Inspector Gorski 02 The Accident on the A35 by Graeme Macrae Burnet

Author:Graeme Macrae Burnet [Burnet, Graeme Macrae]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Saraband
Published: 2017-10-09T21:00:00+00:00

Thirteen

Gorski awoke with a feeling of dread. The curtains were open. The sky outside was a yellowish-grey and seemed to be pulsating slightly. He raised his head from the pillow. His clothes were strewn across the floor. The bedroom door was wide open. There was an acrid taste in his mouth. He looked at the clock on the bedside table. It was 10:25. He swung his legs out of bed and sat for some time with his forehead in his hands. He felt nauseous. He forced himself off the bed and got into the shower.

The previous night began to come back to him. After the bar with the zinc counter, he and Lambert had eaten steak-frites in a brasserie on Place Kléber. The Strasbourg cop had then insisted on taking Gorski to what he called a ‘special little place’. Gorski had put up no resistance. He was already drunk and had lost his bearings in the winding streets. Lambert’s special little place was located in an alleyway basement. It was a tiny establishment with nine or ten tables, half of them unoccupied. The room was illuminated only by the candles on the tables and the backlit bottles of liquor behind the bar. A soundtrack of chansons was loud enough to drown out the murmur of conversation from neighbouring tables. The place was presided over by a gaunt woman in her fifties perched on a high stool at the end of the bar. When she saw Lambert, she wafted across the room and greeted him warmly. She led him by the arm to a table, around which there was a semi-circular velvet banquette. Lambert introduced Gorski, and—he was embarrassed to recall—he had made a little bow and kissed her hand. Lambert made a remark about him being from the provinces.

‘I think it’s charming,’ the patronne—Simone—had responded. ‘So few people have any manners anymore.’ She gave Gorski a wide smile. Her eyes were heavily made-up, and she had a large, hooked nose. Her profile reminded Gorski of a figure from a book of Egyptian pictograms he had had when he was a boy.

A bottle of champagne was brought to the table and they were joined by two girls, one of whom appeared barely older than Clémence. Lambert took it upon himself to make the introductions. Gorski did not catch either girl’s name. At some point—either in the bar with the zinc counter or at the brasserie—Gorski had made the mistake of telling Lambert that Céline had left him. Lambert cheerfully relayed this information to the girls and instructed them to be nice to him. Gorski smiled apologetically. Lambert carelessly filled their glasses, splashing champagne over the table, and toasted Simone, who had returned to her perch by the bar. She inclined her head in acknowledgement. Gorski’s head was spinning. He placed his glass on the table.

Lambert leant in towards him. ‘Come on, Georges, you’re a free man. Drink up! It’s on the house. Everything’s on the house.’ He tipped his head towards the girl sitting next to Gorski and elbowed him in the ribs.

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