The 7th Woman

by Frédérique Molay

  SHE was so absorbed by her work that she started when her cell phone rang. It was Rémi. She hesitated and then decided to answer.

  “Hey, sweetheart?”

  “Yes,” she said without much enthusiasm.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “No, everything is just fine.”

  “Will you be home late tonight?”

  “I don’t really know. I already told you, we’re working on a complicated case.”

  “I know, but I wanted us to have a little tête-à-tête tonight.”

  “What do you mean by a little tête-à-tête?” she said with sarcasm.

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Do you mean a romantic dinner in a nice restaurant, holding my hand in the movies, going for a walk in the moonlight to talk about everything and nothing? No, none of that, of course. Do you want to know what a little tête-à-tête means to you? It means a good lay! And I’ve had enough.”

  “Enough of what? Enough of sex? You are such a prude.”

  “I’m not an object there just to satisfy your sexual fantasies, Rémi.”

  “You are all the same.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Nothing, forget it.”

  “You’re right. I’m going to forget it. Or rather, I’m going to forget you. I’m fed up. I want something else from a relationship.”

  “Women are just not on the right wavelength.”

  “In any case, I am no longer on your wavelength.”

  “But you seemed to be having a good time. I thought you liked it.”

  “I do like it, but not under these conditions. Your saying that you want to go to bed isn’t enough to get me excited.”

  “Foreplay—what bullshit!”

  “OK. Pick up your things, and leave the keys in the mailbox.”

  “So it’s over? Just like that?”

  “Exactly. I want to move on, Rémi. Good luck.”

  “Bitch!”

  “I want nothing more to do with you. I don’t want to see you or hear from you again. Ciao.”

  Dominique slammed the phone down. She had wasted eight months, and that left a bitter taste in her mouth. Now she had to forget.

  HE made sure the keyboard was inactive—he had no margin for error—then he slipped his cell phone into his inside jacket pocket. The time had come. He typed the code, and the door at 5 Place de Fürstenberg opened as if by a miracle. He walked up five flights of stairs to reach his next victim’s apartment. There was nobody to stop him. He was free to do as he pleased. He rang the bell. There was no reaction. He rang again. He put his ear against the door to listen and heard steps approaching. He composed himself. She opened the door, her eyes still heavy with sleep.

  “Yes, what is it?” she asked.

  He did not give her any time to think and jumped on her with all his force and covered her mouth. Very quickly, she turned into a rag doll in his arms. She was his. He was going to kill her. It would be like stabbing a sword in Sirsky’s heart.

  SATURDAY

  16

  Personal Attacks

  HIS HANDS GOT LOST in her wool sweater as he ran them up her back. Their mouths were sealed together. He knocked her onto the bed and lay on top of her. He kissed her stomach and slowly made his way to her neck. He pulled off her sweater and unbuttoned her shirt, undoing her bra. He brushed her chest, descending to her hips and then focused on removing her skirt. They smiled at each other and finished getting undressed. He threw himself on her again, unable to contain himself, tasting every inch of her skin, delaying the moment their bodies would join. The phone rang. It had to be a mistake. But the person insisted, and it was difficult to ignore. A two-hour break was all he wanted. They moved away from each other, burning with unappeased desire, their hearts pounding.

  “Who is it?”

  “Kriven, boss.”

  He wasn’t his usual self.

  “What’s going on?” he asked, suddenly worried.

  “She’s dead!” Commander Kriven sobbed.

  “Who, for God’s sake?”

  “Amélie—Captain Ader! Her husband found her at home barely a half an hour ago.”

  “But how?” Nico asked, wanting to make sure that he had understood correctly.

  “Like the others. The bastard really messed her up. It’s horrible, Nico.”

  Kriven was crying outright now.

  “Shit! She could have been more careful!” he screamed. “She’s a cop, damn it!”

  “David, calm down. She couldn’t be on guard twenty-four seven. Are you at the scene?”

  “Yes. I haven’t let anyone in. My team is outside, but I won’t be able to control them for long. They want to see her. You understand.”

  “I’ll be right there. Protect the scene. That’s very important. I don’t want anyone walking around Amélie’s body.”

  “OK. We’ll wait for you. Hurry, Nico.”

  Kriven was begging him; he was on the brink of losing it. It was especially difficult to lose a colleague in the line of duty, and all the more so in such a horribly way. Nico wanted to scream. He had sent her home to get some rest. Guilt overwhelmed him. Amélie was talented and had a promising future. This case was becoming very personal. He wanted this asshole’s blood, and he would get it.

  He felt a warm hand on his shoulder. Caroline. He leaned into her for a few seconds to recharge his batteries.

  “I have to go.”

  “A new victim?”

  “Yes. A young woman from La Crim’. A cop.”

  “Go quickly.”

  “Don’t go anywhere, OK?”

  “I’ll stay here with Dimitri. Don’t worry about us.”

  “Caroline?”

  “Yes?”

  “I really want you, you know …”

  She smiled.

  “I’ll give you a rain check,” she said with a wink.

  NICO gave instructions to the two police officers assigned to protect Dimitri and Caroline and then got into his car. He thought about the series of events. First, the mystery around Magistrate Becker. Jean-Marie Rost had searched his office but found nothing, and Gamby hadn’t found anything more on his computer. He and Cohen had led the search of his home personally but hadn’t discovered anything other than a few old pictures. Alexandre Becker’s past had been reduced to a few modest shots of Arnaud Briard as a baby and young child, alone and with his mother. His wife was the only person who knew. She seemed kind and even-tempered. The sky had just fallen in on them. Her parents had come to pick up the two children, with Nico’s consent; there was no reason to get them mixed up in this terrible story. Kriven’s officers had examined the magistrate’s schedule in detail. There were some gray areas; they had no way to verify the anonymous phone calls and the impromptu departures from his office. As a result, they had kept him in custody at headquarters. And his former educators and psychologists couldn’t contribute anything, even if they all admitted that he had shown an exceptional ability to overcome the tragedy.

  Nico had left Becker no more than two hours earlier, giving himself a break to see his son and Caroline. Dimitri was at his mother’s place, with his things piled in suitcases. Sylvie had left without even waiting for Nico to arrive, placing a sealed letter on the dresser in the entry. Anxiety filtered through the words, raising a number of questions about the future. She didn’t say where she was going. She wanted to get help; she would return when she was better. She promised to send news to Dimitri. She thanked Nico for his support and asked him not to try to find her; she needed to learn how to get by without him. That was key to her getting better.

  Then Caroline had arrived under escort, as he had required. Her introduction to Dimitri could not have gone better. She had a good dose of psychology and knew how to handle teens. Dimitri wasn’t fazed at all by this new person in his father’s life and adopted her immediately. He clearly needed a strong and friendly female presence. Before Dimitri disappeared into his room, he gave them a smile that warmed Nico’s
heart. After that, Nico had only one thing on his mind: getting Caroline into his bed. They flirted for a few minutes, and then they threw themselves at each other, unable to hold back any longer. Until Kriven called about the murder of his second in command, Captain Amélie Ader.

  NICO arrived at Place de Fürstenberg. The flashing blue and yellow lights of the police cars illuminated the building. The feverish activity at this hour of the morning had awakened the neighbors. Captain Pierre Vidal was smoking a cigarette. Everyone knew he had stopped smoking nearly two years earlier. The night’s news had been too much. The other squad members stood near him, still and silent. Théron’s men were there too, which was normal.

  A car was let through the roadblock that had been set up around the square. Cohen got out, accompanied by Nicole Monthalet herself. The presence of the police commissioner did not go unnoticed. She shook hands and said a few words of comfort. She was one with this family: the police. Nico appreciated her presence. Together, they climbed the stairs to Captain Ader’s apartment. Pierre Vidal followed, ready to get to work as soon as the order was given. Nico had suggested that he let someone else take over, because he had worked with Amélie every day, but he refused. Rost and Kriven were waiting for them; Maxime Ader was next to them. Nico had met him at La Crim’ get-togethers. He was trying to hold himself together.

  “Amélie is in the living room,” Commander Kriven said, his voice filled with emotion.

  The sight of Amélie’s nude and mutilated body was a nightmare. It was the madness of a man who had lost all trace of humanity.

  “I didn’t touch anything,” Maxime Ader said. She undoubtedly had told him about police procedures.

  “There’s another message,” Nicole Monthalet said, pointing to an envelope on the victim’s thigh.

  She put on the gloves that Captain Vidal handed her and took the letter. Inside, there was a carefully folded piece of paper and two handwritten sentences.

  “Can’t you even protect your women, Nico? I am God. You are nothing,” Madame Monthalet read.

  “The bastard!” Cohen cried out.

  “One thing now seems obvious,” Nico said. “Becker is innocent. I sent Amélie home when I went to the magistrate’s office. He hasn’t been alone since. We no longer have to keep him in custody.”

  Three custody rooms were next to his office. He had put Magistrate Becker in one of them and left him sitting on a narrow bench. Two uniformed officers were guarding him, as regulations required. The walls were covered with graffiti left by many of the former occupants. Nico had no choice but to lock Becker up in this less-than-comfortable room until things were cleared up. He had seen the magistrate’s crestfallen look at the idea of finding himself there, but Nico could not allow himself to feel pity. Now he was relieved to let him go. It was reassuring to see that Becker had, in fact, overcome his childhood trauma. They needed to start the investigation fresh.

  “Let’s get going. Search the scene,” Nico ordered. “And we have to get Amélie out of here. Has someone told Professor Vilars?”

  “Yes,” Rost answered. “She is already at the medical examiner’s office.”

  “Very good. Jean-Marie, you take care of the body,” Nico ordered.

  Everyone went to work, under the seasoned eye of Nicole Monthalet. When Amélie Ader’s body was carried through the apartment in a body bag, they all stopped what they were doing and watched in respectful silence. Maxime Ader decided to go with his wife; tears streamed down his pale face.

  “I’ve got an ear print on the door!” Captain Vidal’s voice rang out.

  Nico approached.

  “Maybe our man listened before he rang,” Vidal said.

  The lifted ear print would be compared to the culprit’s when the time came, and this would be one more piece of evidence against him.

  “There’s a white powder on the dining room table,” Nicole Monthalet said. “Come take a look, Chief Sirsky.”

  “It might be talc,” Nico said. “He uses surgical gloves. The talc scatters when he opens the sterile package.”

  Quickly they realized that they wouldn’t find anything else. The killer had kept a cool head and made only a few mistakes. It was enraging and frustrating. Monthalet and Cohen decided to go to the medical examiner’s office to attend the autopsy. Nico forbade his men to follow, despite how unhappy that clearly made Kriven. It was out of the question that they watch their colleague go under the coroner’s scalpel.

  ON the way back to headquarters, Nico obsessed over the killer’s latest message. The discomfort was palpable when Nicole Monthalet read it. “Can’t you even protect your women, Nico? I am God. You are nothing.” The scumbag was blaming him. Why had he forced Amélie to go home? Why hadn’t he let her continue her work at headquarters, as she had wanted to? Was it to reward her for discovering the link to Magistrate Becker? Was it because they badly needed rested, available detectives? Or was it because she was a woman, and he was treating her differently, as she had insinuated? Undoubtedly, it was all of these reasons. His decision had led to her death.

  How terribly ironic—to be tortured by the very person you were tracking. Nico needed to bring down this criminal. But what exactly did he mean by “your women”? Was the killer telling him clearly that other women who were even closer to him were also in danger? The idea sent a shiver up his spine. Who was next on the list? His head was buzzing with questions when he arrived at headquarters. He double parked, leaving the key in the ignition, under the watchful eye of some uniformed officers. He went directly to the custody room where Magistrate Becker was being held.

  The man had been sitting on the same bench for several hours. His face was in his hands. Nico relieved the officers and opened the glass door.

  “You are free to go,” he said.

  “That means that something must have happened, right? A murder while I was in custody? That’s abominable. I am so sorry for the poor woman.”

  Becker didn’t stand up to leave, but instead continued to sit on the bench. Nico sat down beside him. The two men remained there in silence for several minutes.

  “The woman in question,” Nico finally said, “The killer’s fifth victim was a member of my brigade.”

  “A cop?”

  “Captain Amélie Ader. She’s the one who made the connection between you and Arnaud Briard.”

  “She did good work.”

  “Exactly. But it was a lead in the wrong direction. I sent her home to get some rest after she made the discovery. And she was killed.”

  “It’s not your fault,” Becker said, as if he were reading his thoughts.

  “So it seems.”

  “A new message?”

  “Yes. ‘Can’t you even protect your women, Nico? I am God. You are nothing.’”

  “His tone is very familiar. This determination of his to undermine you shows a real sense of inferiority.”

  “Is he being sarcastic, or is it a threat?”

  “You’re wondering if your women could be in danger?”

  “You could say that.”

  “Is your family still under police protection?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is this personal, or does he want to destroy you because you are the head of the brigade criminelle?”

  “We didn’t find anything when we looked into the people I’ve put away in recent years.”

  “We have a real sociopath on our hands. He’s well integrated and has a job and no history with the law. The day you put someone like that behind bars, he never gets out again. But why did he bring up my past? How did he know?”

  “He did it to mislead us and keep us off his trail.”

  “You, me …”

  “That said, maybe he is not so far removed from us.”

  “You’re giving me goosebumps.”

  “Amélie Ader’s autopsy has certainly begun. Are you coming?”

  “I have to reassure my wife.”

  “It’s been done already. I called her just a few minut
es ago. I warned her that you would have work to do and that you wouldn’t be coming home right away.”

  “What planning. Thanks. I’m right behind you, Nico. I can call you Nico, can’t I?”

  “With pleasure. We’re in the same boat. We’re going to have to start from square one again.”

  “I’m with you. After the autopsy, get the whole team together in your office.”

  “OK. We need to find him before he kills again. There has to be something we missed.”

  “And at Ader’s place?”

  “Similar ropes around her wrists. The talc and an ear print on the front door.”

  “That’s not much. The SOB is careful.”

  “Or he knows our methods.”

  “Today anybody can know them just by watching TV and reading mysteries.”

  “Not in such detail.”

  “Perhaps not, but everyone knows not to leave evidence and fingerprints and that DNA is a key part of any investigation.”

  “He knows how to stitch up skin and where to get surgical sutures. You don’t know that just from watching a show or reading a book.”

  “Touché.”

  The men stood up. They left police headquarters and got into the chief’s car to go to the medical examiner’s office.

  “You have a son, don’t you?” Becker asked.

  “Yes. Dimitri. He’s fourteen years old.”

  “So you’re married?”

  “Divorced. It’s been awhile. Someone else came into my life recently.”

  “Are you in love?”

  “Crazy in love.”

  Nico parked his car in front of the Institut. The two men entered the building and were greeted by the guard. They walked to the autopsy room and stiffened in the cold required by the nature of the clientele.

  “Hello, Nico,” said Professor Vilars, who was leaning over the victim’s body and had clearly made progress. “I’m sorry for Ader.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Monsieur le Juge,” she added in a respectful tone, indicating that she was relieved to see him with the chief.

  “I am glad to see that everything has been cleared up and that you have joined us,” Nicole Monthalet said, holding out her hand for a firm shake.