An Uncertain Place (36 page)

‘Was it by any chance Mordent who passed on the information? And asked you to follow me?’

‘Mordent? Why would it be Mordent?’

‘You don’t know? He’s off work with depression.’

‘What’s that got to do with it?’

‘What it’s to do with, is his daughter: she’s due in court. What it’s to do with, is the hierarchy that doesn’t want us to catch the killer. And has somehow corrupted the squad. They’ve got their hooks into Mordent. Every man has his price.’

‘Where would you rate mine?’

‘Pretty high, I’d think.’

‘Thanks very much.’

‘Whereas Mordent’s treachery is utterly cack-handed.’

‘Doesn’t have a vocation for it, I expect.’

‘Still, he gets there in the end. A little cartridge case planted under the fridge, some pencil shavings on the carpet.’

‘No idea what you’re talking about. I don’t know any details about the case. Was that why you let the suspect go? You were under pressure to?’

‘Do you mean Émile?’

‘No, the other one.’

‘I didn’t let Zerk go,’ said Adamsberg firmly.

‘Who’s Zerk?’

‘The Crusher, the
Zerquetscher
. The man who killed Vaudel and Plögener.’

‘And who’s Plögener?’

‘The Austrian who suffered the same fate five months ago. I see you don’t know anything about all this. And yet it was you that opened the vault in Kisilova.’

Veyrenc smiled. ‘You’ll never really trust me, will you?’

‘If I can get to understand you, I might.’

‘I flew to Belgrade, then I took a taxi and got to Kisilova before you.’

‘How come you weren’t spotted in the village?’

‘I slept in a hut in the clearing. I saw you go past the first day.’

‘When I found Peter Plogojowitz.’

‘Who
is
he?’

And Veyrenc’s ignorance seemed genuine.

‘Look, Veyrenc,’ said Adamsberg standing up, ‘if you don’t know who Peter Plogojowitz was, you really have no business here. Unless – and please tell me why – you somehow thought I was in danger.’

‘I didn’t come here with any intention of getting you out of the vault. I didn’t come with any idea of helping you. On the contrary.’

‘That’s better,’ said Adamsberg. ‘Now we’re getting warmer, I can understand you better.’

‘But I couldn’t let you die in that tomb. You do believe me about that?’

‘Yes.’

‘I thought the danger came from you. I followed you when you went to the mill, I saw the hire car on the road, registered in Belgrade. I thought it was yours. I didn’t know where you meant to go, so I got into the boot. But I was wrong. I ended up being driven like you to that blessed graveyard. He had a gun and I didn’t. I waited and watched. Like I said, he came back several times to check. I couldn’t do anything till quite well into the morning. Almost too late. Another couple of hours and you really would have been a centaur. A stone one.’

Adamsberg sat down again and re-examined the embroidery on his shirt. He didn’t want to look at Veyrenc’s smile, or allow himself to be enveloped by him as surely as in the rolls of duct tape.

‘So you saw Zerk.’

‘Yes and no. I didn’t get out of the boot until a while after you, and I went some distance away. I could see your outlines, that’s all. I could make out his leather jacket and boots.’

‘Yes,’ said Adamsberg, biting his lips. ‘That’s Zerk.’

‘If by Zerk you mean the Garches murderer, OK, yes, it was Zerk. If by Zerk you mean the young guy who came to see you at home on Wednesday morning, that wasn’t him.’

‘Were you there that morning too?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you didn’t do anything? But it was the same man, Veyrenc. Zerk is Zerk.’

‘Not necessarily.’

‘You’re not making any more sense than you were.’

‘
Have you changed from the past, is clarity your god?
’

Adamsberg got up, took the packet of Morava from the mantelpiece, and lit a cigarette from the fire.

‘You smoke now?’

‘Zerk’s fault. He left a packet with me. And I’ll go on smoking till I get him under lock and key.’

‘So why did you let him go?’

‘Just don’t bug me, Veyrenc, he was armed, I wasn’t, I couldn’t do anything.’

‘No? Couldn’t you have called up reinforcements when he’d gone? Surrounded the district? Why didn’t you?’

‘None of your business.’

‘You let him go because you weren’t certain he was the Garches murderer.’

‘I was absolutely certain he was. You don’t know anything about the investigation. So let me tell you, Zerk left his DNA in Garches on a Kleenex. And that was the same DNA that came walking in on two legs to my house on Wednesday, with the clear purpose of killing me, that morning or some other time. And let me tell you that boy is bad through and through. He didn’t once deny the murder.’

‘He didn’t?’

‘On the contrary, he was proud of it. And he went back there just to stamp on a kitten with his boot. And he wears a T-shirt covered with vertebrae and drops of blood.’

‘Yes, I know about that, I watched him go.’

Veyrenc took a cigarette from the packet, lit it and paced around the room like an obstinate wild boar. All the sweetness had vanished from his face. Adamsberg observed him. Veyrenc was protecting Zerk. So Veyrenc must be in league with Emma Carnot. Veyrenc must be waiting to push him into a hole, like all those others. But in that case, why rescue him from the vault? To get him eliminated legally?

‘Let me tell
you
something, Adamsberg. Thirty years ago, a certain Gisèle Louvois got herself pregnant, down by the little bridge over the Jaussène. You know where I mean. And let me tell you that she went to Pau to hide the pregnancy, and gave birth there to a boy, Armel Louvois.’

‘Zerk. Yes, I know all that, Veyrenc.’

‘Because he told you.’

‘No.’

‘Yes, he did. Because he’s got it into his head that it was you that made his mother pregnant. He must have talked to you about it when he came. He’s thought of nothing else for months.’

‘All right, yes, he did. All right, he’s got it into his head. Or rather his mother must have put it into his head.’

‘And rightly so.’

Veyrenc came back to the fireplace, threw his cigarette into the flames and knelt down to poke the fire. Adamsberg now felt no gratitude at all for his former colleague. He had certainly torn off all that tape, but now he was trying to tie him up all over again.

‘Spit it out, Veyrenc.’

‘Zerk’s right. And his mother’s right. The young man down by the bridge was Jean-Baptiste Adamsberg. Without any doubt.’

Veyrenc got up, slight sweat breaking out on his forehead.

‘So that makes you the father of Zerk, or Armel if you prefer.’

Adamsberg clenched his teeth.

‘Look, Veyrenc, how can you know that, if I don’t know it myself?’

‘It often happens. Life’s like that.’

‘Listen, only once have I done something and completely lost any memory of it, and that was in Quebec, when I had had too much to drink. This was thirty years ago you’re talking about, and I didn’t drink then. What are you suggesting? That not only am I amnesiac, but have the power of being everywhere, and I made love to some girl I have
never
met? In my whole life, I have never slept with or even talked to a girl called Gisèle.’

‘I believe you.’

‘That’s better.’

‘She hated her name, she told boys she was called something else. It wasn’t Gisèle you went with that night, it was a girl called Marie-Ange. Down by the bridge.’

Adamsberg felt himself pitch down a steep slope. His skin was on fire, and his head was throbbing. Veyrenc went out of the room. Adamsberg dug his fingers into his hair. Yes, of course, he had made love to a girl called Marie-Ange, the girl with the urchin haircut, the girl with slightly buck teeth, by the bridge over the Jaussène, a slight rain falling and the wet grass which had almost put an end to it. And yes, of course, there had been a letter, received some time later, a weird letter of which he couldn’t make head nor tail, and that was from her. And yes, of course, Zerk did look like him. So this was what it was like to be in hell. To find you have a son of twenty-nine on your back, and to have that back broken on an anvil. To be the father of the man who had chopped Vaudel into bits, the man who had tied him up in the vault.
Know where you are now, scumbag?
No, he didn’t know where he was at all, except that he was inside a skin that was sweating and burning, with his head fallen on his knees, and tears stinging his eyes.

Veyrenc had come back in without saying a word, carrying a tray on which were a bottle and some bread and cheese. He put it down looking at Adamsberg, poured out a couple of glasses and spread the cheese on the bread (
kajmak
, as Adamsberg realised). Head still in hands, he watched. A cheese sandwich, well, why not? The stage he’d reached now.

‘I’m really sorry,’ said Veyrenc, holding out a glass. He pushed it against Adamsberg’s hand, as one tries with a child to get it to unclench its fingers and rescue it from its rage or distress. Adamsberg moved his arm and took the glass.

‘Well, he’s a good-looking boy,’ Veyrenc added pointlessly, as if trying to find a drop of hope in an ocean of calamity.

Adamsberg emptied the glass in a single gulp, an early shot of alcohol, which made him cough. That brought some relief. As long as he could still feel his body, he could at least do something. Which hadn’t been the case last night.

‘How did
you
know I’d slept with Marie-Ange?’

‘She’s my sister.’

God almighty. Adamsberg held out the glass, and Veyrenc filled it again.

‘Have some bread with it.’

‘Can’t eat a thing.’

‘Try all the same, force yourself. No, I’ve hardly eaten either, since I saw his picture in the paper. You may be Zerk’s father, but I’m his uncle. Not a whole lot better.’

‘Why is your sister called Louvois and not Veyrenc?’

‘She’s my half-sister, from my mother’s first marriage. You don’t remember Louvois? The coalman who went off with an American woman?’

‘No. Why didn’t you ever mention this when you were in the squad?’

‘Because my sister and the kid didn’t want anything to do with you. You weren’t popular.’

‘But why haven’t you been able to eat since seeing the paper? You just said Zerk didn’t kill the old man. So you’re not really sure?’

‘No, not at all.’

Veyrenc put another slice of bread into Adamsberg’s hand and both of them sadly and conscientiously swallowed mouthfuls of bread slowly as the fire died down.

A
RMED WITH A GUN THIS TIME
, A
DAMSBERG WENT BACK
along the riverbank, then towards the forest, avoiding the place of uncertainty. Danica hadn’t wanted to let him go, but the need to walk was more imperative than her anxiety.

‘I have to come back to life, Danica. I have to understand.’

So he had accepted an escort, Boško and Vukasin following him at a distance. Now and then, he made a little sign to them, without turning round. This was where he should stay, in Kisilova unravished by the flames of war, with these kind and caring people, and not go back to the cities where he would have to dodge the high-ups, try to escape their clutches, and flee from his hellhound of a son. At every step, his thoughts rose and fell in chaos, as they usually did with him, like fish swimming up to the surface then diving back down, and he didn’t try to catch them. This was how he always dealt with the fish swimming round in his brain, he just let them swim anywhere they liked, to the rhythm of his footsteps. Adamsberg had promised Veyrenc he would meet him at the
kruchema
to eat a meal, and after half an hour’s walking and looking at the hills, the vineyards and the trees, he felt better prepared. He turned round, smiled at Boško and Vukasin, gesturing ‘thank you’ and ‘let’s go back’.

‘We’ll have to do some thinking now,’ said Veyrenc, unfolding his napkin.

‘Yes.’

‘Or we’ll be here till the end of our days.’

‘Wait a minute,’ said Adamsberg, getting up.

Vlad was sitting down at another table, and Adamsberg explained to him that he needed to have a tête-à-tête with Veyrenc.

‘Were you scared?’ asked Vlad, who still seemed impressed at having seen Adamsberg emerge from the earth looking grey and red: he called it ‘the escape from the vault’ as if it was one of his dedo’s stories.

‘Yes, I was scared, and I was in pain.’

‘Did you think you were going to die?’

‘Yes.’

‘Had you lost all hope?’

‘Yes.’

‘So what did you think about?’

‘
Kobasice
.’

‘No, please,’ Vlad insisted, ‘really, what did you think about?’