Crossing the Line

by Frédérique Molay

  Claire Le Marec stopped him in the hallway. “You okay?”

  He started. He was so absorbed in thought, he didn’t realize he was already at headquarters.

  “I’ve got something,” Nico said. “Call everyone into my office right now.”

  She nodded and headed off to gather the troops. Nico had to force himself to quiet his nerves. He was that excited.

  Three minutes later, Jean-Marie Rost was in front of him, champing at the bit. “So?”

  “I just saw Olivier Parize. He called me. Ten days ago, he received a letter from his father. It was intended for us, in case he got killed.”

  “He knew his father was alive?” Kriven asked.

  “Not until then.” Nico took the letter out of the envelope and tossed it on his desk, along with the photo.

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” Kriven said after reading the letter. “Parize makes a clear connection between Guedj’s fate and his own.”

  “And it was his turn to fear for his life,” Rost said. “He’s accusing some mysterious man behind the scenes. He sounds angry.”

  “What’s this picture about?” Le Marec asked.

  “It’s Marine’s junior-year class. She’s there,” Nico said.

  Everyone leaned in to get a closer look at the glossy.

  “Now look at this girl. She’s our lead in the case. Clarisse Quere, daughter of Edward.”

  “High society.” Kriven let out a whistle.

  “Clarisse Quere developed a serious illness. Guess who her doctor was.”

  “Christophe Parize,” Rost said.

  “Exactly.”

  Everyone fell silent.

  “Parize knew we’d make the connection with Clarisse Quere if he got this picture to us,” Kriven finally said. “Now we have something to go on: the Quere family. This is big.”

  “But we don’t know what role the family plays,” Le Marec said. “Maybe they’re victims.”

  “We need to collect as much information as possible. We can’t confront them without knowing what we’re doing,” Nico said, grabbing the telephone to call Magistrate Becker.

  “Well, well,” Becker said when he heard the news. “This could explode in our faces at any time. Before we approach the Quere family, we had better be well armed. First, we need to find out about Clarisse Quere’s treatment at Saint Louis Hospital and the current state of her health. Let’s see if we can connect Professor Janin to any of this.”

  “At the same time, I suggest that we look into Edward Quere,” Nico said. “Let’s find out more about him and his business dealings, especially what he’s been up to lately.”

  “Is there anything else that we need to be doing?” Becker asked.

  “Yes, get Bastien Gamby to find Clarisse’s blog.”

  “You’re going with Milgram, right?”

  According to social psychologist Stanley Milgram, human society was really a small world in which people were connected by what he called short path lengths. In 1967, his small-world experiment led to the development of a significant theory: six degrees of separation. He held that two randomly chosen people were linked by an average of six people. Later studies explored this phenomenon online. They confirmed that five to seven degrees of separation were enough to connect one user to another. That meant that Bastien Gamby was never very far from the person he was tracking—most often a perverted vulture avid for human blood.

  “If Clarisse Quere is still alive—if she isn’t, we would have seen it in the papers—and if she still has enough strength to use a keyboard, then Bastien will find her, and he could connect with her.”

  25

  “Consider yourself warned,” Kriven said a few hours later. “There’s nothing bright and cheery in Clarisse Quere’s medical records.”

  They heard a knock at the door, and Le Marec stuck her head in.

  “Come in,” Nico said. “I was just getting an update.”

  “It’s a simple story to begin with,” Kriven said. “A little more than two years ago, Clarisse Quere sees her family doctor for a persistent cough. The doctor prescribes a treatment that doesn’t work. Then Clarisse develops night sweats and chest pain. She goes to see her doctor a couple more times before he begins to take it a little more seriously. He orders a chest X-ray, thinking it’s a lung infection, maybe pneumonia. What they discover is a fifteen-centimeter tumor in the mediastinum.”

  “What’s that?” Le Marec asked.

  “The thoracic region between the two lungs.”

  “Fifteen centimeters? And it went undetected?” Nico asked.

  “In young people, tumors can go a long time without being detected. Kids are generally in pretty good health. They’re tough. Until that point, Clarisse Quere was in good shape. She was a tennis champion. Once the tumor was identified, things sped up. The doctor and Clarisse’s father contacted Dr. Parize. As you know, he had a daughter in Clarisse’s class. Parize took over the case at the hospital. The girl spent a week there getting all the needed tests and exams. They did a mediastinoscopy to get a sample of the tumor. Then they did a scan of her chest, abdomen, and pelvis, followed by a bone marrow biopsy and a lumbar tap. The results were a bombshell: T-cell lymphoblastic lymphoma.”

  “Poor girl,” Le Marec said.

  “There was good news, though: the tumor hadn’t spread. Clarisse and her parents signed on for the treatment protocol, and she underwent two months of chemotherapy. But the tumor didn’t shrink enough. She then entered the second phase: an autologous bone marrow transplant. Stem cells from the patient are harvested and stored before the start of an intensive chemotherapy regimen. In effect, it’s Hiroshima in the human body. Once the blast is over, the stem cells are returned to the patient’s body, so blood cells can be manufactured again. The patient is then kept in a sterile room for ten days to two weeks so the cells can multiply.

  “After all of that, Clarisse was able to leave the hospital. She got better. The family was relieved to see her get back to her normal life. All of which brings us to the following spring.”

  “Are we to conclude that Clarisse Quere was cured?” Nico asked.

  “At the time, that’s what everyone hoped.”

  “But she relapsed, didn’t she?” Le Marec said.

  “That’s right. One morning, when she was washing up, she noticed that the glands in her neck were swollen. A biopsy confirmed the return of her T-cell lymphoblastic lymphoma.”

  “What did Dr. Parize decide to do?” Nico asked.

  “A multidisciplinary meeting was called, with several doctors from the unit, along with a radiotherapist and a grafter. They discussed the possibility of an allogeniec bone marrow transplant—a transplant from another donor. But there were two major problems: Clarisse had no suitable donors in her family, and she had a heart problem.”

  “She had cardiac problems too?” Le Marec said.

  “Not at first, but between the disease and the chemo, her heart was weakened.”

  “If she was going to die anyway, why not try to operate?” Le Marec said.

  “Doctors have a fundamental principle: the treatment must not kill the patient. And here, the risk was huge. Dr. Parize broke the news to Edward Quere.”

  “And that’s all? That’s how it ended?” Le Marec was clearly feeling frustrated.

  “They suggested more chemo to slow the progression of the disease and buy a little time. It was the end of July, a month before Parize’s accident.”

  “How much time did they give Clarisse?” Nico asked.

  “Six months to a year. The head of the hematology-oncology department told us that in a similar case, she advised the parents to take their son on a trip somewhere wonderful, a place where they could enjoy their last months together. Well, the parents removed their son from Saint Louis Hospital and found a new doctor who admitted him to another hospital, where he died, not in the arms of his parents but on tubes and monitors. She swore she would never advise that again. It’s a rare parent who can accept the i
nevitability of a child’s death. Most will fight it to the end.”

  “How did Edward Quere react?”

  “It broke him. She was his only child. At the beginning of September, he signed her release forms, and the hospital never saw Clarisse again.”

  “Did you find any connection between Quere and Professor Janin?”

  “Following the mediastinoscopy, Professor Janin got authorization to remove a sample of the tumor for his T-cell lymphoma studies. He was conducting some very promising research. Janin and Edward Quere were seen together at the hospital. But Quere wasn’t just anybody, and he knew Parize, so there was nothing strange about Janin meeting with Quere to discuss his research.”

  “And the girl? Did she die?”

  “Apparently not,” Kriven said. “We didn’t find any death certificate.”

  “Did you mention Clarisse’s blog?”

  “The department head told us that many young people with health conditions have interactive diaries. It’s a way to share their feelings and views, and it can be very important if the teen is isolated from schoolmates and other friends. Also, they use online discussion groups to learn about their diseases and possible treatments. Kids are clever. As much as their parents and doctors try to filter the information they get, they’ll always find someone online who will tell them what they want to know.”

  “We’ll come back to that later, but first, let’s talk about Clarisse, and particularly her father, Edward Quere.”

  “Maurin’s team was on that,” Rost said. “Here’s a summary of the main points. Edward Quere just celebrated his fifty-first birthday. He was born in Lille and attended elite schools. After that, he joined his father’s civil engineering firm, which, under his command, became a leading company in the field. He sold it at a considerable profit. From there, Quere became a takeover specialist. He bought out troubled companies, propped them up, and sold them off, again, at quite a profit. Today, he’s invested in haute couture, leather goods, and cosmetics. He runs several department stores and owns a major financial newspaper. On the private side, he loves tennis and art. He is married. His only child is Clarisse, whom the couple had trouble conceiving, so it seems. When Clarisse got into the Lycée Louis-le-Grand, Quere decided he would begin grooming her to take over his empire. Her illness has apparently shattered his dream. Clarisse left school during her junior year. She is eighteen and hasn’t even graduated from high school.”

  “What a shame,” Le Marec said.

  “And her mother?”

  “She seems to lead a quiet life. She restored paintings before she married Quere, but stopped working after the wedding.”

  “In early September of last year, Quere took his daughter out of Saint Louis Hospital. Where is she now?” Nico asked.

  “There is no trace of Clarisse Quere in the Paris public hospital system,” Kriven answered. “None in Lille, where her father grew up, either. To make it tougher, there is no record of her in the state health-insurance system. Of course, she could be in a private clinic in Europe or the United States. Quere could afford to send his daughter anywhere.”

  The room went silent as they considered the pieces of the puzzle. First, there was Edward Quere’s daughter, who had incurable cancer. Quere would have been willing to do anything to save his child’s life. Then there was Dr. Parize, who had passed along a letter and one of his daughter’s class pictures to suggest the mess he had gotten into. A secretary had recognized Parize at the school when he had dropped off the envelope containing the letter and the photo. He had stressed the importance of his son getting that envelope. Why had he been willing to expose himself again? Was it because his first encounter in public—the one with Bruno Guedj—had put him on a blacklist? His employer Edward Quere’s blacklist?

  “I’ll call Bastien,” Nico said, breaking the silence.

  The cybercop was there in a minute, looking, as usual, as though he belonged in another world.

  “I went through Clarisse’s blog. She sure had it rough,” he said as he tossed a pack of printouts on the table. “There’s a lot more, but here’s some of it.”

  Le Marec began reading aloud.

  Clarisse: Hi. My name is Clarisse, and I’m sixteen years old. Two months ago, I began to cough. It got worse, and my doctor sent me for X-rays. They found a mass in my chest. My father took me to see a specialist, a friend’s father, which made me feel better. I have a bunch of tests to take. Nobody tells me anything. I’m afraid it might be serious, and I can’t sleep. My mother seems so sad, even though she tries not to show it. My father tells me to be strong. But I’m very scared.

  Pilou56: Hi, Clarisse. Lots of things in life blow up in our faces. That’s why we need to live to the fullest every second. Maybe it’s not so serious after all. Don’t get worked up so quickly. Keep us posted. Hugs.

  JuJu: A year ago, everything was going great in my life—friends, family, work. Then a lump appeared on my clavicle. It ended up being lymph-node cancer: Hodgkin’s disease. Chemo, radiotherapy, the works. After months of anxiety, I’m starting to feel better and get back to my normal life. You have to fight, and you can beat the disease. I’m LIVING proof. Good luck, Clarisse. BTW, I’m twenty-three and going to be an uncle.

  Clarisse: It was a hard week. Thanks to all of you for your support. It made me feel better. The news is not good. I’ve got leukemia. I’m starting two months of chemo. Seeing the faces my parents are pulling, it must be serious. Does anybody know anything about this?

  LLG-juniors: We’re with you, Clarisse. Come back soon. In two months? Big sloppy kisses.

  Ocean2000: Isn’t it better to know what you’re fighting? You talked about a mass in your chest, and now leukemia. I’d bet on a lymphoma. There are different kinds, and they are more or less aggressive. Two months of chemo is rough. It’ll make you tired and nauseous. You’ll throw up, lose your hair, and have diarrhea. Hold tight.

  Clarisse: High-grade T-cell lymphoblastic mediastinal lymphoma. That’s Chinese to me. It’s my third chemo session, and I’m beat. I’m trying to stay hopeful. It’s not easy. I just want to get better and go back to school.

  DrNo: Acute lymphoblastic leukemia = ALL. The prognosis can depend on your risk of relapse (which increases over the age of thirty-five, so that’s one point in your favor), your white blood-cell count, and your ALL subtype.

  Lol: DrNo gets right to the point, doesn’t he? Maybe he’s a real doc? In any case, James Bond wins in the end. I guess you’re not in the best shape, darling. But keep fighting; you’ll be okay. Rely on your support system. That counts for a lot. I know. My son’s been there.

  Clarisse: I’d be interested in knowing what your son had, Lol. I hope with all my heart that he’s still around. Me, I’ve hit rock bottom. The assessment wasn’t so good. My lymphoma is partially resistant. I need what they call an autologous bone marrow transplant. I had so many plans. I wanted to finish school, go work with my father, find a husband, have kids, be happy. I want to believe it’s still possible.

  Lol: He got it when he was twenty and in medical school. I’m not making that up. He had a sore throat and was tired. It was late-stage large B-cell mediastinal lymphoma. We’re lucky, and he came through. It’s behind us now. So I understand what you’re going through, and I’m with you and your parents.

  Clarisse: I’m out of the hospital. Every day, I feel a little better. Life is wonderful. I’ll be able to go back to school in the fall, and soon I’ll be playing tennis again. I’ll be a year behind, but what does that matter? It’s almost summer, and my father is taking the whole month of August off to take us on a trip. I’m happy again. Thanks to all of you. Without you…

  Bella: Congratulations! You beat cancer. Live long!

  Clarisse: My God, I’m scared. Everything was going so well. I was supposed to get on a plane in two weeks to go to the United States with my parents—San Francisco, Los Angeles, Las Vegas, New York. A dream trip. But yesterday, the glands in my neck felt swollen. They didn’t hurt
, but I thought they were a little big. I showed my mom. She called Dad right away, and he raced home. That’s not normal. My dad is very busy and has lots of responsibilities. He wouldn’t have come for nothing. He drove me to the hospital, and it all started again. I have a biopsy tomorrow. The doctors are worried about a relapse. It sucks. I’m furious, and I can’t stop crying.

  NatachaBordeaux: I’m totally moved. My mother had liver cancer. She got better for eight years, and we thought she was cured. Then it started again. I’m afraid she’s going to die. She’s so, so wonderful.

  Lol: Post news as soon as you know. I’m sending lots of positive energy.

  Clarisse: Lymphoma, the return. I’m in the hospital. Good thing I’ve got my laptop to keep chatting with you. The bigwigs are meeting tomorrow to talk about my case. I want to throw up just thinking about chemo. My mother left. I think she needs to cry and doesn’t want me to see her doing that. My father’s harder, like ice. I understand. He’d do the impossible for me, but there’s nothing he can do. We’ll see what tomorrow brings.

  Lol: Don’t give up, dear Clarisse. Don’t let the disease win. I know you’ve got the strength deep inside.

  Clarisse: You’re right, Lol. Thanks. But I’m so scared.

  DrNo: Dammit, fight! Man up. Volley, slice, smash, lob. Give it everything you have, just like tennis.

  StrawberrySyrup: You’re gonna win this match. Don’t lose it on the bench.

  Superman: Beat the lymphoma, because you’re worth it.