‘I managed about three hours’ sleep,’ greeted Claudine.
‘In the end I didn’t bother.’
‘Hope you’ve got an understanding wife.’
It was a casual, throwaway remark but the reaction baffled Claudine. The Italian had drawn level with her, at the small table, on his way to the side office he had appropriated. Abruptly, almost disconcertingly, his body as well as his face stiffened as if he’d suffered an electric shock and he jerked his head sideways, fully to confront her. It could only have been seconds but he seemed to remain frozen for much longer. The relaxation was just as abrupt, although his face scarcely softened. Instead of moving on he put his files down and said briskly, as if to break the mood: ‘What more have you got?’
Claudine hesitated. ‘Like you, a lot of unanswered questions. And proof of why our involvement is so necessary. The most obvious hindrance in the five murders is that the investigation hasn’t been centralized, which I’m going to add to the profile. Distributing the bodies wasn’t just to convey a message. It was to make the investigation that much more difficult. Which shows just how well organized these killings are: planned, considered, expert …’
‘Professional, in fact?’
‘More professional than I’d allowed for,’ she agreed.
‘A recognized mafia organization?’
‘Which one should we recognize?’ Claudine smiled hopefully: there wasn’t any tension between them but she still didn’t understand his behaviour a few minutes earlier.
Rosetti responded with one of his rare smiles, quickly gone. ‘I hadn’t defined the distribution like you but it makes sense of my major problem, certainly in the five cases. Every pathologist from every police authority made an examination as a contribution to the full report each assumed someone else was making. And no one did. Everything’s disjointed …’
‘Please,’ interrupted Claudine. ‘I’ve got a medical query and this seems the right moment. In one of the English summaries there’s reference to an unproductive orthodontic check. But there’s no reference in any other file to forensic dentistry. Is there anything in what you’ve read?’
The man gave an exasperated shrug. ‘Only with the girl in Brussels, who appeared to have perfect teeth, so it wasn’t taken any further. It sums up my problem - our problem. Even in the cases where the recovery was in the same city, more than one pathologist got involved, contributing to the mess. It’s not just the teeth, which is surely the most obvious way to try to identify a nameless victim. There was no reference in the precis reports on the five of bone fractures, apart from where they would obviously occur around the point of amputation. In fact there were rib and arm and leg fractures in every case and each time they’ve been attributed to attack traumas. But there’s insufficient evidence of external bruising. Blood loss is attributed, without any supporting evidence, to the amputations. There’s no comparison of incisions and two of the torso examinations completely omit cranial or stomach inquiry. And there isn’t a reference anywhere to the internal mouth lesions.’
‘So?’ queried Claudine expectantly.
‘I need to carry out my own autopsies. I want initially to concentrate on the five, then go on to the two white victims. There’s nothing, in either of their examinations, about stab wounds but there weren’t any bone fractures, apart from the ones to be expected.’
‘I think it would be essential for you to go, even if the reports had been more complete,’ said Claudine. ‘How soon could you leave?’
Rosetti looked at the newly arrived dossier. ‘As soon as I’ve read that last medical report. Later today, in fact.’
Whenever possible Claudine had always attended post-mortems, prompting tests and examinations to answer her own special and sometimes peculiar questions, as well as those of the pathologist. She was tempted to accompany Rosetti now, convinced there would be positive results making the journey far more worthwhile than that upon which Poulard and Siemen had embarked, but on balance decided it was more practical for her to remain where she was, at the very hub of the inquiry. She didn’t have any doubt of a complete exchange of everything from the Italian. She still risked the reminder. ‘What about rape?’
‘There’s no mention of a specific examination - or of a finding - in anything I’ve read. It’s on my list for re-examination.’
So he’d arrived that morning expecting - and prepared for - her to authorize his own autopsies. ‘What about the apparent body cleansing?’
The pathologist sighed. ‘There’s no mention anywhere of skin tests for chemicals or soap residue. It might not be possible, after so long, but I’ll try to find something, obviously. Certainly check.’
‘They might have been cleaned to remove indications of the work they did: clothes factories use strong, traceable dyes, for instance. Food processing, too. Can you test the hands - any part of the body - that might show something?’
‘That could produce a worthwhile result,’ Rosetti acknowledged immediately, showing no resentment at an encroachment upon his expertise. ‘People breathe things in, too. I’ll take tissue samples from the trachea and lungs, to look for anything.’
Claudine decided it was becoming, virtually without effort, a good working relationship. Despite that, she said: ‘You’ll keep in touch?’
‘Of course,’ frowned Rosetti, as if it were unthinkable that he wouldn’t.
‘Where are you going first?’
‘France. That’s the concentration of our five.’
‘So you can initiate the forensic dentistry?’
‘Personally. And then with a forensic orthodontist,’ assured Rosetti.
‘I’ll initiate the dentistry checks everywhere else apart from France.’
‘It should all have been done in the beginning,’ said Rosetti wearily.
Wanting to contribute as much as possible to the exchange Claudine said: ‘Your input was a great help yesterday, when I met the commissioners.’ She should have said more than she had when she’d got back from the meeting. But she had been too anxious to complete the murder files and too preoccupied by Poulard and Siemen’s dealing directly with Sanglier, whose strange attitude had been another distraction. However, there was no justifiable excuse for not according Rosetti the proper recognition. She should, she supposed, tell the two detectives of Rosetti’s imminent arrival. Not to do so would be descending to their childish level.
‘There’ll be more,’ Rosetti promised. He extracted his particular sections from the last remaining dossier and continued on towards his chosen office.
Yvette and Volker arrived virtually together, a sartorial clash of French chic and charity shop economy. Claudine warned the computer specialist there was a lot to be done but first dictated the pathologist’s assignment memorandum to Sanglier and told the girl to liaise with Rosetti before making the flight arrangements through Europol’s travel section.
Claudine had studied the full murder dossiers to a prepared plan. She’d made general notes, as she’d read, and then refined them with specific guidance attached to each from which she wanted Volker to create their match programs. She went quickly through each with the man to ensure he fully understood what her notes meant, agreeing at once to his suggestion of separate master databases for her three groupings, with the new comparison charts and individual murder case notes sub-programmed, compartmenting everything in precise sections with itemized indexed entry codes. The specific five were designated by the word Celeste.
‘I’ll set up a random search program,’ promised the German enthusiastically. ‘I can run it through everything and it’ll pick up any identical spikes beyond the obvious ones we’ve already codified.’
Another satisfactory working relationship, thought Claudine. ‘Sounds like a lot of work.’
‘Not really,’ smiled Volker. ‘That’s what computers were invented for.’
Having so recently discussed dentistry, Claudine became aware for the first time of Volker’s perfect teeth, which she was sure were
natural and not sculpted like Poulard’s. Considering the outward appearance she was surprised, too, at the freshness of the man. Continuing the contrast, she decided she preferred Volker’s cologne to the overpowering miasma that permanently enveloped the French detective. The word association was an unnecessary prompt. ‘You told me you could get into most police systems?’
There was another smile. ‘More than most.’
‘What about Cologne?’
Instead of replying Volker lightly touched three keys on the board directly in front of him. Immediately two parallel passwords appeared on the screen. ‘Theirs …’ said Volker, indicating the identification to the left. He moved the cursor sideways. ‘ … and my Trojan horse, already installed for whenever I want to slip through their gate.’
Claudine had intentionally finished her briefing with the file on the murdered Turkish girl uppermost. ‘They’re still withholding things. And doing it stupidly. I’ve itemized four references to inquiries among neo-Nazi organizations and political parties - one even indicates they’re indexed - but they haven’t included any organization or party names or what the results have been. And the index is missing, too.’
‘No problem,’ assured Volker.
‘And anything else that hasn’t been included,’ encouraged Claudine. ‘Any dentistry examination, for instance.’
Rosetti had completed the remaining autopsy report and given Yvette his intended itinerary to arrange by the time Claudine moved away from the computer bank.
‘There was a crude swastika cut into the stomach of the girl in Cologne,’ he announced at once. ‘It wasn’t in the precis.’
‘And they kept back the neo-Nazi inquiries from what was supposed to be the full file.’
‘Trying to solve it before we do?’
‘Probably.’
‘Are you going to protest again?’
Claudine shrugged. ‘We’re not in competition: at least I’m not. If they make a successful arrest it’s one less for us to deal with.’
‘Providing it’s a copy, unconnected with our five,’ cautioned Rosetti.
‘Don’t you think it is a copy?’
‘Without a doubt.’ As the pathologist accepted his travel pack from Yvette he added: ‘I thought it made sense for me to stay in the same hotel in Paris as the others. I’m looking forward to meeting them.’
How much might the encounter with the two detectives affect - hamper even - the developing working relationship between herself and Rosetti? It was a paranoid question but an understandable one in the nonsensical circumstances. Things had to be set straight - confronted and settled in an adult way - to prevent the situation becoming any more ridiculous. As it would be ridiculous - childish, she’d already decided - to hold back from another attempt to reach the two men in Paris who were refusing to contact her. She didn’t consider herself in competition with them any more than with a German police force which believed, probably correctly, that their victim was the subject of a Fascist racial attack they didn’t need outsiders to resolve. She said: ‘I think it makes every sense.’
‘Any messages?’ enquired Rosetti, unaware of the irony.
Claudine added a copy of her profile to the pathologist’s travel documents. ‘They might be interested to read that. I’d welcome any contribution they could make to improve it.’
‘I’ll tell them,’ promised Rosetti.
And most probably, although unwittingly, convey the impression she was patronizing them for their lack of progress compared to hers. Claudine added: ‘There are quite a few things I’d like to agree with them.’ Now she definitely had to speak to one of them before Rosetti arrived. Otherwise it would degenerate into the stupidity of their communicating through intermediaries.
‘I’ll call you as soon as there is something,’ said Rosetti, as he left the room.
Yvette answered the external telephone, at once offering the receiver to Claudine. ‘It’s for you. Paris.’
It was Siemen. There was no reason why it shouldn’t have been but Claudine had expected Poulard. But if it had been Poulard the man would have been accepting their equal status, which he clearly didn’t. She didn’t want a war with either man but she had no intention of surrendering, either. She saw Yvette at the recording apparatus and wondered if the two detectives remembered its existence.
‘I called you, several times,’ said Claudine.
‘There was a confusion about the messages,’ said the German.
‘That’s unfortunate. But I’d expected you to call me anyway.’
‘We’ve been extremely busy.’
‘You’ve got something new?’
There was a pause. ‘Not exactly.’
‘What then?’
‘There’s a lot of material to go through.’
‘I know. I’ve gone through it,’ said Claudine relentlessly.
‘You’ve managed to get something, then?’
‘A lot.’
‘That’s good.’
‘It is, in view of the media attacks.’
‘We’ve only seen the French television and newspapers.’
‘It’s come from a lot of other countries, too.’
‘What’s the reaction been back there?’
‘Concern, obviously.’
‘What are they going to do about it?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘We’re cut off here,’ complained Siemen.
By your own choice, thought Claudine. ‘How much longer do you intend staying?’
‘We thought we’d go to Lyon tomorrow, on our way to Marseille.’
‘A pathologist, Hugo Rosetti, is arriving tonight. To carry out our own medical examinations. He’s bringing the initial profile with him.’
This time the pause was much longer and Claudine suspected the information was being relayed to Poulard. Siemen said: ‘Whose decision was it to involve our own pathologist?’
Dear God! thought Claudine, who had no religion. ‘It was obviously necessary. The autopsies were inadequate, like everything else.’
‘The commissioner thought so?’
‘Yes.’
‘But you found enough for a proper profile.’
‘An initial profile,’ said Claudine.
‘We would have liked to have known about it,’ said Siemen carelessly.
‘You would have done, if you’d returned my calls. You’ll get a printed copy tonight.’
‘Congratulations.’
‘What for?’
There was another pause. Stitliy, clearly imagining false modesty, the German said: ‘The recognition.’
For a further hour Claudine remained as confused about that concluding remark as she was about so much else. Then the written commendation arrived from the commissioners. Claudine’s satisfaction was tempered by the awareness that her two supposed colleagues in Paris were still dealing direct with Sanglier before her. Their embarrassment, not hers. Still, something that had to be stopped. It was unfortunate, too, that Sanglier had told them of the Commission’s accolade ahead of her. Too many things seemed to be happening in Europol that she couldn’t properly understand. Worse, that she couldn’t properly control. What had happened to the supposedly handshake-sealed understanding with Poulard to work together professionally?
The unprofessionalism continued.
Claudine was appalled at the detail - far too much of what she’d clearly specified to be an initial, preliminary profile — included in Europol’s press release, which she’d known nothing about until it was quoted on that night’s television. It illustrated the organization’s desperation to rebut every criticism of its handling of the investigation. Which, she conceded, it probably did. It also provided a blueprint for every copycat racist, zealot, psychopath and mentally ill or maladjusted unfortunate throughout the entire European continent. She already had three different groups conforming to one or other of those categories and she didn’t want any more cluttering the pictures that were starting to emerge. But the damage was done
and couldn’t be reversed.
The release - and its interpretation by the major newspapers throughout Europe - formed the basis for yet another of Kurt Volker’s comparison programs in anticipation of any other atrocities that did not fit the three groupings she was already profiling. It was only when she had Volker make his computer preparations that Claudine went beyond the newspaper adaptations to read Europol’s officially issued statement. It angered more than appalled her. Briefly she actually considered making a protest before realizing she could not prove her suspicions. With the commendation still on her desk, it was necessary, though, that she entered some sort of objection to avoid any later accusation of misinterpretation. She could do that without having to make any accusations herself. And not to Sanglier but to the entire Commission, in whose name the official recognition had been issued. Very conscious she might be edging out on to creaking ice, Claudine spent an entire morning writing and revising her memorandum before sending it.
There was an irony that Volker’s raid upon the Cologne police records was completely successful and unsuspected, giving her the names of every neo-Nazi body and party they were targeting, all so far without result. Volker drew from Europol archives the identities of as many other Fascist and nationalistic organizations in Germany and included them as well as those already on Cologne’s list when she officially suggested to the German investigators that they purge every one, well knowing they’d already drawn a blank on more than ten of them. Volker also obtained a withheld report disclosing European bridgework to the dead girl’s front left incisor and Claudine sent a separate cable advising details of any dental work be circulated to every dentist around the city. Claudine very obviously marked the Cologne messages as having been copied to Sanglier, to give them the commissioner’s authority. She did the same with requests to every investigating force for the wire used to secure the praying hands to be sent to The Hague, for examination and testing by Europol’s forensic scientists. There were only two mentions in anything she’d read of such tests already having been done, in London and in Brussels. Both dismissed the wire as industrial binding in such common and widespread use throughout England and Belgium that batch or manufacture tracing was impossible.
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