Heart Collector

by Jacques Vandroux

  He left the room and headed down the dark hallway. He came to a heavy security door. Taking a key from his pocket, he inserted it carefully into the lock. His healing process had begun.

  Chapter 3: Police Intervention

  “This is Dispatch. Calling all units located in Sector Three. Break-in in progress at the Banque des Alpes, on Boulevard Agutte Sembat.”

  “Unit Seventeen to Dispatch. This is Captain Barka. We’re on Rue Lesdiguières. We’ll be on the scene in two minutes. Make sure to send backup as soon as possible.”

  “Roger, Captain.”

  Captain Nadia Barka hung up the radio, grabbed her siren, and stuck it to the roof.

  “We’ll put some pressure on them as soon as we arrive on the scene. Lieutenant Fortin, it’s time to prove your driving skills are as good as you’ve always claimed they are.”

  “Buckle up, Captain.”

  The tires screeched on the asphalt, and the police car was off like a shot, filling the quiet street with a sudden roar and the scent of burning rubber in the air. Captain Barka settled back in her seat, then checked her service weapon one last time. She was particularly wary of the new class of burglar, who carried military-caliber weapons but didn’t really know how to use them. Still, they didn’t hesitate to use their weapons when cornered, and the police were among the first targets. She reached into the backseat and grabbed a bulletproof vest. She pulled it on and adjusted the fit.

  Lieutenant Étienne Fortin took a right turn and entered Boulevard Agutte Sembat. Captain Barka put her hand on his forearm.

  “The bank is just past Place Victor Hugo. Stop here and put on your vest. Then step on it, and I’ll turn on the siren. That should psych ’em out.”

  “You don’t think we should wait for backup?”

  “We can let them finish their work and escort them home if you want.”

  “That’s not what I meant!” he replied as he tugged on his bulletproof vest.

  The radio crackled. Captain Barka answered, listened for a few seconds, then hung up.

  “Drancey will be there in a few seconds. Let’s move!”

  The vehicle charged ahead, the siren’s strong, shrill notes penetrating the Grenoble night. Within a few seconds, Captain Barka had scanned the scene and identified the perps. A car used as a battering ram had smashed through the bank’s front entrance, and three men were in the midst of plundering the ATMs. Another high-powered car was waiting fifty yards farther on, with the driver behind the wheel.

  The siren had the desired effect. The burglars stopped, hypnotized by the vehicle headed toward them. Two hundred yards behind, another police car was barreling down at breakneck speed. The three men fled the bank. It was clear they were unsure what to do.

  “Careful, Étienne, we’ve got amateurs here.” Captain Barka grabbed the radio. “Drancey, we’re going to box in the black BMW. Go past it fifty yards and stop. FYI, they don’t seem to be in control of the situation.”

  Lieutenant Étienne Fortin realized what his superior was angling for. It was risky, but it would be a total surprise. The crooks would never expect such audacity.

  The three masked men were running toward their vehicle, but they stopped short when the police car passed them, then blockaded the BMW in a perfectly executed maneuver. They looked panicked when they saw the second car stop behind them. Things weren’t supposed to go like this.

  Captain Barka leaped out of the car, weapon in hand. “Police! You are under arrest. Lie down on the ground.”

  Lieutenant Rodolphe Drancey and his partner got out of the second car, holding the burglars at gunpoint. One of the crooks pulled a pump-action shotgun out from under his jacket. Without thinking, he fired at the first police car. The sound of the exploding windshield mingled with his scream. The bullet from Captain Barka’s Sig Sauer had just shattered his knee.

  “The next one goes down your throat!” screamed Drancey as he crouched behind his vehicle.

  With only a glance at their accomplice, who was rolling around on the ground in pain, the two other burglars turned back toward their car. The driver, pinned against the trunk, had been overpowered by Fortin. The crooks’ escape was cut off. This wasn’t how the job had been sold to them. They were just supposed to get as much cash as possible and then go live it up on the coast with their buddies and some girls.

  “You have three seconds to put down your weapons. Three, two . . .”

  They could tell by the cop’s voice that this was no idle threat, and they didn’t want to die. They put up their hands in a clear sign of submission. Two of the police officers approached the crooks, keeping their weapons trained on them. In the light of the streetlamps, sweat trickling down their backs, the crooks realized that the one who had fired at them was a woman. They shrugged—they weren’t punk kids to be impressed so easily. But what they saw in Captain Barka’s eyes paralyzed them.

  “Fuck, large caliber,” the second cop said, relieving them of two handguns. “Where would they get these?”

  “For the moment, that’s not on the agenda,” said Captain Barka. “Cuff ’em. The judge will have all the time in the world to ask that question.”

  Then she lowered her gaze to the man on the ground. A pool of blood was starting to form around his shredded knee. She picked up the shotgun, then stroked the wounded man’s temple with the barrel. He howled. She spoke to him with mock pleasantness.

  “Before playing with this kind of toy, you have to think about the risks you’re running. And tonight, you learned what they are. So, you either need to play nicely at home or learn how to use it. If you had shot me, it wouldn’t be your kneecap spread all over the sidewalk, but your brains. The police have a very strong sense of solidarity.”

  She leaned over the man on the ground and pulled back his hood and realized he couldn’t be more than twenty years old. What a waste! She lifted the gun away from his face.

  “Rodolphe, call an ambulance. He’s starting to go into shock.”

  Then she turned back to the two men in handcuffs. She got within inches of their faces and stared them down for a long while. Her icy glare shook them to the bottom of their souls. She pulled back and then tapped her temple with her index finger.

  “You’re in there now, forever. So make sure you never have to deal with me again. Never again!”

  “Yes, madame,” replied the two perps, who had lost all their composure.

  “Captain. You say, ‘Yes, Captain.’”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  Lieutenant Drancey, who had been working with Captain Barka for several years now, couldn’t help but be impressed with his superior. He knew she wasn’t joking.

  Chapter 4: The Woman in the Baptistery

  The flash illuminated the stone walls one last time, then allowed the premises to return to their natural gloom. Silence fell, utterly. The photographer gathered his equipment and withdrew without a word.

  The body sprawled, lifeless, staring at the ceiling with a look of astonishment.

  Captain Barka crouched down beside the body and closed the eyes. She felt a cold shiver run down her back. Dressed in only cotton slacks and a light jacket, she didn’t know whether the temperature of the room or the scene before her was to blame. Though this was far from her first cadaver, on this particular morning, the body seemed out of place. Yes, out of place was the phrase—this girl should never have been here. In spite of the scene before her, Captain Barka’s mind drifted back three years, but she strongly willed it to return to the present.

  She looked at the girl again—quite young and beautiful. The girl appeared to be in a deep sleep, one she would never wake up from. Captain Barka stood at the sound of footsteps.

  “So, Captain, what do we have here?”

  She turned to see Commissioner Alain Mazure, a big shot from the Grenoble judicial police.

  “I was in the ne
ighborhood when the call came,” he explained. “What are your initial findings?”

  “Tough to say, Commissioner. Just looking at the body, there’s no apparent wound, but the ME will know more once he examines it.”

  Captain Barka paused when two paramedics arrived to take away the corpse. Overawed by the solemnity of the crypt, they took particular care in sliding the dead woman into a plastic body bag.

  “How sad that such a pretty girl should find herself in there,” blurted the older paramedic as he held the stretcher.

  “D’you know where we are?” asked the younger one. “I don’t feel like we’re in Grenoble anymore.”

  Captain Barka answered him. “You’re in the city’s old baptistery. You’ve just jumped close to sixteen hundred years into the past.”

  “Never heard of it.”

  “Quite possible, really. It was rediscovered about twenty years ago during the subway construction. It had vanished from the records for almost ten centuries.”

  The older man interjected, “I appreciate the fact that you’re improving yourself, Antoine, but we have to get going. Say thank you to the young lady and help me wheel this body out. We’re sending her to the morgue at MUMC for you, mademoiselle.”

  “Captain. Not mademoiselle.”

  “Captain if you prefer, mademoiselle.”

  The young woman smiled wanly as the two men left with the lifeless body.

  “So, Captain, I knew you had many talents, but tour guide is a new one. What happened here?”

  Captain Barka turned toward Commissioner Mazure. Short and slender, he was not impressive at first glance, but his energy and instinctive understanding of human nature earned him the respect of his teams and everyone who crossed his path.

  “The body was discovered this morning around seven o’clock by one of the museum employees doing his morning rounds. He notified the police immediately. Berroyer was on duty and responded first. He called in the forensic team as soon as he arrived on the premises and contacted me. The initial findings have revealed nothing. No one touched the victim.”

  “No marks on the ground?”

  “No, not a trace, which isn’t surprising, since we’re talking about rock. The museum curator came by, and he didn’t notice anything special. He was shaken, though, so we’ll have to interview him a second time.”

  “So, no evidence this was a murder?”

  “For the moment, no. But I don’t see what could have gone through that poor girl’s head to make her come here to end her life and, in particular, how she could have gotten in. We’ll know more when the autopsy results come back.”

  “Is Blavet on it?”

  “No doubt.”

  “Well, if there’s something to find, he’ll find it. What’s the next step?”

  “The curator just arrived. He’s waiting to answer our questions, Commissioner.”

  “Take the case, Captain Barka. Let’s go chat with this curator.”

  The commissioner headed back upstairs with the young woman and two other officers who were still on the scene. The sun was now high in the sky. In the lobby of the Old Diocese Museum, some of the staff were waiting, both frightened and curious. The commissioner sent them gently on their way and regarded the man heading toward them: a good fifty years or so old but still youthful, with crew cut hair and a neat suit. He looked like a fashion plate. His face, however, was ashen, marked by the events that had just taken place in his museum.

  “The curator, Monsieur Boisregard,” whispered Captain Barka to the commissioner.

  “We’d like to talk to you for a few minutes, Monsieur Boisregard. I’m Commissioner Mazure,” he said, introducing himself.

  “I assure you I’ll do everything in my power to help the justice system figure out what could have happened. If you’d care to follow me, it will be quieter in my office.”

  The curator brought the two officers into the administrative area with him. Once in Boisregard’s office, they seated themselves in comfortable chairs.

  “A corpse in the museum, and in the baptistery of all places. My God, what a horror! And who is that poor girl? How did she get in here? And . . .”

  Commissioner Mazure held up a hand to stop him. “If you’ll allow it, we’ll be the ones to ask the questions, or rather Captain Barka will.”

  “Monsieur Boisregard, explain to us how the surveillance in the baptistery works.”

  “The museum is open from nine a.m. to six p.m. during the week. After the museum closes, we check to make sure no visitors are left.”

  “What staff do you have available?”

  “There are eight people during the day and two security guards at night who make regular rounds.”

  “What’s the timetable?”

  “The first check is during the evening around eight o’clock, another around midnight, and a final one at about seven o’clock in the morning. That’s when Marcel Jugal discovered the young woman’s body.”

  “Then the body was dumped between midnight and seven a.m.”

  “Yes, that’s correct.”

  “How does one access the baptistery?”

  “There are two staircases that lead from the lobby to the entrance of the baptistery.”

  “And how many access points for the lobby?”

  “The main door we came through and another internal route via one of the Old Diocese buildings.”

  “In your opinion, which way would the body have been brought in?”

  The man chewed his manicured nails, gripped by strong emotions. “That’s part of the mystery. Both doors are wired to an alarm, and nothing was detected. So theoretically, no one came in.”

  “Except we found the body. Could the alarms be defective?”

  “Impossible. They were just overhauled, and the security system was improved after an intrusion we suffered six months ago now.”

  “Could a member of your staff have disconnected it?”

  The curator shot out of his chair, affronted by the insult he’d just received.

  “Also impossible! I have every confidence in my colleagues. I’ve known them for years, and I’ll answer for them. Do you really believe the Old Diocese would welcome scoundrels?”

  “The Church, holy as it may be, has welcomed more than one . . .” murmured Captain Barka.

  Seeing that the curator was close to apoplectic, the commissioner motioned to his colleague. Captain Barka ended the interview. “Thank you for your cooperation, Monsieur Boisregard. We’ll get back to you when we have more information. I’m sure you’ll prove a valuable resource. I’d like to request that you keep the baptistery closed for today. There could be teams who have yet to gather evidence, and I don’t want the premises to be disturbed. In addition, we’re going to check your security system.”

  “At your service, madame. I doubt I’ll sleep much until you find out why that poor young woman was here. Do you think it could happen again?”

  “Unlikely. Still, I’ll put two men on guard duty tonight at the museum entrance. You can indicate the most appropriate positions.”

  Chapter 5: A Summer Night’s Dream

  The day dragged on. Once again, the young man’s gaze left his screen, drifting toward the slopes of the Chartreuse Mountains, rippling in the June heat. Never in Grenoble’s memory had it been so hot at this time of year. Thankfully, the offices were air-conditioned to keep the powerful computers from overheating

  “Julien, I remind you that we need to release a new version of the software by the end of the week. I have nothing against you admiring the mountains, but I’m not thrilled about spending the next four nights here.”

  Julien turned to face the colleague who had spoken to him. He shrugged. If somebody was going to have to spend his nights here during crunch time, it would be him and not the guy with the running commentary.

 
“I’m going to refuel at the café. If anybody wants to come with, the round is on me,” Julien said. No one responded to his appeal—everyone in the room was glued to their computers, some busy finishing their software projects, others discreetly surfing the web. “Sorry I woke you up, guys!”

  “Wait, I’ll go with you.”

  Julien turned to find a smiling petite brunette crossing the quiet room to join him. They ran down two flights of stairs and emerged directly onto the street. A small bar, conveniently located barely ten yards away from the main entrance, replaced the automatic coffee machine installed in the company’s lobby. They took a seat at the back, hoping it would be cooler there.

  “What’ll it be, folks?” called the waiter without leaving the counter.

  “Two espressos, please.”

  “Two hot espressos, two!”

  While the barista prepared the coffees, Julien looked around the bar. He’d been working for three years now at Megatech, a software implementation company for the accounting departments of small and medium enterprises. Nothing particularly remarkable had happened to him in the last three years, even though his days had been quite busy: job, evenings with friends, hikes in the mountains, a breakup, some occasional flirting . . .

  “Ah, Julien,” Sophie said, interrupting his thoughts. “If you brought me here just to sink into your inner world, you should tell me. I may as well go back to the zombies; at least there I won’t be expecting anyone to talk to me. I’ll already know where I stand.”

  He smiled. He loved Sophie’s wit and energy. “You’re right, my dear, but I’m still preoccupied with something, probably insignificant, that’s bothering me more than I thought it would.”

  “You’re going to have to be more specific, because I’m not following.”

  “Really, it’s stupid, and you’re gonna give me a hard time.”

  “Come on, stop making me beg.” She added, smiling, “I love being the gal pal handsome guys confide in.”