By Fred Vargas
Adamsberg travels to London, the place a regimen convention attracts him right into a tense investigation.Commissaire Adamsberg leaves Paris for a three-day convention in London. With him are a tender sergeant, Estalère, and Commandant Danglard, who's terrified on the notion of vacationing underneath the Channel. it's the holiday all of them want, till a macabre and brutal case involves the eye in their colleague Radstock from New Scotland Yard.Just outdoor the baroque and romantic previous Highgate cemetery a pile of trainers is located. now not so unusual in itself, however the sneakers comprise severed ft. As Scotland Yard's research starts off, Adamsberg and his colleagues go back domestic and are faced with a bloodbath in a suburban domestic. Adamsberg and Danglard are drawn in to a path of vampires and vampire-hunters that leads all of them find out how to Serbia, a spot the place the outdated certainties now not follow.
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If the feet had been cut from dead bodies,’ Adamsberg went on, ‘that would mean nine corpses. The Brits may well have nine corpses somewhere without feet, but there’s no way they would know that. I wonder,’ he went on, ‘if there’s a special word for cutting off feet. ’ ‘No, there isn’t,’ said Danglard. ‘The word doesn’t exist because the act doesn’t exist. Well, not until now. ’ suggested Danglard. IV WHEN THE TRAIN ENTERED THE CHANNEL TUNNEL, DANGLARD took a deep breath and clenched his teeth.
He sometimes came out with long sentences which – from their tone – were passing judgement on the whole of humanity and its probable nature, good or bad, angelic or devilish. ‘There are some things,’ Radstock began – Danglard providing a simultaneous translation – ‘that people can’t imagine themselves doing until some crazy individual has tried it. But once something’s been done for the first time, good or bad, it goes into the inheritance of the human race. It can be used, it can be copied, and people will even try to go one better.
Then that laid-back little Frenchman, Adamsberg, would be drawn into the nightmare of Highgate Cemetery. Let him get involved, by God, and we’d soon see if the little cop was as calm as he made out. Radstock pulled up at the kerb, but didn’t get out. He lowered the window a few inches and poked his torch out. ‘OK,’ he said, looking in the mirror at Adamsberg. ’ ‘You’ve no choice,’ said Radstock grimly, opening the driver’s door. ‘I get it,’ said Adamsberg, silencing Danglard with a gesture. The smell was ghastly, the scene was appalling, and even Adamsberg stiffened, standing back a little behind his English colleague.