The 7th Woman

by Frédérique Molay

  “I am, as well,” Michel Cohen said in turn.

  “Do you have anything?” Nico asked, looking to Professor Vilars.

  “You’re going to like this,” Eric Fiori let slip. He was assisting his superior.

  “First of all, once again there were thirty lashes from the whip,” Armelle said as she dissected the victim’s organs.

  Nico had to turn away from the police captain’s stiff body, which had incisions from top to bottom. He gave Armelle Vilars a worried look. She guessed his despair, but she wouldn’t say anything in front of his superiors, and in particular in front of Nicole Monthalet. Nico tried to swallow, but he had a knot of sadness in his throat.

  “Examination of the body didn’t give any promising leads, aside from traces of talc on her ankles. He must have squeezed tightly, because there is bruising.”

  “She certainly fought by kicking,” Madame Monthalet said. “He wanted to hold her down.”

  “That’s likely. I will continue, if you don’t mind,” Professor Vilars said. “Are you sure that you’re OK?”

  They all knew the victim, which, under normal circumstances, would be a reason to ban them from the autopsy. Armelle had never broken this rule, and she didn’t like the idea of doing that now. By staying, their minds would record images that would remain with them their entire lives.

  “Nico, you worked with her every day,” Cohen said. “You should leave.”

  “I’m staying. No question.”

  “Cohen is right. You don’t have to be a hero, Chief Sirsky,” Nicole Monthalet said. “We know what you are worth, and your presence here serves no purpose. We understand.”

  “Listen. I know what I’m doing. It’s my job to be here.”

  “Damn it!” Professor Vilars let out, surprising everyone. “What are you trying to prove, Nico? Now get out. I don’t want you here. I don’t want anyone here who was Captain Ader’s colleague, is that understood? You will have my report in two hours. Now enough. I’ve seen enough of you.”

  “She’s right,” Becker said to calm the atmosphere. “Go on. I’ll see you in your office as soon as this is over. Mr. Cohen will take me back to headquarters.”

  “Fine. I see everyone is against me.”

  “You will thank us later,” Armelle said, and then she winked at him.

  17

  Common Front

  HE HAD GOTTEN TO him where it hurt. He had caused him to despair. He had struck him with full force and had shaken up the man who thought of himself as stronger and more clever than everyone else. Nico Sirsky, chief of the famous Paris brigade criminelle had lost his bearings. Soon both legs would buckle, and he would eat dust. Just as his mother had.

  NICO arrived at headquarters. He had an overwhelming desire to hear Caroline’s voice, but he didn’t dare call her. He simply imagined her smile, the one that had changed his life. Maybe she was sleeping under the comforter in his bed. Deep down, all he wanted was to listen to her regular breathing, to lie next to her and to get lost in her smell. Most of all, he wanted to take up the conversation where he had left off, in her arms.

  He went through the checkpoint guarded by two uniformed officers at headquarters. One of them had raised his voice at a man Nico didn’t know. He heard Dominique Kreiss’ name, but he decided not to get involved. He climbed the stairs to the offices. The lights were so intense, you would have thought it was daytime. The sound of voices assailed him. He understood that his men were there, that none of them had been able to go home after the night’s macabre discovery. He walked toward the offices assigned to Kriven’s men. When he entered, faces turned to him, and everyone became quiet. They were all there—Kriven’s and Théron’s teams, along with their superior officer, Deputy Chief Rost. Dominique Kreiss was also there; her eyes were red. They had spread the word, and everyone had rushed to the offices.

  “He killed Ader. Nobody can do anything about that,” Nico said. “Five victims, and it won’t end unless we arrest him. So we are going to start from square one again and burn rubber. I want him dead or alive. I think we all agree here, don’t we?”

  They all nodded.

  “Kriven,” Nico continued, “I want you and your team to follow the Triflex lead. That’s the brand of surgical gloves the killer is using. I want to know who produces them, who distributes them, and where they go in Paris. It’s a common product, but I don’t give a shit, it might get us a lead. Théron? Go back to the nautical rope. I know the man probably bought it anonymously with cash. Still, go back over the retailers’ customers. Would the killer buy this type of rope if he didn’t like boating? Would you have bought it? Of course not; like me, you would have used nylon rope from the supermarket, the usual kind.”

  “Maybe he knew about your brother-in-law’s passion for sailing,” Théron said. “So using that type of rope would throw suspicion on a member of your family.”

  “That is possible. Rost! How is Walberg doing on the handwriting analysis of the last message?”

  “He’ll be here any minute with his report,” Rost responded. “The lab is going to call about the ear print we found on Amélie’s door and about the rope used this time.”

  “Did the bastard amputate Amélie’s breasts as he did with the others?” an officer from Kriven’s group asked.

  “Yes,” Nico said.

  “Was she pregnant?” Kriven asked.

  “I don’t know yet. The autopsy wasn’t finished when they threw me out.”

  “It’s better that way,” Rost said. “None of us could have stood seeing such a thing. It’s Amélie, after all.”

  “The first four victims were a month pregnant,” Nico said. “How does he get that information?”

  “Gamby says it’s easy for the killer to hack into the computers of certain practitioners and medical laboratories,” Kriven said.

  “OK. But they had appointments with their doctors only a few days before being killed,” said Théron. “That wouldn’t give him much time to prepare his crimes. Yet he knows his victims’ habits well. For example, he knew that Marie-Hélène Jory did not work on Monday mornings and that Valérie Trajan took Wednesday off. Nurses have hours that change from one week to the next. It would have been very hard to know what time Isabelle Saulière was going off duty on Thursday. And what about Ader? That was impossible to plan.”

  “That’s true,” Nico said. “I’m the one who sent her home to rest. She did a good job and deserved it. If I hadn’t given her the order, she would have stayed here.”

  The room went quiet, giving them some time to think.

  “What if we are wrong, and he knew them all?” Nico finally said.

  Kriven reacted. “What do you mean?”

  “Someone you confide in about being pregnant even before telling your husband or your mother?” Dominique Kreiss added.

  “Why not? Rost, I want you to lead the search. We need to get the victims’ phones and look at their contact lists again. Question their friends and families and compare.”

  “OK.”

  “And then there are the messages he is leaving,” Nico said.

  “Messages with biblical connotations that are meant specifically for you,” Dominique Kreiss said.

  “In the latest, he talked about protecting your women; was he referring to Amélie?” Kriven asked.

  “I think so,” the psychologist said. “But he might be threatening other women Nico knows with the clear goal that he ‘not be able to rise’ on Sunday. It is possible that he will target someone who means a lot to you, Nico, making the last murder an apotheosis.”

  “A sociopath cannot put an end to his criminal activity by simply deciding to do so,” Nico reacted. “Killing is an absolute necessity for him.”

  “He can put an end to a series of murders, as if he has won a round,” Dominique said. “He will kill again, elsewhere, differently. But he will have conquered the brigade criminelle and no longer be a nobody.”

  “I don’t understand why he would use Nico’s
medical file,” Rost said. “Can you imagine that he knew you had an appointment at Saint Antoine Hospital?”

  “I didn’t talk to anyone about it, except my family. My brother-in-law made the appointment for me.”

  “Should I look for a common friend in your family?” Rost asked. “Between your brother-in-law’s love of the sea and your medical file, it seems our man has some very personal information about you.”

  “I think you have to,” Kriven said.

  “OK,” Nico admitted. “Get to work. Breakfast with those in charge in my office at eight a.m. That gives you more than four hours. Wake up every available man. Another murder is scheduled in a few hours, let’s not forget that. Dominique, can I talk to you for a second?”

  “Of course.”

  “I heard some guy asking after you outside when I arrived earlier. It was three in the morning.”

  “Oh. That’s Rémi.”

  “Rémi? He didn’t seem very easy to get along with.”

  “We were together for eight months. I put an end to it yesterday.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “It’s my problem,” the psychologist said, her expression suddenly hardening.

  Nico was on slippery ground talking about a colleague’s private life. It was not his habit to get involved in the personal lives of those he worked with, but something unusual had happened at headquarters. He wanted to make sure it wouldn’t go any further, and Dominique had things under control.

  “You’re sure that it will be OK? He’s not going to make life difficult for you?”

  “He has an aggressive personality. To tell the truth, other than the sex, I wonder what it is he likes about women. I told the officers downstairs that I didn’t want to see him, and they sent him away.”

  “He’ll come back, either here or at your place.”

  “I know.”

  “You are sure I have nothing to worry about?”

  “Nothing at all. I will take care of this alone, like a big girl.”

  “Don’t hesitate to talk to me if things get out of hand.”

  “Promise.”

  Dominique Kreiss went to join the others. Nico dived into his teams’ reports. He paid special attention to the memos from the counter-terrorism section, because it was important to remain alert to the risk of attacks. International relations supplied plenty of reasons for terrorism in France. The brigade criminelle had to play its role in prevention.

  Someone knocked at the door. He looked up and invited Marc Walberg to come in.

  “I wanted to come to see you,” he said. “It was on my way.”

  “Do you have something new?”

  “For the first time I have a document of real interest, because the killer wrote on paper and not on a mirror or a door. The paper provides key information with its patterns, watermark, weight, dimensions, thickness, grain, color and light sensitivity. With these, we can identify the exact brand and type of paper, which can lead us to the person who sold it. I have the address right here. Paper is also malleable, which means that when something presses against it, it leaves a mark. We generally examine the paper under a microscope, because the impression is often barely visible. I once discerned the brand on a jacket button and the type of material on a chair from examining a piece of paper under a microscope. Now, on this piece of paper, I’ve found an impression.”

  “Yes?”

  “A signature. The killer must have used a piece of paper that was originally underneath another piece of paper used for something else. Perhaps they were pages from a pad of paper. The killer’s paper picked up the impression of the signature. The writing is not the same as our man’s. I’m absolutely sure about that. Unfortunately, the signature is more of a scribble than a legible name. I magnified it here.”

  Nico contemplated this piece of evidence.

  “Although I didn’t find any fingerprints, the handwriting analysis was interesting. When I examined the first message, I told you that the person who wrote it knew exactly what he was doing. Then he started showing signs of nervousness, which changed his writing. Finally, remember that we observed an attempt to disguise the writing by making it more feminine. In this last message, I spotted a number of inconsistencies linked to the feminization and signs of intense stress.”

  “Stress?”

  “Yes, this time, our man hesitated when he wrote the message and wasn’t able to control his shaking.”

  “That contradicts what he wrote.”

  “True, but that doesn’t mean anything. By challenging you, the killer has entered a power struggle that makes him more vulnerable. So there you have everything I know.”

  “Thank you, Marc. Good work.”

  “I hope that it helps you catch him. Don’t hesitate to call me at any hour of the day. I know how serious this case is.”

  The forensic specialist left, probably to return to the warmth of his home. Nico called Kriven.

  “David, I have another mission for your team. Walberg found the brand of paper the criminal used and the supplier. I want you to make contact. Find out what customers they have in Paris. We need to compare that to the Triflex distribution network.”

  “Consider it done. Who are they?”

  Nico gave him the name and contact information and hung up. A heavy silence settled in the office. He grabbed his cell phone from his jacket pocket. He weighed it in his hand for a second; he hesitated. He had to talk to her. The need was so strong. He called his own home phone, running the risk of waking both her and his son up. The phone rang once, and she picked it up.

  “Caroline?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is everything all right?”

  “Fine. Dimitri is sleeping like a baby. I thought you might call.”

  “I wanted to hear your voice. I miss you.”

  He could hear her smile.

  “Where are you?” he asked.

  “In your bed, I’m reading some magazines. Have you made any progress in the investigation?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “You’ll keep me posted, won’t you?”

  “Of course. In any case, don’t leave the house.”

  “Understood.”

  “Caroline?”

  “Yes?”

  “I love you.”

  “Nico!”

  “Talk to you later.”

  Kriven rushed in without knocking. Nico ended the call.

  “She’s a bomb,” David Kriven said.

  “Who’s that?”

  “Sorry, I overheard. Caroline Dalry of course. I’m impressed. And she’s a doctor on top of that!”

  “Commander Kriven, please control yourself.”

  “I’m just saying I think she’s a good catch. She has something special. I mean, uh, a lot of charm.”

  “I know. OK, it’s not teatime. Do you have something interesting to tell me?”

  “Triflex belongs to an American company, Allegiance Healthcare Corporation. The product is produced in Thailand. There is a subsidiary in Brittany, in Châteaubriant. The local police chief went to wake up the manager. We’ll have the list of Paris customers shortly.”

  “Perfect. And the paper?”

  “We’re working on it. I’ll tell you later. I had Maxime Ader on the phone. He is waiting at the morgue until the autopsy is over. Professor Vilars will see him right after she’s finished.”

  “I hope he is not alone.”

  “No. He has family with him. There’s a whole pack of them. The funeral will probably take place at the beginning of the week. The police benevolent association could do a collection to help out, what do you think?”

  “That’s a good idea,” Nico said.

  He took out his wallet and found a hundred-euro bill, which he held out to his commander. Kriven appreciated his boss’s gesture.

  HE had been close to Nico Sirsky. The jubilation he felt was unforgettable. The chief was upset, that was obvious. He couldn’t stop this series of murders. All he could do was
observe the damage: the bodies of these innocent women tortured and murdered. And the most recent one was a member of the brigade. How ironic! The great chief could not protect his own and was not, in reality, as brilliant as everyone said. He was going to fall off his pedestal. If only Sirsky knew that they had brushed against each other, that their skin had touched! Nico was good at everything, but he was going to lose the most important thing he had. He knew which woman to attack. Sirsky would never again be the same man. He would no longer have a taste for life. He would descend into hell.

  ARMELLE had just finished the autopsy. It would take her some time to relax her mind and body. As usual, she had worked with meticulous detail, leaning over the body, reducing it to a complex and fascinating object of her expertise. Her job was to find a cause of death, and it was the very reason she championed life. Of course, the lives of those who arrived here had been abruptly interrupted by a crime or an accident. It was up to her to explain why and how. Up to her to uncover death’s mysteries. And there were the families. Her sense of moral duty required her to give them her special attention. The living who ended up here probably never imagined one day setting foot in the Institut; they were disoriented by the place, shattered by the loss of their loved ones. So they turned to her, hoping for explanations and support. She listened, and to calm the rage and pain, she weighed every word she said so they could begin grieving under the best possible conditions.

  Many sordid stories inhabited her memory; she wasn’t able to wave a magic wand and make them disappear. They were all part of her. Could anyone imagine that dissecting Captain Ader’s body was just another autopsy? She had met the woman on several occasions when she had attended autopsies like all the other detectives in the brigade criminelle. Vilars was good at remembering faces and had a precise image of her in her mind. Amélie Ader loved her job. She still had that freshness and energy that came with youth, despite the dire realities of her work. Now she was nothing more than a lifeless body mutilated by a killer and an autopsy. The medical examiner’s job required a rare strength of character; she had to have the energy to defy death every day.

  She made a quick stop in her office before going to see the Ader family. First, she had to contact Sirsky. Of course his superiors and Magistrate Becker would tell him exactly what happened during the autopsy, but she wanted to talk to him personally. That, too, was her duty; the specific nature of the situation required it. The chief inspector answered her call immediately.