Wash This Blood Clean From My Hand Read Online Free PDF Page B

punctured by three holes. It was impossible, absolutely impossible. He, of all people, was well placed to know that. He ran his hand over the article, hesitated, then took out his mobile phone.
    ‘Danglard?’
    His deputy replied from the Brasserie des Philosophes , his mouth full.
    ‘Can you get me the name of the commandant of gendarmes for Schiltigheim in the Bas-Rhin département?’
    Danglard had the names of all the police chiefs of every town in France at his fingertips, but was less good on the gendarmerie .
    ‘Is this as urgent as the Neptune business?’
    ‘Not quite, but let’s say it’s not far off.’
    ‘I’ll call you back in about fifteen minutes.’
    ‘While you’re at it, don’t forget to call that heating engineer again.’
    Adamsberg was finishing a double espresso, much less impressive than the kind from the office dairy cow, when his deputy called him back.
    ‘Commandant Thierry Trabelmann is the name. Have you got a pen?’
    Adamsberg wrote the telephone number on the paper tablecloth. He waited until after two o’clock had struck on the old clock in Le Buisson before calling the Schiltigheim gendarmerie. Commandant Trabelmannsounded somewhat distant. He had heard of Commissaire Adamsberg, some good, some not so good, and was hesitating over how to handle him.
    ‘I have no intention of trying to take this case over, Commandant Trabelmann,’ Adamsberg assured him at once.
    ‘That’s what they always say, and we all know what happens. The gendarmes do all the dirty work and as soon as it gets interesting, the flics come in and take over.’
    ‘All I want is to check something.’
    ‘I don’t know what bee you’ve got in your bonnet, commissaire , but we’ve got our man, and he’s firmly under lock and key.’
    ‘Bernard Vétilleux?’
    ‘Yes, and it’s rock solid. We found the murder weapon a few metres away from the victim, just chucked into the grass. It corresponded exactly to the wounds, and it had Vétilleux’s fingerprints on the handle, clear as daylight.’
    Clear as daylight. As simple as that. Adamsberg asked himself quickly whether he was going to follow this up or beat a retreat.
    ‘But Vétilleux denies it?’
    ‘He was pissed out of his mind when my men brought him in. Could hardly stand up straight. He can deny it all he likes, it won’t make a blind bit of difference. He can’t remember a thing about the night, except that he’d drunk himself silly.’
    ‘Does he have a record? Any violence in the past?’
    ‘No. But everything has to start somewhere.’
    ‘The newspaper said there were three stab wounds. With a knife?’
    ‘A carpenter’s awl.’
    Adamsberg was silent for a moment.
    ‘Bit unusual?’
    ‘Well, not all that. These homeless characters carry all kinds of tools around with them, an awl can be handy for opening tins or forcing locks. Don’t get worked up, commissaire , we’ve got our man, I’ll guarantee you that.’
    ‘One last thing, commandant,’ said Adamsberg rather quickly, sensing Trabelmann’s impatience. ‘Was the tool brand new?’
    There was a silence from the other end.
    ‘How did you know?’ asked Trabelmann suspiciously.
    ‘It was new, then?’
    ‘Affirmative. But what difference does that make?’
    ‘Trabelmann, can you do me a big favour? Send me the photographs of the body, close-ups of the stab wounds.’
    ‘Why would I do that?’
    ‘Because I’m asking you nicely.’
    ‘And that’s all?’
    ‘I’m not trying to take over from you,’ said Adambserg. ‘You have my word.’
    ‘So what’s eating you?’
    ‘A childhood memory.’
    ‘Oh, in that case,’ said Trabelmann, suddenly respectful, and dropping his guard, as if childhood memories were a sacred reason and an unquestionable open sesame.

VII
    THE ELUSIVE HEATING REPAIRMAN HAD ARRIVED, AND SO TOO HAD FOUR photographs from Trabelmann. One of them showed the wounds of the victim very clearly, taken from directly above. Adamsberg had worked out how