Fred Vargas - The Chalk Circle Man

‘I wasn’t sure about it, I had no evidence. And anyway, you must have noticed that I feel rather protective towards the circle man. Perhaps he has nobody but me on his side. That makes it a duty I can’t escape. And anyway, hell’s bells, I would hate to think that my personal notes could get into police files as reports on someone.’

‘Quite understandable,’ said Adamsberg. ‘Why did you use the word “greedy” about him? Funny thing, Louvenel used the same word. At any rate, when you were holding forth at the Dodin Bouffant you attracted a lot of attention. Anyone would only have had to come to you to find out more.’

‘But why?’

‘Like I said before. The manic ways of the circle man are an encouragement to murder.’

As he spoke, using the term ‘manic’ for convenience, Adamsberg remembered that Vercors-Laury had explained to him that the man did not in fact present any of the characteristics of a compulsive mania. And that rather pleased him.

‘You didn’t get any unusual visits after the night at the Dodin Bouffant and the newspaper article?’ he went on.

‘No,’ said Mathilde. ‘Unless perhaps all the visits I get are unusual.’

‘After that night, did you follow the circle man any more?’

‘Yes, of course, several times.’

‘And nobody else was around?’

‘I didn’t notice anything. But I wasn’t particularly bothered anyway.’

‘What about you?’ said Adamsberg, turning towards Charles Reyer. ‘What have you come along for?’

‘I’m accompanying madame, monsieur le commissaire .’

‘Why?’

‘For something to do.’

‘Or to find out more. They tell me that when Mathilde Forestier goes diving, she goes alone, contrary to the rules of the profession. She’s not in the habit of taking someone along to accompany or protect her.’

The blind man smiled.

‘Madame Forestier was furious. She asked me if I wanted to come and witness the meeting. I said yes. It gives me something to do at the end of the day. But I’m disappointed too. You managed to calm her down rather too quickly.’

‘Don’t you believe it,’ said Adamsberg, with a smile. ‘She’s got plenty more lies up her sleeve. But did you , for instance, know about the article in the 5th arrondissement magazine?’

‘It’s not published in Braille,’ said Charles crossly. ‘But yes, I heard about it. Happy now? And Mathilde, does that bother you? Does it scare you?’

‘Couldn’t give a damn either way,’ said Mathilde. Charles shrugged and ran his fingers under his dark glasses.

‘Someone mentioned it at the hotel,’ he went on. ‘One of the guests standing in the lobby.’

‘See?’ said Adamsberg, turning to Mathilde. ‘News travels fast, it even reaches people who can’t read. And what did he say, this guest in the lobby?’

‘Something like “That deep-sea diving lady is at it again. Now she’s pally with the madman who does the circles.” That’s all I heard. Not very informative.’

‘Why did you tell me so willingly that you knew about it? It puts you in an awkward position. You know that you’re already regarded with some suspicion. You arrived at Mathilde’s by some sort of miracle, and you’ve got no alibi for the night of the murder.’

‘You know that, do you?’

‘Naturally – Danglard’s been doing his job.’

‘If I hadn’t told you myself, you would have tried to find out and you would have found out. Better to avoid being detected in a lie, isn’t it?’

Reyer gave one of those wicked smiles with which he would have liked to carve up the universe.

‘But I didn’t know,’ he added, ‘that the person I spoke to in the café in the rue Saint-Jacques was Madame Forestier. I only made the connection later.’

‘Yes,’ said Adamsberg, ‘you already told me that.’

‘Well, you repeat yourself too.’

‘It’s always like that at certain moments in an investigation. People repeat themselves. Then the press reports that “the police are baffled”.’

‘Sections two and three,’ sighed Mathilde.

‘And then, suddenly, things move on,’ said Adamsberg, ‘and you don’t have time to say anything.’

‘Section one,’ added Mathilde.

‘You’re right, Mathilde,’ said Adamsberg, looking at her. ‘Same as in everything else. It all goes either too slowly or too fast.’

‘Not very original as an idea,’ muttered Charles.

‘I often say unoriginal things,’ said Adamsberg. ‘I repeat myself, I make obvious remarks – in short, I disappoint people. Does that never happen to you, Monsieur Reyer?’

‘I try not to let it happen,’ said the blind man. ‘I detest banal conversations.’

‘They don’t bother me at all,’ said Adamsberg.

‘That’ll do ,’ said Mathilde. ‘I don’t like it when the commissaire starts talking like this. We’ll get nowhere. I prefer to wait for your investigation to make a leap forward, commissaire , and then your eyes will light up again.’

‘Not a very original idea, either,’ said Adamsberg with a smile.

‘It’s true that in her poetico-sentimental metaphors, Mathilde does not flinch from the grossest banalities,’ remarked Reyer. ‘Though they’re different from yours.’

‘Have you two quite finished? Can we just go now?’ said Mathilde. ‘You’re perfectly exasperating, the pair of you. In your different ways.’

Adamsberg waved his hand and smiled, and found himself alone.

Why had Charles Reyer found it necessary to say: ‘That’s all I heard’?

Because he had heard more than that. Why, then, had he confessed to a fragment of the truth? To stop inquiries going any further.

So Adamsberg called the Hôtel des Grands Hommes. The porter on duty remembered the article in the newsletter and what the guest had said. And yes, of course he remembered the blind man too. How could you forget a blind man like Reyer?

‘Did Reyer want to know any more about the article?’ asked Adamsberg.

‘Yes, indeed, monsieur le commissaire ,’ said the porter. ‘He asked me to read the whole thing out to him. Otherwise I might not have remembered.’

‘And how did he react?’

‘Hard to say, monsieur le commissaire . He used to have an icy smile that made you feel like a moron. That day he was smiling like that, but I never knew what that meant.’

Adamsberg thanked him and hung up. Charles Reyer had wanted to find out more. And he had accompanied Mathilde to the station. As for Mathilde, she certainly knew more about the chalk circle man than she was letting on. But of course none of that might be important. Thinking about this kind of information made Adamsberg feel tired. He got rid of it by passing it on to Danglard. If necessary, Danglard would do whatever had to be done better than he would. So now he could go on thinking about the chalk circle man without distraction. Mathilde was right, he was waiting for a sudden leap in the inquiry. And he also knew what she had meant about his eyes lighting up. Cliché though it might be, it means something when you say that a person’s eyes light up. It happens or it doesn’t. In his case, it depended on the moment. And just now he knew that his gaze was lost far out to sea.

THAT NIGHT ADAMSBERG HAD A DISTURBING DREAM, A combination of pleasure and outlandishness. He saw Camille come into his room, wearing a bellhop’s uniform. Looking serious, she undressed and lay down alongside him. Although he realised he was dreaming, and that he was on a slippery slope, he had not resisted. Then the Cairo bellhop had appeared in person and burst out laughing, holding up ten fingers to indicate ‘I married her ten times.’ Next, Mathilde had arrived, saying, ‘He wants to arrest you’, and had dragged her daughter away from him. He had clung on to her. He would rather die than lose her to Mathilde. And he had realised that his dream was degenerating, and that the initial pleasure had vanished, so it would be best to put a stop to everything by waking up. It was four in the morning.