Georges Gorski has worked for a provincial police department for longer than he should have and has seen it all before. Add to this a crumbling marriage, and lonely nights in his favourite drinking den, Le Pot, and you get a picture of the man. I loved observing this infinitely likeable character whose years of experience and an instinctive feel for the truth turn another run of the mill investigation into something much more.
What they needed, he said, was to have a look at Barthelme's financial records. 'Think you'd be able to take care of that?'
Gorski started at him blankly. He had a sinking feeling in his stomach. 'It might be tricky to get a warrant,' he said.
Lambert tucked his chin into his chest. 'Georges, that's the sort of thing I'd expect from one of the college boys. You're in with the widow. I'm sure you can charm her a little?'
Gorksi lit a cigarette. Lambert's view of him was correct. He was a plodder, a provincial plodder. And now, when against his better instincts he had followed a hunch, he had found himself drawn into a situation he wanted no part of. He should never have called Lambert in the first place ...