumb goes with the dress
again to the fulcrum of the festivities. Everyone thought to others. Each part
load of offers. Christmas, the night of the gift of great respite. At Christmas all
argue, the more sobbing, some divorced, others commit suicide
.
And a small percentage, just enough to bring down
policemen, killed. It is a day like any other, much less beautiful
others.
With his hands wrapped in two balls of newspaper Adamsberg
slowly pulled out the tray from the oven. Deniaut, distrustful,
was looking at him.
- What? - Asked.
- I do not know.
Except for three or four childhood memories, Adamsberg
was not sensitive to the culinary delights.
ate what he found, sometimes the same thing for two months straight.
recovered the package and handed it to his colleague.
- The title is written above the dinner, - he said.
- not a Christmas dinner.
- okay. It is calm.
Deniaut was a new mandate from Chambéry.
sensitive and meticulous, showed an attraction to the virtues that worried
Adamsberg. The Commissioner was concerned that not resist it. " Why
ultimately, the police is not advisable for one who hopes
feverishly in the grace of humanity.
Adamsberg split in two by pulling the baguette with his hands, and handed it
half the young lieutenant. The Commissioner of his rural childhood had kept some gestures
Spartans, however Deniaut
did not like the smashed bread. He took it, but a little 'uncomfortable.
The two ate in silence for some minutes.
- Of course people are on the verge of a nervous breakdown, "said
Adamsberg. - Six weeks of stress because they give the
best, condemning them to succeed, who brutalizes them
in view of the big night. Of course not resist. Collapse, are
disappointed.
Deniaut shook his head, uncertain.
had once believed in Christmas.
Adamsberg uncorked the bottle di vino, ne offrì senza sperarci
al collega. Deniaut non beveva.
- E tu? – riprese. – Non hai famiglia? Non festeggi?
Deniaut strinse le labbra.
- Ho rotto con tutti.
- Ah, – disse Adamsberg.
- Anche lei? – domandò Deniaut.
Adamsberg scosse il capo.
- No. Vivono sulla montagna, laggiù, – disse indicando la finestra
in direzione dei Pirenei. – Mi scrivono dei biglietti. Ieri una
delle mie sorelle mi ha mandato una specie di animale di pezza
lungo quattro centimetri. Non so che pensare.
Adamsberg posò la forchetta, frugò nella tasca interna della
sua vecchia giacca nera e tirò fuori una palla grigia
as big as a tangerine. Showed it to my colleague, then slowly
put on the table between them.
- What? It is a hippopotamus?
- I would not be so sure. A mule, perhaps?
- I have to inquire why, with my sister, there is always a hidden symbol
. It is a big pain in the ass.
The two policemen emptied his plate in silence, Deniaut
tip-fork, Adamsberg with large pieces of bread.
The fat woman flew above the parapet of the bridge to the National
black water of the Seine. The river was fast,
driven by an icy wind. Nobody on the street, anyone who was there to see
. Bar closed, taxis are absent, deserted city. Christmas is a celebration
domestic interior. Does not filter out anything. Even the solitary ir -
reducible gather in a tavern with two bottles and four idiots.
Solitude, vagrancy, bearable and sometimes even
flaunted defiantly in the rest of the year, seem to
shot a shameful disgrace. Christmas casts shame on who is the only
. so, before midnight everyone is holed up. The fat woman
flew into the water without anyone disengaged herself.
four o'clock in the morning Adamsberg
is away from his table to drink a coffee. From ten in the evening they had managed only six calls in
their field. Two men and a woman were
been hospitalized as a result of divorce proceedings initiated
during the dinner. Two other guys ended the night at the police:
such a doped up to the red wine that he had wanted at all costs
out of a window on the fourth floor to pick up a
"breath of fresh air," and a baker, dazed by a mixture rhumsonnifero,
who had decided to take out the next-door neighbor for disturbing the peace
night. The two were immobilized
without too much resistance and now sleeping in his cell in the heart of
police station.
A third man, a type English very chic, very good
drunk whiskey was picked up across a sidewalk
elegantly asleep, with his hands behind his neck and
, placed carefully beside him, his glasses, the card
of public transport and shoes. He had been slapped in the
cell with two others, but remained stubbornly standing by requiring two hours
a crutch in order to hang the dress as it should.
The cell was washed with the hose, and the benches of concrete,
floor, white tiled walls of dripping water.
hygienic measures and coercive Lieutenant Brousse,
a woman who knew his business, had applied without worries of mind
at nine in the evening. Move your coffee, Adamsberg saw that the guy stoned
of red wine he awoke. She handed him the glass
between the bars.
- Drink.
The guy nodded and swallowed a mouthful,
noisily cleared his throat.
- Apparently, I wanted to go out the window? - Asked.
Adamsberg year.
- Apparently, we were not on the ground floor, in Issoudun?
- In Paris, on the fourth floor.
- Yes, they say. And maybe it's true. I wonder what the hell they put in
wine. You know, you, what the hell they put in
wine?
- Wine.
- Oh yeah? That's something, well known.
- Drink - Adamsberg repeated.
- I would like a crutch, Commissioner - the man intervened
drunk whiskey.
He was a tall and handsome, in his forties, with a face Roman
temples gray, elegant, staggering, dignified and very drunk.
- There is a hook on the wall - Adamsberg said.
- Pinch collar.
- It's a big problem?
- not a big problem. Deforms the collar.
- lie down - Adamsberg advised. - Dorma. Shut up.
not break with his crutch.
- The benches dripping with water.
- So I recommend to keep the jacket.
- will ruin the fabric.
- Have you seen my jacket? It is a disaster in itself. Be ',
twenty years we are alive inside.
- I've seen. But she is a cop, I do not.
- Dancer's room? - Adamsberg asked after a moment of silence
. - Professor of grammar?
- the perfectionist that I am flattered and punish the vices of this land.
Spio curves and reverse the architecture of this world,
here and in heaven.
- I would say that she is above all drunk.
- I would like a crutch.
- We have no crutches.
Deniaut Adamsberg reached before the coffee machine.
- Maybe tonight there will be no more, - he said. -
little movement, all things considered.
- We'll quiet only three or four days, - answered
Adamsberg. - On Christmas Eve there is no one who notices the corpses,
know? Emerge only later. All must have disposed of the
drunk. It takes a little 'time. Who misses the window, who
wrong door, bed, sidewalk, a woman who looks for his coat,
her man, his crutch, his hippopotamus.
have to wait a bit '.
River, mighty, swollen from all the rains of autumn,
carried in its depths the bulk
woman's body during the nights of 24th and December 25th, brought him back to the surface at night and at dawn of 26
27 left him under the narrow bridge dell'Archevèché,
left bank.
Adamsberg received the call in the morning, almost nine.
It was barely light.
Commissioner, with phone in hand, hesitated to warn the lieutenant
Danglard. That was inefficient, in the morning, and sensitive to
violence. Adamsberg slowly hung up the receiver.
would not have broken the boxes Danglard. The body floated
was certainly a bad show. The woman was dead
more than two days before, during Christmas night. This was almost certain.
Adamsberg Deniaut brought with him. After all, was with him
that began on Christmas Eve.
- I told you? - Adamsberg said, his hands on the steering wheel
. - We should wait.
- It is said to have died on the 24th.
- But yes, Deniaut. Thus, Christmas, the revelry of desires.
bans are shattered, barriers break down. Some will give
a hippo, while others buy the skin of a woman.
Deniaut shrugged.
- Yes, - quietly resumed Adamsberg. - You'll see.
parked the car on the sidewalk, raised strips of red and white plastic
that barred access to the quai de Montebello
and descended the flight of steps down to the River. Deniaut followed with caution
on the dirty scale. Deniaut was a manic cleaning, a
terrified of germs and, when he joined the police force,
four years before and prayed that nobody would notice.
He put his gloves and pulled the scarf over his nose. The air was damp, the wind chill. In front of him
Adamsberg, unarmed, bareheaded, his jacket unbuttoned and
collar unbuttoned, walked with calm and regular pace. That guy had never
cold, like Santa Claus.
Adamsberg stood near the body, shook a little 'hands.
Two agents, the coroner, that of science. Deniaut recognized
Vacher, the fearless photographer, rummaging in the depths of
snout with the horrors of his telephone, without making a
fold. Often called him in difficult situations. Deniaut
stayed behind with his nose in a scarf, wind.
- favor two or three days, - said the coroner.
- The death that would place the night of 24 and 25.
Adamsberg glanced quickly at Deniaut. That he put
with a nod. Yes, you know, Christmas night, the night
brutal. Adamsberg was. He knew things before anyone
others had warned. It was enough to get used to everything here, he said
Danglard down a beer.
- you will confirm it tomorrow - continued your doctor.
- do you think?
- banal suicide.
- Never seen.
- The corpse?
- No. I've never seen banal suicide.
The medical examiner shrugged.
- She died of drowning - continued. - I'll confirm it.
-Age?
- The fifties, sixties. It was thrown from a bridge. He
bruises, probably slammed against the masts.
I mean who has not thrown from the shore. It comes from upstream, the river has dragged
.
- You can move it? - Asked Adamsberg
to those of science.
- We have finished the turn.
Adamsberg slipped a pair of gloves, turned his body with the help of a
technicians. They passed a grimace on his face, the twinkling of an eye
.
In silence, the two felt about the clothes.
The woman wore a blue dress and a fur Anonymous. In his pocket, keys, purses,
any documents. No wedding ring, gaudy jewelry, a gold wrist watch
.
- not an evening gown, - said Deniaut. - Maybe it was the
24?
- It was 24, - Adamsberg said getting up.
- missing a shoe.
- I've seen, old man.
- It's in the water.
- Dredge area. Deniaut, you up the river and control the
right bank. Call for Danglard do the same on the left.
I take care of the bridges. May have fallen from the bridge of Tolbiac, National
from the bridge or even further from that of Charenton. We
a purse, let us proof of identity, we
who he is. And we look for the shoe, like Cinderella.
- For Cinderella was the opposite - intervened with Deniaut
discretion. - They had tried the shoe but the women.
- OK, - said Adamsberg.
Deniaut was not only virtuous, but conscientious.
not bear the approximation, while Adamsberg approximation
lived.
- The shoe can be got stuck higher up,
Deniaut-shoot.
- certainly not dredge up the Seine to the Mount Gerbier-de-
Jonc - Adamsberg said. - Dragons under this bridge.
The doctor lifted the curtains, put the body on a stretcher, covered him with
a sheet of plastic. Adamsberg
had moved away and gave instructions to the phone in a slow voice. Then he shoved the phone in my jacket
, feel under the fingers of his sister and the hippopotamus
looked up toward the bridge.
- will be hard, prepared, - said to Deniaut. - Very hard. Perhaps
not find anything.
- I do not understand.
- The murder - Adamsberg said opening his arms. - You
murder, pure and simple. It is the hardest material to work with, resist
like a stone.
- A murder?
- But the shoe, Deniaut cabbage.
- We said that the shoe was on the Seine.
- You said, - Adamsberg said, shaking his head. - The
body is inflated, the other shoe is firmly stuck in the foot.
What we seek is not in the Seine. She fell while
threw down the murderer's collection.
- There is no evidence - Deniaut said softly.
- No, there is no evidence. Too bad the other shoe
not want to say anything. Can you imagine, Deniaut if was that? What not to
people would know? Almost everything, really. Perhaps the thought
us down in the feet. Jean-Baptiste Adamsberg
slowly surveyed his fifth
bridge to Bercy, when he received the call from the office
missing persons. He began taking cover behind the railing and
covered his right ear with a finger.
- Speak up!
- Annie Rochelle, - shouted the policeman. - They have denounced the disappearance
this morning, at eight-thirty.
- Who made the complaint?
- Her neighbor, a friend. They had to be seen last night to finish the leftovers
Christmas. There is no way. From the description, it could
match. Three hours later reached
Adamsberg Deniaut and Danglard
in a bar in the rue de Vouillé, opposite the residence of the deceased.
The woman had been identified. Annie Rochelle, fifty-six,
unmarried, born in Lille.
- What else do we know?
- She grew up near Lille, in a small village. Twenty years
found work in Paris as a waitress. Ten years ago her brother
gave a hand and bought the Hotel de la Garde,
little far from here, thirty-two rooms. The brother is not going well.
- Living in Paris?
- Yes, you do not have other relatives.
- The Handbag? The shoe?
- Nothing.
- At this hour, - Danglard said, - the shoe is coming to
Rouen.
Adamsberg shook his head in silence.
- As we speak, - Deniaut intervened in halting,
- the Seine is not born from Mount Gerbier-de-Jonc.
Adamsberg looked at the lieutenant, puzzled.
- What comes from Mount Gerbier-de-Jonc?
- The Loire - Deniaut replied shyly.
- Yes, Danglard? The Loire?
Danglard year.
- The Seine - Deniaut shots almost in a whisper -
born on the plateau of Langres.
- Never heard of it. You know this plateau of Langres, Danglard?
- Yes - confirmed Danglard.
Adamsberg nodded, thoughtfully.
- However, - times, - the victim was not from the plateau of Langres
nor from Mount Gerbier-de-Jonc. He came from rue de
Vouillé. Finish the beer, Danglard, so we can go to his house
.
- Behind us, - said with a nod of Danglard thumb. -
and brother. Back to the morgue.
- Shaken?
- so it seems.
- could be seen often?
- Once or twice a week.
- Tell me about him.
Danglard fumbled inside the jacket, pulled out a piece of paper.
- Her name is Rochelle Germain, was raised in that town,
near Lille. He has sixty-three, a bachelor. As his sister,
say, but the masculine. But he has his way. Import-export
in the field of canned vegetables, large factory in Lille, big
assets, moving to Switzerland and back ten years ago.
sold the company, made his property, has retired and lives in Paris
annuity.
- comfortably?
- Very. He was to return to France he bought for his sister
that hotel.
- Why not before?
- The sister lived with a man who hated him. A scoundrel,
says. They have not seen for twenty years, until she left him.
- The name of the guy?
- Guy Verdillon. It was the receptionist Annie
where he worked in the hotel.
- what did you on the evening of 24?
- had dinner with his brother in a nice restaurant in the rue de l'Opéra
. We cartload of witnesses. He has taken back
and left her on the street corner around midnight.
Adamsberg glanced to his brother. He was a burly
with short arms, wrapped in a thick gray coat, his head bent toward
hands. The search of the apartment
Annie Rochelle
began about five o'clock in the evening, slow and monotonous. We seek
purse, said Adamsberg. Had detached from the wall of a large lounge
frame with a mosaic of images of childhood.
Schools, communions, birthdays, parents, first car,
sea bathing. Germain Rochelle, sitting heavily on a chair
velvet, watched them. Adamsberg placed on the ground the great
frame.
- No indiscretion, - he said. - I need to get an idea
whole.
- It is not a set - Rochelle said. - They are my parents.
The police left the building an hour later, without her purse.
Adamsberg had under his arm a large frame with photographs
childhood. Rochelle followed, hunched.
- We need to understand? - Asked Danglard
indicating the frame with a nod of her chin.
- I do not know, - said Adamsberg. - This thing I really like. Rochelle
carry with me for the minutes. Go to the hotel, you ask
all staff and, above all, find me that damn purse.
Danglard returned to the police at the end of the evening, after recording the testimonies of the eleven employees
Hotel de la Garde
. Deniaut was past eight o'clock. Since no bridge, no bank
had jumped out of even the shadow of a shoe.
- It is with the murderess, - said Adamsberg.
- Who? - Asked Danglard.
- The shoe.
Danglard shook his head, sat down, his shoulders sagged springs.
- The woman killed herself, - she said. - Employees have confirmed the testimony of his brother
: Annie
Rochelle was on a slippery slope. Since last autumn, melancholy, silence, sudden jerky
, insomnia and mood swings.
- With this reasoning, everyone would be in the Seine.
The shoe is the murderess. And the handbag.
- The hotel manager says that Annie Rochelle
wanted to return to his childhood village, near Lille. It is not a sign,
this? He wanted to review ...
Danglard paused, consulted his notes.
- ... "the black house where he grew up with his brother. "
is not a story to jump into the water, this? The black house in North
?
leaned back the sheets on the table, opened a beer.
- has thrown down with her purse, - he said. - The Purse
the shoe together. At this time have left Rouen.
head towards Le Havre.
- Do not be thrown away with the handbag, Danglard. It leaves a trace of self
. A letter on a table, a purse on a bridge,
an imprint of his existence. And the damn purse
is not anywhere. If the seal is the killer.
- Why?
- To search within. Destroying documents,
avoid breaking balls.
- I'd really like a crutch, - said
suddenly a deep voice and calm.
Danglard turned suddenly into the cell.
- is back, what?
- Yes - Adamsberg said with a sigh. - At eleven.
had collapsed at the wheel of his car, stone dead.
had wanted to take a little time between a night and the next. Would you like a crutch.
- Always the damn collar, eh?
- Always.
Adamsberg walked slowly to the cell.
- I forgot his name.
- Charles. Charles Sancourt.
- Charles. Drink a bit 'of water. Lie down. Dorma.
- Prima la stampella.
- Charles. Ho un omicidio sul gobbo. Un omicidio di Natale,
la notte primordiale. Una faccenda schifosissima, ben più schifosa
di un colletto deformato. Quindi non mi rompa. Dorma. Chiuda
il becco.
Charles rivolse al commissario un doloroso sguardo da imperatore
romano deluso dalla sua guardia pretoria.
- Eppure lei aveva gli occhi di un uomo capace di comprendere
che la salvaguardia delle quisquilie getta le basi per il fiorire
delle grandi cose. Fra l’insignificante e il grandioso non c’è nemmeno
la distanza di un’unghia.
- Dorma, Charles.
Adamsberg tornò al tavolo dove Danglard annotava i rapporti
degli interrogation of the day.
- He knew how to swim? - Asked.
- It does not matter - Danglard said. - The Seine
is so cold that there is no escape. However, it was enough fur to make
sinking.
- Exactly.
- She killed herself. At Christmas, they all kill, and some they perform.
Adamsberg grabbed his notebook and scribbled a few minutes
in silence.
- When one wants to throw himself into the Seine, Danglard, not
tosses it over a pylon. Throws herself into a pylon and another.
not jumped down, absolutely.
Danglard bit her lip. He had forgotten the affair
bruises. Imagined standing in the night on the parapet above the river
. It would be put between two piers, of course.
Adamsberg looked and nodded.
- The murderess knew, - continued the Commissioner. - It's
a man. It takes strength to stun and fling overboard
a fat woman as Annie. Pushing the feet, the
remained in the hands of the shoe. He's still in my purse and cut the rope
.
- Why did not throw the shoe in the water? Ah.
Adamsberg designed for a few moments.
- Because the shoe was damaged during the melee -
shooting in a low voice. - Traces of struggle, maybe. The murderess
did not want to risk it.
Danglard, with outstretched necks, he finished drinking his beer barrel.
- That woman did not bother anybody - said supporting
the bottle. - Her brother held her. The hotel was not
loved nor hated.
- He had the money.
- They go to his brother. He has twenty times more money than Annie.
Adamsberg sighed, grabbed his big frame that had supported
the ground and examined it in silence.
- I have to pee, - said the deep voice of man in the cell.
- There's a hole at bottom - Danglard said. - Behind the wall.
- I do not want to piss that hole, - said Charles Sancourt.
- I want to piss in the bathroom. And if possible, I would like me to
procuraste a crutch.
Danglard got up, stretched, and stopped him with a Adamsberg
look. He put the frame on the table and went to open the door of the cell
.
- accompany him, Danglard, - he said.
The man came out of the cell with the aristocratic and uncertain gait and followed
Danglard head on. Adamsberg three went to get coffee,
that brought back at a slow pace. From the doorway of his office
saw that Charles was waiting for him, stretching his arms, sitting on the chair
of his colleague.
Adamsberg put the coffee table and turned against the frame with
images.
- Where Danglard? - Asked.
- Piscia beer, - said Charles.
With one hand, Adamsberg drove the man in the cell, shut the
lock and handed him the coffee.
- Stazionerò here long? - Asked Charles.
- Until you go back sober.
- I can go elsewhere sober.
- not when one wants to drive. How it works.
- So happy to accept a crutch.
- Fuck.
- I know. You have a murder on the teleprompter. Patience, I'll sleep in
feet as the horses.
And Charles closed his eyes, straight as a statue.
Adamsberg groom carefully record the interrogation.
Danglard fell asleep.
hour after the commissioner shook his deputy.
- A lover? - Asked. - They have spoken of a lover?
- No. Only that guy, the receptionist who has disappeared.
- We need to find that guy.
- No longer in France. We can put the months to locate him.
- reconvene the brother tomorrow. Can you talk about him.
- He's already done.
- Is there anything that does not say. I am sure, Danglard. That
that's on the ass on a lie.
- Bravo - suddenly said Charles.
Adamsberg turned to the cell where the man, standing, the
watched with folded arms.
- Are you still awake? With everything you have in your body?
- The question of occupation, resistance, to each his specialty.
- threw him out - he said suddenly Danglard. -
drunk or not. Do not stand it anymore, that dandy.
- Bravo in what sense? - Asked Adamsberg.
- The brother's mind, - said Charles.
Adamsberg put a hand on the shoulder of Danglard
to do sit and approached the cell.
- Before the crutch - Charles said, holding out a hand through the bars well
stops. - Then the truth.
- Caution - Danglard said. - Tomorrow
tell everything to the press and she will make the figure of the fool.
- I often - Adamsberg said.
- Before the crutch - Charles repeated, with hand outstretched
.
- Go get your wardrobe, - said Adamsberg
Danglard watching. - Take your big wooden crutch.
Furious, Danglard noisily left the room, returning
two minutes later with a crutch, who laid on the table.
Adamsberg took it and deposited it in the outstretched hand. Charles
took off his jacket, pants, all neatly folded and hung on the hook
the crutch. Then, in white shirt and pants, sat on
wet bench and nodded to Adamsberg.
- Come in, sir. And I bring that frame with the photographs.
I apologize if the bench is wet, here are
unscrupulous agents who have too much to heart the comfort of prisoners.
Adamsberg Charles sat down and took his large frame.
- Here, - said supporting the index on a photograph - here
brother, about eleven years, posing on a lawn with a few companions
first communion. We agree?
Adamsberg nodded.
- And here, - said Charles moving the finger - there's a bird in the sky
passes.
Charles leaned back on the ground the frame.
- You a photograph by a professional - he went on. - The bird
seen distinctly, a Ring Ouzel, Turdus torquatus alpestris.
Male, recognizable by the white crescent on the chest.
- Ah, - Adamsberg said flatly. - I believe you for sure.
- Trust.
- Come on, old chap, - said Adamsberg. - Continue. I
crutch Did I date.
- This subspecies occurs only in the south-eastern France.
is not never been spotted north of the Loire. The photograph was not taken
in Lille. That man grew up in Lille, mind.
Adamsberg was several seconds in silence, without moving,
with his arms on his belly, your legs straight, buttocks frozen moisture
the bench.
- It seems that his brother is his brother, eh? - He said.
- but he wanted to believe it, - said Charles. -
This frame is only a frame, a trick.
Danglard also entered the cell with another beer, and sat on the bench opposite
.
- Where would the brother? - Asked. - In Switzerland?
Adamsberg times the frame, close look at the boy's face
.
- Dead - Adamsberg said. - This guy is the lover, the employee
the reception. She and he got rid of
brother ten years ago, they took their name and money. They bought the property.
Charles nodded.
- What do you think of this system of wet benches? - Asked to
Danglard.
- I think they will freeze your ass. System by police.
- Not very friendly, eh?
- discomfort and humiliation - Danglard said. - This is the idea of
bottom of the cell for drunks. More disgusting is the idea, and more
last long. She is a journalist?
- Ornithologist.
- Obvious - Adamsberg said.
Commissioner slowly rose, wiped his hands on his pants
cold. Recovered the frame, examined the tiny white crescent
that adorned the chest of the bird in flight.
- The trifle - she said - behind the big catch dell'inghippo.
- Yes, - said Charles. They arrested Germain
Rochelle, that Guy Verdillon at dawn.
collapsed at eleven-ten, under the watchful eye of Charles Sancourt
that, his hands clutching the bars, always in shirt and pants
, had acquired the automatic right to attend the interrogation.
motive for the murder of Annie Rochelle? Lite, money and blackmail,
Verdillon but would never admit it. The man clung fiercely
to one version: he threw water in his
accomplice broke because the balls. A Danglard
that topic seemed weak. No, said Adamsberg.
for a night of Christmas, there was nothing surprising.
Christmas, the primordial night. About one
Charles left the police station, with the collar
impeccable and buttocks wet.
- We forgot to give him his crutch -
Adamsberg said. The
broke away from the wall and reached by steps vaguely
fast man with the white shirt that was heading down the road.
- It is not his crutch - Danglard objected to the form. He knew
exactly what would have responded Adamsberg.
He replied: "Yes that is his crutch."
Adamsberg upset was his job. A small craft, of course. But the catch of the insignificant
behind the big catch dell'inghippo.
Something like that. And that, he knew from Danglard
time.