Read Online The Three Evangelists by Fred Vargas - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Fred Vargas
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invented this crazy game called “Whaling”. Great game. He knows a whole sector of the sea like the back of his hand, because he used to be a fisherman in his youth. A trawlerman, Irish Sea and so forth. Good guy.’
‘What’s the use of a card player who knows his way round the Irish Sea?’ asked Marc.
‘The card-playing fisherman joined the police.’
‘Like you, is he?’ asked Marc. A bit dodgy?’
‘Not at all. And to prove it, he’s still in the force. These days he’s inspecteur en chef of the 13th arrondissement. He was one of the few people who stood up for me when I was chucked out. But I can’t get in touch with him direct, that would put him in an awkward position. The name Vandoosler still raises hackles in the police. St Matthew will have to handle it.’
‘On what pretext?’ asked Mathias. ‘What am I supposed to say to this Leguennec? That a lady we know didn’t come home one day, and her husband doesn’t seem worried? Far as I know, grown-up people have a right to go where they want, for heaven’s sake, without the neighbours calling in the police.’
‘A pretext? Easy. It seems to me, now I think about it, that a couple of weeks ago, three men came and dug up the lady’s garden, claiming tobe council workmen. They were impostors. There’s your pretext: it’ll do fine. You provide the other elements, and Leguennec will catch on. He’ll be round.’
Oh, thanks very much,’ said Lucien. ‘The commissaire encourages us to go dig up the tree, then the commissaire sets the police on to us. Terrific.’
‘Use your brains, St Luke. I’m setting Leguennec on to you, that’s different. Mathias doesn’t need to give the names of the diggers.’
‘Well, Leguennec will soon find them out, if he’s any good.’
‘I didn’t say he was good, I said he was tough. Yes, he will find out the names, because I’ll tell him myself, but only later. If necessary, that is. I’ll tell you when to call him, St Matthew. And for now, I think Juliette is tired.’
‘You’re right,’ she said, sitting up. ‘I’m going home. But do we really need to call in the police?’
Juliette looked at Vandoosler. His words seemed to have reassured her. So she looked at him and smiled. Marc glanced at Mathias. The godfather’s good looks were ancient, they had done good service, but they were still quite effective. How would Mathias’ regular features be able to compete with the older man’s faded but powerful beauty?
‘I think it’s time for bed,’ said Vandoosler. ‘Tomorrow morning, I’ll pay a visit on Monsieur Relivaux. After that St Luke and St Mark will take over.’
‘Mission logged,’ said Lucien. And smiled.
XIII
VANDOOSLER, CLIMBING ONTO A CHAIR, HAD PEERED OUT OF A skylight to see whether anyone was getting up next door. On the Western Front, as Lucien called it. What an oddball that one was. And yet he had apparently written some reputable books about the Great War. How could he get interested in all that stuff when there was plenty of excitement in the corner of one’s neighbour’s garden? Well, maybe it was the same kind of thing.
And perhaps he had better stop calling them St This and St That. It got on their nerves, which was understandable. They weren’t kids any more. Yes, but it amused him. In fact he got a real kick out of it. And so far in life, Vandoosler had never seriously considered giving up anything that gave him pleasure. So he would see how they got on with the here and now, the three time detectives. If you were into detection, what difference did it make whether you were researching the life of the hunter-gatherers, the Cistercian monks, the lads in the trenches, or Sophia Siméonidis? Anyway, for now he had to keep an eye on the Western Front, to see when Relivaux woke up. There wouldn’t be long to wait. He wasn’t the sort of person to sleep late in the morning. He was a determined and disciplined man, of a slightly annoying kind.
By nine-thirty,
‘What’s the use of a card player who knows his way round the Irish Sea?’ asked Marc.
‘The card-playing fisherman joined the police.’
‘Like you, is he?’ asked Marc. A bit dodgy?’
‘Not at all. And to prove it, he’s still in the force. These days he’s inspecteur en chef of the 13th arrondissement. He was one of the few people who stood up for me when I was chucked out. But I can’t get in touch with him direct, that would put him in an awkward position. The name Vandoosler still raises hackles in the police. St Matthew will have to handle it.’
‘On what pretext?’ asked Mathias. ‘What am I supposed to say to this Leguennec? That a lady we know didn’t come home one day, and her husband doesn’t seem worried? Far as I know, grown-up people have a right to go where they want, for heaven’s sake, without the neighbours calling in the police.’
‘A pretext? Easy. It seems to me, now I think about it, that a couple of weeks ago, three men came and dug up the lady’s garden, claiming tobe council workmen. They were impostors. There’s your pretext: it’ll do fine. You provide the other elements, and Leguennec will catch on. He’ll be round.’
Oh, thanks very much,’ said Lucien. ‘The commissaire encourages us to go dig up the tree, then the commissaire sets the police on to us. Terrific.’
‘Use your brains, St Luke. I’m setting Leguennec on to you, that’s different. Mathias doesn’t need to give the names of the diggers.’
‘Well, Leguennec will soon find them out, if he’s any good.’
‘I didn’t say he was good, I said he was tough. Yes, he will find out the names, because I’ll tell him myself, but only later. If necessary, that is. I’ll tell you when to call him, St Matthew. And for now, I think Juliette is tired.’
‘You’re right,’ she said, sitting up. ‘I’m going home. But do we really need to call in the police?’
Juliette looked at Vandoosler. His words seemed to have reassured her. So she looked at him and smiled. Marc glanced at Mathias. The godfather’s good looks were ancient, they had done good service, but they were still quite effective. How would Mathias’ regular features be able to compete with the older man’s faded but powerful beauty?
‘I think it’s time for bed,’ said Vandoosler. ‘Tomorrow morning, I’ll pay a visit on Monsieur Relivaux. After that St Luke and St Mark will take over.’
‘Mission logged,’ said Lucien. And smiled.
XIII
VANDOOSLER, CLIMBING ONTO A CHAIR, HAD PEERED OUT OF A skylight to see whether anyone was getting up next door. On the Western Front, as Lucien called it. What an oddball that one was. And yet he had apparently written some reputable books about the Great War. How could he get interested in all that stuff when there was plenty of excitement in the corner of one’s neighbour’s garden? Well, maybe it was the same kind of thing.
And perhaps he had better stop calling them St This and St That. It got on their nerves, which was understandable. They weren’t kids any more. Yes, but it amused him. In fact he got a real kick out of it. And so far in life, Vandoosler had never seriously considered giving up anything that gave him pleasure. So he would see how they got on with the here and now, the three time detectives. If you were into detection, what difference did it make whether you were researching the life of the hunter-gatherers, the Cistercian monks, the lads in the trenches, or Sophia Siméonidis? Anyway, for now he had to keep an eye on the Western Front, to see when Relivaux woke up. There wouldn’t be long to wait. He wasn’t the sort of person to sleep late in the morning. He was a determined and disciplined man, of a slightly annoying kind.
By nine-thirty,
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