Free The Ghost Riders of Ordebec (Commissaire Adamsberg) by Fred Vargas Page A

the bushes with a yap, and came to lay its head on its mistress’s long thin legs, closing its eyes as if to offer thanks.
    ‘Ello , Fleg!’ she said, wiping her nose, while the dog wiped its own snout on her grey skirt. ‘See how happy he looks.’
    Léo took a sugar lump from her pocket and pushed it into the dog’s mouth. Fleg paced round Adamsberg, full of curiosity.
    ‘Good boy,’ said Adamsberg, patting his neck.
    ‘His name’s Fleg, short for “Flegmatic”. Ever since he was a pup he’s just flopped about, lazy as can be. Look at his ears. Other people say that apart from wanting to chase all the bitches in the neighbourhood, he’s a waste of space. I say at least that’s better than going round biting people.’
    The old woman stood up, unfolding her long stooped frame, and leaned on two sticks.
    ‘If you’re going back home to call the gendarmes,’ said Adamsberg, ‘would it be all right if I accompany you?’
    ‘No need to ask. I love company. But I can’t go very fast, it’ll take about half an hour if we go through the wood. Before, when Ernest was alive, I did bed and breakfast at our farm. There were plenty of people about all the time, young ones too. Lots of folk, coming and going. I had to give up twelve years ago, and it’s a bit lonely now. So when I come across a bit of company I don’t refuse it. Talking to yourself isn’t much fun.’
    ‘They say Normans don’t like to talk very much,’ said Adamsberg, chancing the remark, as he fell into step behind the old woman, who gave off a slight fragrance of woodsmoke.
    ‘It’s not so much that they don’t like talking, but they don’t like answering questions. It’s not the same thing.’
    ‘So how do you go about asking questions?’
    ‘We find ways. Are you going to follow me all the way back to the house? My dog’s hungry now.’
    ‘I’ll walk with you. What time does the evening train go?’
    ‘The evening train, young man, went a good quarter of an hour ago. There’s one from Lisieux, but the last bus goes in ten minutes, and you won’t catch that.’
    Adamsberg hadn’t foreseen spending the night in Normandy: all he had with him was his ID card, keys and some money. The Ghost Riders were pinning him down in this place. Without seeming perturbed, the old woman walked quite briskly through the trees, using her sticks. She looked rather like a grasshopper jumping over roots.
    ‘Is there a hotel in Ordebec?’
    ‘It’s not a hotel, it’s a rabbit hutch,’ pronounced the old women in her booming tones. ‘But anyway, it’s closed for repairs. You have friends you can stay with, I suppose.’
    Adamsberg recalled the reticence he had found among Normans about asking direct questions, something that had already caused him difficulties in the village of Haroncourt on a previous case. Like Léone, the men in Haroncourt got round the obstacle by making a statement, whatever it might be, and waiting for an answer.
    ‘You’ll be counting on finding somewhere to sleep,’ Léo said again. ‘Come on, Fleg. He insists on peeing against every tree.’
    ‘I’ve got a neighbour like that,’ said Adamsberg, thinking of Lucio. ‘No, I don’t know anybody here.’
    ‘You could sleep in a haystack of course. The weather’s hotter than normal now, but there’s still dew in the morning. You’ll be from some other part of the country, I suppose.’
    ‘From the Béarn.’
    ‘That would be in the east.’
    ‘No, south-west, near Spain.’
    ‘And you’ve already been in these parts, I suppose.’
    ‘I have some friends at the cafe in Haroncourt.’
    ‘Haroncourt in the Eure département? The cafe near the market hall?’
    ‘That’s right, I have some friends there, especially one called Robert.’
    Léo stopped suddenly and Fleg took advantage to choose a new tree. Then she set off again, muttering to herself for about fifty metres.
    ‘Well, Robert is a petit cousin , a relative of mine,’ she said finally, still