“And do you know what kind of doctor he is?”
“What kind? I don’t know. A doctor is a doctor. Who cares what his specialty is? I only see him from time to time.”
“Enough for you to tell him all about your private life.”
“Stop it, Nico. You’re exaggerating.”
“I’ve got news for you. Eric Fiori is a coroner. His patients are kind of stiff, don’t you think? Does that make a difference now?”
Tanya went pale.
“And he may just be the serial killer I’m looking for,” Nico added.
THE moment was exhilarating. It was a few seconds of pure happiness. There he was, standing in Chief Sirsky’s dining room, his pistol digging into the back of the uniformed officer in charge of guarding the house. He had waited until one of the two cops entered the private alleyway that led to Sirsky’s home and had followed him. Nothing could have been easier. There was a day-care center at the same address. He acted like a good family man and carried a child’s sweater. He wore a happy smile and approached. Then all he had to do was point the gun at the policeman. Dr. Dalry was now glaring at him. He would have expected more fear, but no, she showed self-assurance. The teenager was clearly shocked by the situation. He had to be Sirsky’s son; the resemblance was striking. Caroline Dalry had put a protective hand on his shoulder. Soon, she wouldn’t be so smooth. She would beg him like the others.
“Do you know who I am?” he asked her.
“Not yet,” she answered calmly.
“Don’t be clever with me. I’ll repeat the question. Do you know who I am?”
“No.”
“Think hard. I know you can do better than that.”
“You are the person who has committed the murders that Chief Sirsky is investigating.”
“Congratulations. You can say Nico, don’t you think? You have probably already slept with him.”
There was silence. She wasn’t going to get off so easily.
“So, did you sleep with him?”
“That is none of your business.”
A wave of hatred rose inside him, drowning him like a tidal wave. It was no problem. He would take care of her later. He would take his time. He would play with her body. In the meantime, she needed to respect him. There was only one thing to do. He pulled the trigger, and the cop fell to the ground on his side like deadweight. A red spot spread over his clothing. His eyes clouded over. He watched the hostages’ reaction. Now the kid was frightened and was taking refuge against the woman. Fear had made its way into Caroline’s eyes.
“What do you want?” she asked.
Now they were getting somewhere. He did not answer, ratcheting up the power he had over his prey. All he gave them was an icy smile.
“Don’t do anything to him,” she said.
“I’m not sure. It would feel like killing Nico Sirsky himself, and that could be a real rush.”
“He’s just a child.”
“I admire your courage. I give in. There is rope and duct tape in my backpack. You are going to tie the boy to the table and make sure he can’t scream. Do it right, or I’ll have to kill him.”
Caroline nodded and obeyed. The boy tried to resist, but she stopped him with a gesture. He looked at her anxiously. Tears were rolling down his cheeks. The man checked the knots and made sure the bonds would hold.
“Tell your father that I took his whore and am saving some of my very special treatment just for her. I’m sure he’ll like that. Add that she is the seventh woman for the seventh day. Will you remember everything?”
The boy blinked in response. That was enough.
“Put your coat on. We’re going,” he ordered Caroline.
She did what he said without any fuss. She was afraid he would kill Dimitri. They left the house.
“Hold my arm, and look down.”
They walked away without any trouble. He pushed her into his car.
“Perfect. Now, don’t move. I’ll kill you at the first attempt to escape.”
Now she was his.
SUNDAY
19
Nightmares
HE HAD NEVER FELT so weary before. He had never realized how his life was hanging by a thread. He was no longer in control. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, his face buried in Caroline’s sweater, taking in her scent. He couldn’t hold back the tears. He couldn’t bear for her to suffer. He was so afraid of losing her. It was now impossible for him to imagine his future without this woman. He was tortured by the thought of her in that bastard’s hands. He had to act. Time was of the essence. But what could he do? He felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up. Magistrate Becker had come to join him.
“There was a time I didn’t believe in anything anymore,” Becker said. “But I clenched my fists, I moved forward, and I came out the other side. Each day that went by was a victory over fate. I loved my mother. She was everything to me. I was only seven years old. She was my universe. I watched her founder without being able to help her. Until she tried to kill me. My own mother. I had to rebuild everything, one brick at a time. I was able to rebuild my trust in other people, in my family. I have a wonderful wife who watches over our children like a jealous cat. The best can come from the worst, believe me. Nothing is set from the start. You know that better than anyone. The game is not over, Nico. You’ve got to keep playing to the end. Dr. Dalry is still alive, I’m sure of that. It’s Sunday morning. The seventh woman for the seventh day, remember. He wouldn’t have killed her yesterday. He’s planning it this afternoon. This kind of person doesn’t change his habits. Dominique Kreiss has confirmed that. We have a few hours in front of us. That’s not a lot, but everything is still possible. Your team is waiting for your instructions. If you break, the whole system comes down with you. Nico? Let’s fight this together. For her.”
Nico looked deep in his eyes. So much had happened in so little time. The criminal had been leading them around all week. He had killed every day, and they hadn’t managed to catch him. There weren’t many psychopaths like this running around, but they were especially hard to apprehend. Now this one held Caroline, and she was the seventh pawn in his ghastly game. Everything had fallen into place quickly: the surgical gloves and the paper used in the medical examiner’s offices, the discovery that the signature imprint on one of the messages belonged to Professor Vilars, the red campions crushed in the garden and the samples collected from the fifth victim, the shoe print on Captain Ader’s skull, the contact lenses found in Fiori’s office that were the same brand and correction as those found in Valérie Trajan’s apartment and the culprit’s surgical knowledge. Finally, Marc Walberg compared the handwriting and confirmed that Eric Fiori wrote the messages.
A search of his home had provided irrefutable evidence. Deputy Chief Rost had gone there as he had been ordered and had asked Nico to join him immediately. Fiori’s wife was lying there, dead, the victim of the crime he had perfected. She was the sixth victim, a young brunette with a pleasant body, an accountant in a large Parisian firm. They had been married for four years and didn’t have any children. He had written some words on the living room wall in red paint, “Let the lying lips be mute, for they speak arrogantly.”
“Psalm 31, verse 18,” Dominique Kreiss had said, Bible in hand, as they searched the premises.
The apartment was impeccable; everything was perfectly in order, revealing the occupant’s obsessive nature. Eric Fiori had a den. Marine rope was coiled on the floor. A collection of knives was on display on one wall. On another wall was a collection of religious artifacts. A drawer was filled with bondage magazines. Bastien Gamby had joined them to examine the doctor’s computer, where he found the victims’ medical records that had come from their respective gynecologists. Then Gamby found traces of Nico’s medical information, which the killer had gotten from the Saint Antoine Hospital network. It was enough to give them the chills.
Then suddenly the computer screen went fuzzy. Red, pulpy lips appeared on it and broke into a sarca
stic laugh. Nico understood immediately that the killer had planned everything. He wanted the investigators to end up here to listen to the message he had for them. No, it was for him. Hadn’t he been warned?
“Nico, I am shattering my enemies, and Sunday you will not rise. For her and the others, and for you, Nico, I’m preparing wickedness. I conceive mischief, and I bring forth falsehood. Can’t you even protect your women, Nico? I am God. You are nothing.”
From the second he saw those bright red lips on the computer, Nico knew he had lost, even before the metallic voice said a single word.
“I’m holding the seventh woman. I am going to undress her, torture her and kill her. She is your woman, Nico.”
And Caroline’s picture took over the screen.
After that, he couldn’t remember anything. What happened? How had he reacted? In the distance, he still heard Commander Kriven’s voice trying to contact the police officers in charge of Dimitri and Caroline’s safety. Less than a minute later, everyone was running around, taking him outside. They raced to his house. An officer lay soaked in his own blood inside the unmarked car, his carotid sliced open. Then they found his colleague, shot dead in Nico’s apartment. His son was deathly pale. Nico cut him free, and Dimitri fell into his arms, not giving him the time to ask any questions.
“I couldn’t do anything, Dad. I’m so sorry. I’m afraid for Caroline. She had to tie me up so that he wouldn’t kill me.”
A fleeting thought crossed his mind: He was grateful that it was she who had tied him up and not the killer.
“She’s so strong, so calm,” the teenager said. “I wasn’t. She wanted him to leave me alone. She asked him to. She was brave. Dad, is he going to hurt her?”
He held Dimitri so tight, he almost smothered him.
“You’re going to join Gran and Tanya,” he said. “I’ll take care of Caroline.”
“She’s, um, she’s wonderful, Dad. Please find her. He wanted to know if she had slept with you.”
“What?”
“That’s what he said. And he said she was the seventh woman, that you’d know what that meant.”
They took his son away. Nico was preoccupied with a single image: Caroline in the throes of death, nude and tied to the foot of a table, her skin whipped and lacerated. He swore he would kill Eric Fiori with his own hands.
THE police forensics laboratory confirmed Alexandre Becker’s innocence: His DNA had nothing in common with that of the presumed killer. Professor Charles Queneau had started comparing Dr. Fiori’s DNA with the tissue samples on the contact lenses, the brown hair the criminal had left for them and the mouth transfer Professor Vilars had found on the breasts grafted to Captain Ader. They would have the results in twenty-four hours, and that would be evidence against the criminal, along with the ear print found on Amélie Ader’s door.
Some gray areas remained. Why was Eric Fiori killing these women? What was his story? Why thirty lashes for each victim? Nico had assigned some of his team members to the job of resolving that mystery. The others had been ordered to find out where Fiori could possibly go and where he could be hiding. In a few hours, Nico had the pathologist’s full background. An only child, a middle-class family, divorced parents. Hard time in primary school and observations from a teacher who suspected abuse. Authoritarian mother who was prone to violence had died two years earlier under suspicious circumstances. Thieves broke into her home and murdered her, according to the police report. Stabbed thirty times. Nico shivered. What if Eric Fiori had killed his mother? What had played out on that day? Fiori was the only one to have a key to that enigma. In a picture, his mother, around the age of thirty, looked surprisingly like the victims. So each time he committed the act, he was attacking his own mother. And he looked for prey that was like his mother. The pieces of the puzzle were coming together. Fiori had a studio apartment in Paris, rented to a student, and an apartment in Nice. Police sent to look there found nothing. There was nobody at Dr. Dalry’s home, either. Where was he hiding? Where was Caroline? There were so many unanswered questions, despite all the brigade criminelle’s efforts.
Feeling powerless, Nico wanted to go home. Becker and Kriven had gone with him. Night still enveloped the capital. Yellow flags floated above the Samaritaine department store, flapping in the wind. Below, as on every other Sunday, the riverside roads were closed to cars, reserved for walking, roller skating and biking. A joyful atmosphere reigned while he watched his entire existence collapse. Nico closed his eyes and let himself be driven home. His mind wandered to Caroline, trying to relive the feeling of their kisses. The memory of her soft skin came back immediately, causing a dull pain in his stomach. He opened his eyes. Anger and despair were fighting for a place in his mind. He had to save her, or else he would go mad.
Kriven finally parked the car. The three men went into the small house in the heart of the capital. He would have preferred to be alone, but he knew that his companions would not leave him. A few minutes later, he was sitting on his bed burying his face in Caroline’s sweater. Tears came to his eyes; he couldn’t control it. That was when he felt Alexandre Becker’s hand trying to reassure him. He admired this man, who had fought to survive and forget his past. Becker and Fiori had both experienced hard times, but they had responded in completely opposite ways. Becker was right, he needed to fight.
“He’s in Paris, that is for sure,” Nico finally said. “We’re watching all transports out of the city. He couldn’t risk fleeing the capital with Caroline. He’d be seen.”
“I agree,” Becker said. “And he’ll continue as usual with the same modus operandi. These are symbolic acts for him.”
“But we have no idea where he is!” Nico cried out.
“But there is a place.”
“How can we find it? I’m taking the wrong approach.”
“What do you mean?”
“He has become my enemy, and he knows what that means. To track a killer, you have to enter his world, perceive his urges and follow him into the shadows.”
“You mean empathize with him?”
“Exactly. Until you identify with him totally. There have to be clues that can lead us to him. I have to open my mind to find them.”
Kriven had joined them in the room. “But we are talking about Caroline,” he said. “That’s what’s upsetting you. You have to put your feelings out of your mind and act as though she’s someone you don’t know, or you won’t be able to do this.”
There was a heavy silence.
“I thought that was bullshit,” Becker said. “Barstool psychology.”
“It depends on who does it,” Kriven said. “Nico has a sixth sense for these things, even if he doesn’t like to talk about it.”
“He has been manipulating us from the beginning,” Nico said.
“Except that he couldn’t have planned that far ahead for Caroline,” Kriven said.
“He wanted to attack my ex-wife, and then he discovered what was going on with Caroline and me. My sister, who knew him from the gym, let the cat out of the bag. Then he followed every step I made this week. Caroline came to headquarters. We walked together. She became his target. The truth is, everything was planned: a murder every day and the last one a culmination to take place today, Sunday. But it’s his fantasies that feed his criminal ritual.”
“Maybe his mother whipped him,” Kriven said.
“Right. He is seeking revenge for that. For that matter, he most probably killed her. If his mother is the person he hates the most, and if he is trying to kill her through his crimes, then there is a close bond between her and the seventh and final victim,” Nico said.
He was already not pronouncing Caroline’s name, Kriven thought. He was back on track.
“He is holding his final prey,” Nico continued. “What will he do with her? She has a special role in this game of his. He will probably inflict on her the same morbid ritual, but before he did it in the victims’ homes. This time, he has to change his habit. As meticulous and org
anized as he is, he has certainly prepared a place for his final exploit. It can’t be just anywhere. Everything has to be perfect. Think about it. He has to escape from his mother. That’s who the seventh woman is!”
“You mean that for him, the seventh woman is his mother?” Kriven asked.
“That’s right. It wasn’t enough to kill her once. He had to replay it. That’s what he has been doing all week, but today, Sunday, it’s the finale. A particular prey for a very special day. He wants to share his suffering with someone else, with someone he knows, and he has decided that I will be that person. He wants me to share the painful memory of his mother’s death.”
“He is totally crazy,” Becker said.
“Where did his mother live? Where did he grow up?” Nico asked his commander.
“I don’t know.”
“Call Rost.”
The deputy chief responded immediately. Everyone was on high alert. Kriven passed on Nico’s questions and waited a few minutes with the telephone plastered to his ear.
“Three Place Jussieu, in the fifth arrondissement. Eric Fiori grew up there. His mother always lived in the same apartment, and she died there.”
Kriven passed on this key piece of information to Nico.
“Tell Rost to meet us there, but to go quietly,” Nico said. “I want to know the names of the new owners.”
“Do you really think he could be there?” Kriven asked after hanging up.
“He’s going back to his beginnings. That fits the killer’s profile. He premeditated his mother’s murder and went back to her place to follow his fantasy through to the end.”
Nico left his home, followed by his two companions. He held Caroline’s sweater in one hand to reassure himself. He got into the backseat of the car. He needed some space in order to put himself in the killer’s shoes. Kriven started the car and headed toward Place Jussieu, where France’s largest university stood. Pierre and Marie Curie University’s modern buildings rose where there was once a wine market. The police commander took Rue Jussieu and drove on past the few buildings lining the square. It was key that they not be seen from the windows. Rost had had the same idea and was already there, his car double parked a little farther along. Théron and Vidal followed on his heels.
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