The 7th Woman

by Frédérique Molay

  Everyone turned to Judge Becker. The ball was in his court. He sighed.

  “Fine. I’ll tell the prosecutor what you have decided. Let’s stop there for now. Chief Sirsky gets the benefit of the doubt. I know his ability to stay on course. But let it be understood, I reserve the right to remove him from the case at any time. Now, Mr. Sirsky, talk to me about your brother-in-law’s involvement in this thing.”

  Nico recounted the facts and mentioned that Bastien Gamby had joined the investigation.

  “Bastien Gamby?” the investigating magistrate questioned.

  “The computer specialist from counter-terrorism,” Nico answered. “Nobody’s better. The section is really busy right now, but I thought the seriousness of our case called for Gamby. Do you have anything to add, Kriven?”

  “I pulled Bastien from his bed in the wee hours, and he met me at Dr. Perrin’s office. Here are his conclusions. Alexis Perrin has an Internet connection and is networked with an off-site secretarial service that manages his appointments. This is a frequent practice. A secretary is responsible for several doctors, answers their calls and schedules appointments. This kind of network is easy to hack into, because users sometimes connect to specific sites, for example a special medical site, and leave records of their computer addresses, which allow a hacker to break in. Then the hacker can transfer whatever data or file he wants from the Internet or even from other members of the network.”

  “Do we know if his computer was hacked?” Becker cut in.

  “No. Gamby installed remote monitoring software on Perrin’s machine, and starting now, if someone tries to get onto his hard disk, we’ll be able to trace him.”

  “So, Dr. Perrin could very well have put together the medical files of the three victims?” Alexandre Becker insisted.

  “There is nothing that confirms or disproves that hypothesis,” Kriven admitted.

  “Except that Alexis had not even seen them yet,” Nico said. “To be sure, all you have to do is go back over his schedule. David, did you record how long it takes to get from his office to the victims’ apartments? We know the time that Dr. Perrin had available, considering his cancelled appointments.”

  “I’m sorry, but that doesn’t get your brother-in-law off the hook. He could have gone back and forth to each and returned to his later appointments afterward. He had the time. I’m really sorry, Nico. Also, he says he had other patients who didn’t show for their appointments, and when we tried to check them out, we discovered that those people don’t exist. The names and addresses on his records are fake.”

  “Perrin could have invented them,” the magistrate said.

  “Except that it was the secretary who took the calls,” Kriven said abruptly, happy to add something in Nico’s favor. “I checked. She is a gem and writes everything down, including the date and time of the calls, along with the patients’ names.”

  “Could he have masked his voice to call the secretary himself?” the magistrate asked.

  “Anything is possible,” Cohen said, “But Nico answers for Perrin. Let’s not go off chasing a bad lead. Remember that Nico is being targeted directly, as we saw clearly in the last message. Let’s take a look at the people Nico has arrested for sex crimes—the ones who’ve served their time. Revenge could be enough reason to attack him.”

  “Of course, we do not want to neglect any lead,” Magistrate Becker said. “However, I’d like to question Dr. Perrin in the morning.”

  “I took the initiative to put him and his family under police protection,” Nico said.

  “That’s fine. You did the right thing,” Cohen said.

  “If I may,” Kriven said, “the team has already found fake appointments in Dr. Perrin’s agenda for the days to come.”

  “And the first afternoon patient?” Nico asked with worry in his voice.

  “A woman,” Kriven said. “Today, just like Friday.”

  “And do you know who it is? Did you contact her?”

  “You’re not going to like this, Nico.”

  “What’s happening now?” Cohen asked, having a hard time hiding his impatience.

  “At two p.m. today, Dr. Perrin has an appointment with Sylvie Sirsky,” Kriven said. “That’s Nico’s ex-wife. I called her, and she never made that appointment.”

  “Shit!” Nico cried out, slamming his fist on the table.

  “Is she the murderer’s type?” Becker asked.

  “More or less.”

  “Get her under protection,” the magistrate said.

  Nico stared at him and saw some compassion in his eyes. He was surprised by the judge’s reaction. Perhaps Becker did have a sensitive side that he kept hidden. The man rose a little in his esteem.

  “Magistrate Becker is right,” Cohen said. “Get some officers to watch your ex and your son. The murderer really seems focused on you, but we still don’t know why.”

  “We’ve got our work cut out for us. It’s going to be a long day. Chief Sirsky, could we touch base in the early afternoon for an update?” Becker asked.

  “As you wish. To conclude this meeting, let’s listen to Dominique Kreiss, who has more details about the murderer’s profile.”

  “I am very curious to hear Miss Kreiss’ opinion,” Becker said with what seemed like a note of sarcasm.

  Not everyone accepted profiling. Nico found that unfortunate, but he was sure that this attitude would change soon. Nico was convinced that knowledge of a criminal’s psychology helped police understand his motives and ultimately make an arrest.

  “I might be repeating myself, but let me restate the characteristics that the three victims shared,” Dominique began, not at all perturbed by the disdain the investigating magistrate had expressed. “First, our serial killer is meticulous and obsessive and chooses victims who are physically similar and have the same profile. When he amputates their breasts, he is acting out revenge against his mother. He is most likely a white male, as such killers often murder in the same ethnic group. He is twenty-five to forty years old, intelligent and organized. He’s familiar with police techniques and knows how to dissect and suture human tissue. There are also biblical connotations in the messages he leaves for us: ‘Seven days, seven woman’ challenges the day of rest on Sunday. And then, ‘Nico, I am shattering my enemies, and Sunday you will not be able to rise.’ That brings us to Psalms 18, verse 38: ‘I shattered them, so that they shall not be able to rise: They fell under my feet.’”

  “Other than having some biblical knowledge, what does that tell us?” Becker asked.

  “Nothing very specific,” Dominique Kreiss said. “Just that our man is hiding behind the Bible, using it to justify his criminal objectives. I have the feeling that our killer is a cultivated man, but he is not a real believer.”

  “What makes you say that?” Nico asked.

  “A very religious person would have too much respect for the text to modify it and use it for his own purposes. This man doesn’t care and dares God to stop him.”

  “There are also the thirty lashes with the whip. That must mean something specific. If we find out what that is, it could lead us to him.”

  “Maybe it marks an anniversary?” the psychologist suggested.

  “Why not. So thirty years ago some major event occurred that changed the course of his life?”

  “You mean he could have cut off the tail of a lizard or smothered his cat?” Kriven said. “That’s like looking for a needle in a haystack.”

  “You’re right,” Nico said. “It is probably some micro-phenomenon that conditioned the killer, and we will never find any trace of it. However, we can’t ignore the symbolism of those thirty lashes. We have to look and explore the past. Kriven, since you’ve got a critical eye for this kind of thing, you’re responsible. Consult the papers back then. Maybe there’s a news item.”

  Kriven let out a breath and nodded.

  “I don’t need to tell you that this is a race against the clock,” Nico said to his team. “Today, the killer is
preparing to make a fourth victim.”

  “And we have until Sunday,” Becker said. “After that, the killer could escape us entirely.”

  “We had better arrest him before Sunday,” Cohen concluded.

  Everyone turned to the deputy police commissioner.

  “Sunday, he might have Nico in his sights. Let’s not forget that,” he added in a sober voice.

  SIX a.m. Nico went into his office. There were some files on his worktable. He spotted the medical records and the victims’ photos printed out from Alexis’ computer. It was all there. Kriven had not brought this evidence to their meeting. He understood the message: His commander had not wanted to lay it on too thick. It was up to him to manage the situation as he chose best. He would forgive Kriven for this minor infraction; he knew he could count on him under any circumstances, and that was comforting in a risky job like theirs. He made a copy of the file, put the original in a sealed envelope and ordered an officer to take it to Magistrate Becker right away. That relieved his conscience. No criminal was going to push him into any misconduct. Then he organized protection for Sylvie and their son, sending a team to their home. Afterward, he called his ex-wife to warn her. A sleepy, hoarse voice answered.

  “Sylvie, I have something important to tell you, and I need your full attention,” he said to wake her up.

  He heard her grumble. She coughed to clear her voice.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “I’m working on an ugly case. The criminal I’m seeking is saying that he’ll come after my family.”

  “Is that why Alexis called me earlier? He asked if I had made an appointment with him this afternoon.”

  “And so, did you?” Nico asked, even though he knew the answer.

  “No way! I stopped seeing him as a doctor when my husband dumped me. There was no way I was going to stay in the family.”

  “Sylvie, I didn’t dump you, and you know it.”

  They had this discussion on a regular basis. Sylvie always returned to the attack, twisting the truth and passing herself off as the victim. She often claimed that she had gotten rid of the two men who had wrecked her life, but he knew she felt a pain that would hound her until her dying breath. She felt betrayed by her own son, sure that he didn’t love her as much as he loved his father. Nico had done everything he could to make things better. But Sylvie had been deeply and permanently wounded. For him, she was still the mother of his son, and he respected her as Dimitri’s mom. But today he had a problem that was more urgent than her long-standing resentments.

  “In a short while, you and Dimitri will be placed under police protection. Two officers will be knocking at your door. Let them in. Do not leave home until you are told you can. Call Dimi’s school and tell them he will be absent until the end of the week.”

  “Until I’m told I can? I’m not going to stay locked up here for weeks.”

  As usual, Sylvie thought about herself first. Her egotism was limitless.

  “Everything should go back to normal on Monday. Trust me.”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “Not really. Can you watch over Dimitri?”

  “If he doesn’t run off to you.”

  “Sylvie, this is not a joke.”

  “I hear your cops arriving.”

  She hung up. Nico did not react right away, and the ring tone on the line resounded for a while in his ear. He thought about Caroline, about her gentleness and the obviously fine mind she had. She was nothing like Sylvie. He imagined her soft skin under his lips …

  DEPUTY Chief Rost and Commander Kriven arrived at Alexis Perrin’s office. The doctor was around forty and of average height. He had pale skin and blond hair. He looked fatigued and anxious.

  Marc Walberg, the handwriting specialist from forensics, was with them. They asked Perrin to sit down, and Walberg dictated the murderer’s two messages. With his left hand, Alexis wrote the words on a blank piece of paper. Walberg took the crime scene pictures from his briefcase and compared the two, starting with the A’s and the B’s. Then the specialist picked up some prescriptions on the doctor’s desk and noted that the writing corresponded to what he had just written. The doctor’s writing didn’t look anything like the killer’s. The question, then, was whether Dr. Perrin could have disguised the shape of his letters. If he had done so, it would have been when he committed the murders. However, Walberg’s analysis revealed that the killer’s handwriting was authentic. He concluded that Alexis Perrin could not be the author of the messages—which didn’t mean that he wasn’t the murderer. Rost called Nico immediately to tell him, while Kriven checked the doctor’s online calendar. He had to find out if he had had earlier appointments with the three victims. Perrin said no, but he needed to make sure.

  DESPITE the early hour, specialists were hard at work at the Paris Police Forensics Laboratory, 3 Quai de l’Horloge in the first arrondissement. Professor Charles Queneau greeted Commander Théron in person. He was the lab’s director, and he wanted a full role in this investigation.

  “We have conclusions regarding the rope,” the scientist said. “Everything’s identical—diameter, twists, strands and color. The rope used to tie up the three victims came from the same batch. The contact lenses are the same brand and the same correction. The wearer was far-sighted. I collected DNA from each of the lenses, and we’ll compare it with the victim’s, using a genetic amplification technique that has excellent results with small samples. You’ll have our conclusions in twenty-four hours. The same procedure is being done on the blond hair you sent us last night. Dr. Tom Robin is handling it.”

  This detail meant that Professor Queneau had put his best specialists on the case. He was taking the situation very seriously and wanted it to be known. Théron nodded in acknowledgement.

  “The blood taken from Mrs. Chloé Bartes’ mirror has DNA corresponding to the victim,” the professor continued. “I’m sorry to say that it doesn’t reveal anything else.”

  “Damn! Well, that was to be expected.”

  “However, we did pick up traces of talc on Mrs. Trajan’s slippers.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You heard me. The talc comes from Triflex, which is a brand of surgical gloves. Your man was wearing a pair when he grabbed the slippers. There is always talc in the packaging. For that matter, manufacturers recommend that doctors remove the excess powder before they do surgery.”

  “It couldn’t be talc from some another source?”

  “This talc has specific characteristics. The medical laboratories that make surgical gloves publish these specifications. There is no doubt.”

  “Can you get these gloves easily?”

  “It’s professional material, but I suppose that someone with enough motivation could steal some. One last point: We have finished examining the brown hairs. What is interesting in studying hair is that even years later you can detect traces of exposure to a whole bunch of foreign chemicals called xenobiotics.”

  “What?”

  “These are molecules that are foreign to the organism, ranging from medication to pollutants. I can tell you that the person to whom that hair belonged is a regular user of amphetamines.”

  “Were you able to establish an age?”

  “Impossible. Finding evidence of drug use in hair has even been done on mummies that are thousands of years old. Hair, unlike biological liquids and tissues, is not biodegradable. More important, we have the owner’s genetic imprint. For the moment, it is not very useful, unless we can compare that DNA to another sample.”

  “OK, talc and amphetamines. That’s already pretty good. I’ll be waiting for news on the rest, professor.”

  “You can count on me. As soon as I have something, I’ll call you.”

  Théron left the police lab perplexed. He decided to contact Nico before going to the hospital to question Valérie Trajan’s husband. He wanted to let him know about the lab’s findings right away. There was nothing decisive that would push the investigation
forward dramatically, but all the evidence put side-by-side would little by little lead to the murderer. He really wanted to give his boss the key to this mystery, because he knew it was a delicate situation. Nico had every right to be alarmed. In any case, Théron was glad he wasn’t in Nico’s shoes. He thought about his wife. When you looked closely, she resembled the victims and Nico’s ex-wife. Damn, he wanted to go home and take her in his arms. She would be preparing the kids’ breakfast. This morning he would give anything to kiss her neck, underneath her thick head of brown hair. To drive her crazy …

  12

  Immediate Danger

  THERE WERE DAYS WHEN the solitude weighed heavily on him, and today was one of those. He felt his anxiety growing. He was hot and then cold, and then he didn’t really know. Above all, he was afraid. He was afraid of looking into the empty eyes of another dead woman—the eyes of a woman he didn’t know or the eyes of a woman who meant something to him. Why was the murderer after him personally? He had gone over all the successful investigations he had handled. Most of those men were still in prison, although some had served their time and been released. Remembering their cases drove him into a dreary and violent world where it was often difficult to determine whether the criminal understood exactly what he was doing or whether some mental imbalance could be blamed. Still, he thought that leeway given to law breakers because of their mental problems was sometimes excessive. With a sudden urge, he grabbed his cell phone. He called the number he had memorized.

  “Saint Antoine Hospital, how can I help you?” an impassive female voice said.

  “I would like to speak to Dr. Dalry, please.”

  “Hold on, please.”

  Silence. Then another voice.