The Frozen Dead Read Online Free PDF Page B

nag?’
    D’Humières’s reply was instantaneous, conciliatory but firm.
    â€˜It’s not just any horse. A thoroughbred. A very expensive animal. Which in all likelihood belonged to Éric Lombard.’
    So that’s it, he thought. Éric Lombard, the son of Henri Lombard and grandson of Édouard Lombard … A financial dynasty, captains of industry, entrepreneurs who had reigned over this patch of the Pyrenees, over the département and even over the region, for six decades or more. With obviously unlimited access to all the antechambers of power. In this part of the world, Éric Lombard’s thoroughbreds were indisputably more important than some murdered homeless man.
    â€˜And bear in mind that not far from here there’s an asylum full of dangerous lunatics. If one of them did this, it means he’s roaming around somewhere out there.’
    â€˜The Wargnier Institute … Have you called them?’
    â€˜Yes. They say that none of their inmates are missing. And in any case none of them are allowed out, even temporarily. They swear that it’s impossible to get over the wall, that the security is draconian – several restraining walls, biometric security measures, staff who’ve been hand-picked and so on … We’ll double-check it all, naturally. But the Institute has a good reputation – given both its notoriety and the unusual nature of its inmates.’
    â€˜A horse!’ said Servaz again.
    Out of the corner of his eye he saw Captain Ziegler emerge at last from her reserve with a faint smile. That smile, which he alone had noticed, went some way towards defusing his growing anger. Captain Ziegler had lake-deep green eyes, and beneath the cap of her uniform her blonde hair was pulled back into a chignon: he suspected it must be quite beautiful. On her lips, only a trace of colour.
    â€˜So what is the purpose of all the roadblocks?’
    â€˜We’ll keep them there until we are sure that none of the inmates from the Wargnier Institute have escaped,’ answered d’Humières. ‘I don’t want to be accused of negligence.’
    Servaz said nothing. But his thoughts were racing. D’Humières and Canter had got their orders from high up. It was always the same. No matter how good they were as bosses, far superior to the majority of careerists who filled the prosecutors’ offices and ministries, they, like everyone else, had developed an acute sense of danger. Someone at the top, perhaps the minister himself, had decided this whole ridiculous production would be a good idea, in order to be of service to Éric Lombard, a personal friend to the highest authorities of the State.
    â€˜And where is Lombard now?’
    â€˜In the US, a business trip. We want to be sure it’s one of his horses before we contact him.’
    â€˜One of his stewards did report the disappearance of a horse this morning,’ explained Maillard. ‘The stall was empty. The description matches. He should be here shortly.’
    â€˜Who found the horse? The workers?’
    â€˜Yes, on their way up there.’
    â€˜Do they go up there often?’
    â€˜At least twice a year: at the beginning of winter and just before the snows melt,’ answered the plant manager. ‘It’s an old factory, with old machines. They have to have regular maintenance, even if they do operate automatically. The last time the workers went up there was three months ago.’
    Servaz noticed that Captain Ziegler hadn’t taken her eyes off him.
    â€˜Do we know the time of death?’
    â€˜According to the initial examination, sometime during the night,’ said Maillard. ‘The autopsy will give us more exact details. In any event, it looks as though whoever put the horse up there knew that the workers were about to go up there too.’
    â€˜And at night? Isn’t there any security at the plant?’
    â€˜There