The 7th Woman

by Frédérique Molay

  “Yes, what is it?”

  “I would like to speak to Dr. Dalry,” he said again.

  “She is busy. Is there something I can help you with?”

  “It’s personal. This is Nico Sirsky. Could you please tell her right away that I called?”

  “Let me see if that is possible. Please hold the line.”

  Silence again. Caroline was more difficult to contact than a cabinet member. This thought made him smile. He didn’t care about rank-related propriety, but knowing that Caroline’s calls were filtered was a sign of her importance and made her all the more attractive.

  “Hello.”

  He started. There she was, with that soft and calm voice. He felt his heart accelerate.

  “Nico Sirsky here.”

  “Yes, hi. Things haven’t been too hard since last night?”

  “We’re doing what we can.”

  “You didn’t go home, did you?”

  “No. It was an all-nighter.”

  “You already looked tired. As your doctor, I have to tell you I’m not at all happy about that.”

  “It’s a good sign that you are worried about my health.”

  “How is Alexis?” she asked, not reacting. “He wasn’t in great shape either. I was going to call your sister.”

  “The situation is a little complicated. I’ll explain it to you. Actually, I was calling to, uh …”

  “Yes?”

  “Well, perhaps, um …”

  “Tell me.”

  “OK. Are you free for lunch today? I don’t really have the time, but I would love to see you. Accept. Please. It’s just that …”

  “I finish my rounds around one this afternoon, and I’m off until Monday. I’ve put in too many hours.”

  “That’s great. I’ll wait for you at my office, OK?”

  “Fine.”

  “Caroline?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m happy that you can come. I need to talk to you.”

  She didn’t answer. He hadn’t hoped for an answer. He hung up.

  ALEXANDRE Becker leafed through Professor Vilars’ autopsy report while imagining her dressed as a medical examiner, with her white scrubs, the green waterproof smock, a surgical mask, cap, protective glasses, gloves and boots. He knew the introductory formulas by heart: “I undersigned Professor Armelle Vilars, chief medical examiner, sworn in by the Paris Court of Appeals, appointed by Mr. Alexandre Becker, investigating magistrate with the High Court of Paris, on this day of … with the assignment to:

  Describe in detail the corpse of Valérie Trajan, brought to the Institut Médico-Légal de Paris

  Carry out a full autopsy in view of establishing the circumstances and causes of death and to look for any evidence of a crime or misdemeanor

  Proceed with taking any samples required and to carry out any necessary tests

  Make all observations that could be useful in uncovering the truth.”

  The victim’s full identity followed, with a summary of the facts, the date and time of the autopsy and the list of people present. The next section covered the examination of the body, including height, weight, eye and hair color, any postmortem lividity related to the position in which the body was discovered and any lesions from being tied up, whipped and stabbed. The wounds were numbered one to thirty and described in detail.

  The simple inspection of the body was enough to establish an approximate time of death, always a delicate exercise. Rigor mortis set in two hours after death, reaching its height after twelve hours and then started wearing out after twenty-four hours. Lividity, or areas where the blood settled, began three to six hours after death. It disappeared with vitropression in the first six hours and then entirely after forty-eight hours. After six hours, the corneas became covered with an opalescent veil, making it tricky to discern the patient’s actual eye color. Body temperature was also an indicator of time of death. By studying these elements, Professor Vilars deduced that Valérie Trajan died at four p.m. on Wednesday.

  Then she focused on the breasts, which had been replaced by those from the second victim, Chloé Bartes. The murderer used surgical sutures and handled the needle with the skill of a professional. Then the medical examiner took blood samples for a toxicology screen, along with urine, gastric content and bile samples. She took two of each sample in case a second opinion would be required later on. The third step involved making large incisions with a scalpel on the thighs, arms and back and under the shoulder blades, looking for bruising.

  The report continued with the rest of the autopsy details. Two techniques were generally used to access the abdominal and thoracic cavities. A Y incision was the most common. Armelle Vilars preferred a vertical median incision from just under the sternum to the pubis, removing the sterno-costal mass.

  Magistrate Becker could then read the detailed description of what the doctor did. The heart and lungs were removed and sent to the anatomopathology lab. The specialist dissected and studied all the organs. The pregnancy was noted and described, and the embryo was removed. To finish up, Professor Vilars sawed open the skull after making sure there was no fracture. There was no subarachnoid hemorrhage or epidural hematoma. The brain was intact.

  As with the two previous murders, the cause of death was stabbing. The knife was introduced violently, penetrating the abdomen, rupturing the vena cava and causing internal hemorrhaging. The victim then died in less than two minutes. Her organs were floating in blood, which explained why it felt like she had a distended belly when it was palpated. “Violent death, criminal in nature. Death from hemorrhaging following a penetrating wound of vital organs by a knife. I certify, having personally carried out this assignment on this day at 2:15 a.m. that this report is sincere and truthful.” So ended her analysis.

  What was important? The three victims resembled each other. They were pregnant and had fairly pleasant lives. Other than the observation that the killer had some imperious need to humiliate his victims by whipping them and that he amputated their breasts, there had to be something else. But what? The kind of sutures used and the rigorous technique seemed to direct the investigation toward the medical world. A doctor? Why not Dr. Alexis Perrin, despite what Chief Sirsky thought? He would question him and soon have his own opinion. He picked up the three victims’ medical files, which Sirsky had sent to him after they were extracted from Dr. Perrin’s computer. The photos were eloquent; you could follow the murderer step by step. Only the killer could have taken them.

  DANIEL Trajan had experienced a serious emotional shock. His doctors agreed that he needed time to recover. He would probably remain in the hospital for several days. Commander Théron found him lying motionless in his hospital bed, an IV in his arm and an empty look in his eyes, undoubtedly because of the medication. Yet Théron had to question him. Of course, he had verified his alibi with the law firm he worked for. But perhaps, with a little luck, Trajan would know something. As he began the interview, Trajan stared at the white wall in front of him. He answered by shaking his head mechanically, and he had nothing to say. He didn’t understand why his wife had been chosen. It must have been a mistake. Théron ended the questioning with a lump in his throat. How could you not feel compassion for this man? But there was no time for that. A detail, however, caught his attention. According to her husband, Valérie Trajan had never worn contact lenses.

  DAVID Kriven stared intently at the computer in the office he shared with his team. The office was cramped and uncomfortable. They had given up complaining, focused as they were on their job of safeguarding others. Kriven was reviewing news stories from thirty years earlier, when he was only four. Thirty lashes, thirty years—perhaps it was some sort of anniversary. He was looking for something that could have occurred in Paris and possibly be a lead, maybe a similar crime. Internet proved to be useful for this kind of investigation, even if everything in the papers wasn’t available on the Web. So he had sent three of his men to the library to go through the microfilm files. His eyes were
dry from staring at the screen. If there were something to find, his team would uncover it.

  THEY were finding evidence, but it wasn’t leading anywhere useful. Nico was exhausted. But he had to continue looking, at all costs. He put his face in his hands, closed his eyes and massaged his temples, as if that were enough to give him energy. Then he heard steps in the narrow hallway leading to his office. The door opened. He lifted his head to see who was there. It was Caroline. There she was, smiling at him. He stood and crossed his office to embrace her. Ignoring the risk, he pulled her to him and pressed his lips against hers. Nothing else had any importance. Kissing her was all that he wanted. She did not move away from him. He felt her fingers touch his neck, and a shiver ran down his body. He pressed himself against her, feeling her shape through their clothes. He held onto her mouth for a long moment. He tasted her tongue, both furiously and gently. Even as they moved apart to catch their breath, they held onto each other. He kissed her neck. He had dreamed about this. He loved her smell and the heat of her skin. He was crazy about this woman.

  MAGISTRATE Becker invited Alexis Perrin into his office. The doctor was quite a sight. His features were distorted, he was extremely pale, and his eyes were full of anxiety. Once seated, Perrin couldn’t control the trembling in his legs. The man seemed to be breaking down, and they needed to find out why.

  “I have a few questions to ask you, Dr. Perrin, concerning these murders. Chief Sirsky has told me that you are related. You know that he is in charge of the case and that you have become involved. You have become implicated …”

  “Implicated?”

  “That’s right. The analysis of your computer files and your appointment list lead us to believe that you knew the three victims.”

  “That’s wrong. I never saw them before. I was not their doctor. I don’t know how their medical files ended up on my computer. I thought your specialists were looking into that.”

  “Relax. I’m just trying to understand.”

  “And what do you think I want? This whole thing is driving me crazy. Good God, I saw those pictures. And I haven’t been able to think about anything else since. I didn’t have anything to do with that.”

  “Nobody said you did. Could you just tell me how the last few days unfolded for you at work? I know about those fake appointments …”

  HE couldn’t take his eyes off her. He was holding her hand. He was afraid she would disappear, like a dream. They crossed the Pont Saint Michel, walking toward the Rue Saint André des Arts. In the middle of the bridge, above the Seine, they stopped to kiss again. A tender embrace. They decided to grab a quick crêpe for lunch, as he had to get back to the office quickly. He suggested that they meet later. He couldn’t do without her now.

  ALEXANDRE Becker felt very uncomfortable with Dr. Perrin’s story. It was a crazy, meticulously orchestrated conspiracy. If the man sitting in front of him was not the murderer, then the killer had an overflowing imagination. He glanced at the report that came from Marc Walberg, the handwriting expert. The doctor was left-handed, like the criminal. But according to Walberg, their writing styles were very different. That did not prove that the doctor was innocent, but it was a piece of information. Becker was doubtful. He couldn’t believe that Perrin was guilty, despite being clearly upset, undoubtedly because of the unbelievable nature of the events that were happening to him. So, if he wasn’t the man, who was?

  THEIR legs were intertwined under the table. The waiter brought them the crêpes they had ordered, along with a bottle of cider. Nico felt twenty years younger, as though he were still a student. He had often hung out in this neighborhood, splitting his time between Science Po and law school at the Sorbonne. She had gone to med school near Odéon, Jussieu and Saint Antoine. Life was strange: Perhaps they had crossed paths on the sidewalk, in front of a gallery on the Rue Mazarine, because both of them had liked walking. He wished he had met her then, but he wouldn’t have Dimitri today. In any case, she was here now. He ate with one hand, and rubbed her knee with the other. His fingers moved a little bit up her thigh, along her silky stockings. His breath was short. She smiled. He leaned forward and kissed her again.

  They separated in front of 36 Quai des Orfèvres after exchanging their private cell phone numbers. He watched her for a moment as she walked away, feeling heavy-hearted. What he really wanted was to catch up with her, hold her against him and never let go. But that was impossible, duty called. And what a duty it was! A serial killer, a suspected brother-in-law, a personal threat and a fourth victim to come. Tracking criminals was the story of his life. It was more than a job, it was a calling.

  Kriven had traced Alexis’ calendar back several years and had found no sign of the three victims. That confirmed what he had said: He did not know them and had never been their doctor. Nico called Magistrate Becker, who told him he had finished questioning Dr. Perrin. They once again reviewed the issues linked to the investigation and covered the clues they had. There was plenty to do and not enough to put a name on the person behind these terrible acts. Tension was rising. After hanging up, Nico joined Théron’s group. The team members were busy on their phones. They were finding the ex-convicts he had put away, comparing their profiles to that of the killer and checking their schedules. It was Herculean work. Furthermore, many had fallen off the map, disappearing without leaving any addresses. Another chase was starting for the brigade criminelle.

  SHE finished her shift. He was going to follow her. He wouldn’t let her out of his sight along the gray hallways in the metro, in the crowed, noisy subway car or out in the open air of the city’s sidewalks. No matter how fast or slow she walked, he would stay at a distance, but not too far away. Why risk allowing her to escape? Of course, he knew where she was going; he could always find her again. But it was better this way. He liked this moment, savored the thought of the moment they would soon be sharing. She was very beautiful, like the others. He saw that in her way of walking, in the clothes she wore and the signs of her success. In fact, he despised her. She had hurt him so much, and he had put up with it in silence. Today, it was over. He would take control. He was going to kill her. She stopped to pick up some groceries. Her arms were full when she entered her building and climbed the two flights. She nearly dropped everything as she slipped her key into the lock. Fortunately, he was there. He offered to help her and took one of the packages. She thanked him with a shy smile. She hesitated to let him in, but finally, politeness took over, and she invited him to follow her.

  “It’s OK if you don’t want me to. I understand. I can just leave this on the landing.”

  “No, no, come on,” she finally said.

  Inside, he was gloating. He had convinced her of his good faith. He already felt like she had offered herself to him. His excitement was growing. He pushed the door behind him without closing it. He didn’t want to frighten her now that he was nearly there. Once in the kitchen, he slowly took hold of the handkerchief in his jacket pocket. He positioned himself behind the women, and with an abrupt, determined movement, he pressed the cloth against his prey’s mouth and nose. Surprise kept her from reacting. When she began to fight back, it was too late, and the drug was already taking effect. Her muscles were going limp, her mind getting cloudy. She slipped onto the tile floor. He loosened his grip and made sure she was not acting. After locking the entrance door, he explored the apartment. He immediately found the table he would attach her to. It was perfect. He went to work.

  He felt intense joy when she regained consciousness. Her eyes opened, looking around for some explanation. Then she realized that she was lying naked on the floor in the living room, her wrists attached to the coffee table. A wide piece of duct tape over her mouth kept her from screaming. She started moving frantically. He squatted and watched her. He looked so detached, her fears multiplied. Tears slid down her cheeks, which were red with effort. And then resignation took over. She was all his. He could do whatever he wanted with her. He would whip her. Thirty lashes that would leave th
eir mark on her skin forever. Thirty lashes to celebrate the only anniversary he remembered. To get revenge, to make up for a lack of love, for wandering and for remorse. And who worried about his pain? Who had extended a hand to him? Who had held him? Nobody. The time for revenge was now.

  THE day was coming to an end. Nico knew that everything possible was being done, that his teams were real professionals who belonged in La Crim’. Yet frustration and a sense of being ineffective were crowding his mind. Now he was imagining the killer’s fourth victim. The usual time for the crime had come and gone; it was on everyone’s mind, even though no one had said anything. Another woman might already be dead. He called Caroline. He couldn’t leave headquarters, and he shyly suggested that she join him at his office. He was afraid she wouldn’t like that; in any case, she seemed to understand the situation and accepted. She arrived a little later with a bag of sandwiches and soft drinks. But he was hungry for her. She realized that when he pushed her up against the wall in his office and kissed her fiercely. He had to caress her skin. He slipped his hands under her shirt and ran them along her back. She was soft and warm. She pulled away. He was feeling a little embarrassed, and she was a little winded. They ended up devouring the food. And then he went back to work. She sat down in the armchair in front of him. He did not want her to leave. In theory, no one outside the department was authorized to remain on the premises without an official reason, but tonight he did not care about the rules.

  Despite her presence, he dived back into his files, rereading the descriptions of the three murders and comparing the pictures. And he repeated the killer’s messages over and over in his head. What should he be looking for underneath the surface? What was the relationship to him? Sometimes he dared to glance at Caroline. She returned his glance with a look that held such gentleness, he wanted to drown in it. She was there, simply there, and it felt really good. He would spend his third all nighter with her. It was nearly midnight when he heard running in the hallway. Kriven was white as a ghost and nearly screamed. It was so unbearable he wanted to spit out what he had to say. The sight of Caroline startled him.