1. A Man from Somewhere
Arlette van der Valk was having lunch with a commissaire of
police. He addressed her as Madame Davidson， which was the
name of her second husband. That is my real name? - she asked
herself. Should I say my correct name?
Her first husband had been dead for nine years. And it will
soon be ten， she thought， with a small sharp pinch at the heart.
She kept his name for professional use: it was what she had
printed on business cards. He， too， had been a commissaire of
police. Cosy; keeping things in the family， as it were.
Arlette van der Valk， counsellor in personal problems. It was
easier to define what she didn t do than what she did. Not
legal， financial， or medical problems. And certainly not police
problems. Whatever she was， it was not a Private Eye. The
Commissaire-there are several in a town of the size and im-
portance of Strasbourg， the capital of a region-was there to
ensure that Arlette did not make police business her own. How-
ever， there are a lot of things ill-defined by the Penal Code
which for excellent reasons do not interest the police. To give
her an unofficial and largely spurious standing， she had a card
stating that her activities were known to and had the approval
of the undersigned Officer of Judicial Police. From the same
authority she had a licence to possess a pistol， which she was
supposed to carry， but very seldom did， when mixing with
dubious company.
All of this was the fruit of a conspiracy fomented by her
husband; one Arthur Davidson， sociologist by profession， one
of the numerous resident experts revolving in the orbit of the
Council of Europe， which has its home in Strasbourg. He dis-
liked the term criminology. Society， exactly like the human
body， has its pathological aspect.
411
|
内容加载中，请稍后...
商品评论（0条）