Free Dog Will Have His Day by Fred Vargas Page B

something with, and whether the politician knows about it.’
    ‘I thought we were dealing with a story about dog shit,’ muttered Marc into the beer bottle.
    When you blow into a bottle it makes a fantastic sound. Almost like the wind in the sea.
    ‘This is something different. I’m letting Vincent chase up the politician. He’s a journalist, he’ll be good at it. Vincent is sitting on the other bench, over there, the guy who looks like he’s asleep.’
    ‘Yeah, got him.’
    ‘You can look up now, the fascist has gone inside. But try to look natural. These people look out of their windows.’
    ‘Here comes a dog,’ said Marc. ‘Medium-sized.’
    ‘Good, make a note. Coming towards us: 18.47, bench 102. Owner a woman about forty, dark complexion, straight hair, mid-length, thin, not very pretty, well dressed, must be well off, blue coat, looks newish, trousers. Coming from the rue Descartes. Stop writing, the dog’s coming.’
    Marc took a swig of beer, while the dog pottered around the tree. If it had been a bit closer in the darkness, it would have pissed on his feet. No sense of propriety, Parisian dogs. The woman was waiting, with an absent-minded and patient air.
    ‘Make a note,’ Kehlweiler went on. ‘Return same direction. Medium-sized dog, golden cocker spaniel, old, tired, limping.’
    Kehlweiler finished off his beer with a gulp.
    ‘There,’ he said, ‘that’s what you do. I’ll come back later. Not too cold, are you? You can go into the cafe from time to time. You can see the street from the counter. But don’t come rushing back to the bench in a hurry, do it slowly, as if you’re just wanting to digest your beer, or waiting for a woman who hasn’t turned up.’
    ‘I get it.’
    ‘In two days, we’ll have a complete list of the regulars. After that we’ll share out shadowing them, to see where they come from and who they are.’
    ‘OK. What’s that in your hand?’
    ‘My toad. I’m just damping him a bit.’
    Marc clenched his teeth. Yeah, right, this guy was really nuts. And he’d walked straight into this one.
    ‘You don’t like toads, I’m guessing? He won’t hurt, we talk to each other, that’s all. Bufo – that’s his name, Bufo – listen carefully. The guy I’m talking to is called Marc. He’s a relation of Vandoosler. And Vandoosler’s relatives are our relatives. He’s going to watch the doggies for us, while we go and have a bite to eat. Understand?’
    Kehlweiler looked up at Marc.
    ‘You have to explain everything to him. He’s very dumb.’
    Kehlweiler smiled and put Bufo back in his pocket.
    ‘Don’t look like that. It’s very useful, having a toad. You have to make things extremely simple in order to be understood, and that can be quite a relief.’
    Kehlweiler smiled again. He had a special kind of smile, very infectious. Marc smiled back. He wasn’t going to be thrown by the sight of a toad. What would you look like, if you were scared of a toad? A total idiot, that’s what. Marc was scared stiff of touching a toad, yes, but he was also scared stiff of looking a total idiot.
    ‘Can I ask a question in exchange?’ Marc said.
    ‘You can ask.’
    ‘Why does Marthe call you Ludwig?’
    Kehlweiler took his toad out of his pocket again.
    ‘Bufo,’ he said, ‘Vandoosler’s relative is going to be more of a bloody nuisance than we thought. What do you think?’
    ‘You don’t have to answer,’ said Mark weakly.
    ‘You’re like your uncle, you pretend, but you really want to know everything. Whereas I was told you were quite happy looking after your Middle Ages.’
    ‘Not quite, not always.’
    ‘It did surprise me, I must say. Ludwig is my name. Louis, Ludwig, one or the other, that’s the way it is, you can choose. It’s always been like that.’
    Marc looked at Kehlweiler. He was stroking Bufo’s head. How ugly toads are. Gross too.
    ‘What are you wondering now, Marc? How old I am? You’re doing the maths?’
    ‘Yes, of