Heart Collector

by Jacques Vandroux

  “Go ahead, if you feel something. You have the instincts.” And then he suddenly added, “What about the lead on the Italian victim?”

  “Rivera got ahold of me this afternoon. Nothing came of it. He spent a long time talking with Monica’s parents. They described her as a girl without a story who had traveled to Grenoble for medical tests.”

  “It was the first time she’d been to Grenoble?”

  “No, she’d done an internship with a travel agency two or three years ago. The Italian police launched an inquiry to validate what the parents told us and make sure the girl didn’t have a secret life. But we don’t really believe she did.”

  “So the victim would have been chosen at random?”

  “At random, or according to criteria we don’t know about.”

  Mazure had a sudden thought. “This Lombard who sees the victims, did he describe the woman he followed today?”

  “Not in detail, Commissioner. The call was brief.”

  “Call him back, or go see him and question him about it. Also, before you go on stakeout tonight, leave an officer on guard in front of his house. We can clear him completely that way; I don’t think he’s connected to this crime, but no point in taking risks. And be careful. If you’re right, you could find yourself face-to-face with a particularly dangerous individual.”

  “Thank you, Commissioner. But this wouldn’t be the first time. And I’m really counting on this lead to move us forward. You see what we’re reduced to!”

  Chapter 17: The Abduction

  At the end of her rope, the woman started screaming. Someone would hear her eventually, then find her. She cried out again, close to tearing her vocal cords. She banged with all her strength on the raw wood of her prison door. The exposed splinters lacerated the skin of her palms, but that was the least of her worries.

  Would someone come let her out, for the love of God! But God seemed absent for the moment. Exhausted, she stopped, slid down the wall, and, head in her hands, began to sob. She let herself go for a while, gradually becoming aware of her terrifying situation. That same morning she’d been filled with joy for her future marriage. Denis had just officially asked her to join her life with his. He always used rather overblown turns of phrase, but she loved it and never made fun of him. They’d spent the night picking the date and location and drafting a guest list.

  And then suddenly, she’d found herself plunged into this nightmare. All the events from the early afternoon came back to her, like a bad film playing on an endless loop.

  She had just had an x-ray at South Hospital, in Échirolles. She’d taken a stupid fall just after lunch while coming down the stairway of her building and had felt a sharp pain. Denis had taken her directly to the emergency room, but she’d discouraged him from staying with her. The wait was almost two hours, and he had a tennis tournament. The doctor had reassured her—she hadn’t broken anything, it was just a big bruise to take care of. “You can easily go home and enjoy the rest of the day,” the doctor had said. Enjoy the day! If only she’d known.

  In the lobby, she’d tried to call a taxi to go back to the city center. She was supposed to meet her mother and had just realized she was running late. She’d gotten irritated on the phone, then left the lobby in a rush.

  That’s when she’d met him. He’d seemed so normal. One thing had surprised her, though—he had been wearing sunglasses with very dark lenses inside a building. But since he’d offered to drop her off somewhere if she wanted, she’d considered his proposal and not his hidden eyes. He had to be a good fifty years old but carried it well, still in good shape and rather seductive. But at that moment, she lived only for Denis’s declaration, and this man’s seductive potential did nothing for her. He had taken off his white coat, and from that she’d deduced he was a doctor and that he’d just finished his shift. She remembered the time, because it was the same time she was supposed to meet her mother, who needed to give her some papers before leaving for the airport.

  “Where shall I drop you?” he’d asked.

  “I’m meeting someone at Place Grenette in . . . four minutes,” she’d said, looking at her watch.

  “We may not get there in four minutes, but doubtless more quickly than if you have to wait for the bus. I have to go by Place Victor-Hugo, so I’ll be able to drop you off nearby.”

  Camille had sighed contentedly as she’d followed her rescuer. She’d made a quick phone call to her mother to ask her to hang on for five to ten minutes. They’d stopped in front of a blue Mercedes. She’d gotten in and settled into the comfortable leather seat. He’d started the engine and turned on the air-conditioning to chase away the interior’s stifling heat. He had been shivering—strange to shiver in such heat. Now she understood, but at the time it hadn’t alarmed her.

  They’d left the hospital parking lot and then headed for the highway that skirted Grenoble to the south. The city center was due north. She had been surprised and let him know.

  “Don’t worry,” he’d replied, “there are fewer red lights this way, and you’ll be on time for your appointment.”

  She’d glanced at the car’s speedometer. He had been going eighty miles an hour instead of fifty, but she didn’t have a sense of his speed. She’d looked at the driver and had grown uneasy. The man’s face had been covered in sweat, yet she’d noticed that his hair remained impeccable. A blond wig, he was wearing a wig! She’d cleared her throat.

  “I can be a little late. Don’t you think you’re going kind of fast?”

  He hadn’t answered her. They were already within sight of the Catane Bridge. The man was going to exit the highway and head back to the city center. That thought had reassured her. But he hadn’t slowed down as he’d approached the exit and continued on the same road, even faster, zigzagging between the cars. Camille had felt fear overtake her and raised her voice.

  “Stop! Stop and let me out!”

  The man had looked at her, but she hadn’t been able to make out his eyes behind the sunglasses. Panicked, she’d taken out her phone. She’d try to call for help. Quick as a flash, the man snatched her phone and slid it into his jacket pocket. Beside herself, Camille had thrown herself on him to recover her property. The man had struck her violently on the chin, leaving her half stunned. In a state of semiconsciousness, she’d seen him exit the highway. They’d stopped on a road along the Isère. That was it, then, she’d stumbled onto a rapist. She’d mustered all her willpower. She wouldn’t let him do it. She’d decided to continue pretending to be unconscious, and she’d jump on him when he tried to assault her.

  The man had gotten out of his seat. He was probably going around the car to the passenger side. He’d locked the doors, walked away from the Mercedes, and approached another car parked under a bush. She’d barely opened her eyes to spy, but hadn’t recognized the model. He’d opened the trunk, rummaged around for something, and come back toward her. This was it, he was drawing close to her again. She’d wait until the right moment to strike: once, but violently. She’d taken kickboxing classes in college.

  The door had opened, and she’d waited to be pulled out of the car. But instead she’d felt a sudden sting in her arm. She’d felt herself sink into unconsciousness.

  The coolness of the wall brought her back to reality. The pale light provided by a tiny basement window had disappeared. Night had long since fallen. Her concept of time was fading, as was her sense of the facts. Her kidnapper had of course taken all of her personal belongings, starting with her cell phone. But she still had her clothes. He hadn’t raped her. That thought suddenly sent a cold shiver down her spine. Why, then, had the stranger abducted her? What was he planning? Dark images came to mind. The first was that of a young Austrian girl locked up in a secret basement room for eight years. If that was the case, maybe she could escape. Maybe she’d stumbled onto a cult and would be the victim of who knew what kind of ceremony. Or maybe . . . maybe what? She
didn’t know what the future held for her. Slumping, Camille cowered in a corner, hugged her knees, and sobbed silently.

  Chapter 18: More Details

  Nadia dialed the number once again and got voice mail. She didn’t leave a message and hung up. Julien Lombard had turned off his phone. She’d rung his doorbell with Rodolphe Drancey and Étienne Fortin, but no one had answered. The apartment seemed to be empty. She’d assigned an officer to the door of the building to notify them in case the man came back.

  She’d then obtained Sophie Dupas’s number. Perhaps he was with her? But Julien’s friend had assured Nadia that she hadn’t seen him since the end of their afternoon hike.

  Nadia certainly didn’t think he was guilty, but she still would have loved to have him under supervision that night. She couldn’t neglect anything.

  The group headed for the Church of Saint-Laurent to lay the groundwork for their nighttime operation. “Satisfaction” suddenly blared, as if the Rolling Stones had started playing behind them. Rodolphe Drancey took his iPhone out of his jacket and picked up.

  “It’s for you, Nadia.”

  “Thanks, Rod. Next time, put your ringer on vibrate. We’re on a stakeout, so a little discretion wouldn’t be a bad thing.”

  She took the phone her embarrassed colleague held out to her. “Captain Barka here.” She listened to the caller and felt her excitement mount. “When was the disappearance reported? . . . 7:30 p.m.? Call Garancher for me and tell him to be in the briefing room in fifteen minutes . . . He’s already there? Perfect! I’ll be joining him shortly.”

  She hung up and returned the cell phone to Drancey. “Someone has just reported a disappearance this afternoon. A young woman, twenty-eight years old.”

  “Do you know who?”

  “Camille Saint-Forge.”

  “The lawyer’s daughter?”

  “The one and the same. Not the sort to run away, according to her mother. I’ll let you pick the hideout. I’m going to make a quick visit to headquarters to see if I can get some intel. I’ll come back as soon as possible. Étienne, hand me the car keys, please.”

  Captain Barka pulled up to the police station fifteen minutes later. She double-parked the car in front of the main entrance and tossed the keys to the officer on guard. “Thanks for parking it a little better for me.”

  Without waiting for a response, she hurried into the lobby, speed walked through the hallways, and entered the room serving as headquarters.

  Five people were already present: Jérôme Garancher, another squad lieutenant, Maître Saint-Forge, and a woman with a face ravaged by worry, who must have been Saint-Forge’s wife. She knew the lawyer’s face well, having run into him numerous times at the courthouse. They introduced the fifth person to her as Denis de Tardieu, Camille Saint-Forge’s fiancé. Nadia sat down.

  “I’m Captain Barka, in charge of the investigation into the crime at the baptistery. I know this introduction is rather abrupt. Even if there’s only a tiny chance that your daughter’s disappearance is connected to this case, we want to get involved as quickly as possible. Tell me what happened this afternoon.”

  The woman, who was dressed in a designer suit, dissolved into tears. Her husband took her gently by the shoulders. Nadia was surprised to see this beacon of justice with the thundering courtroom voice be so tender. Madame Saint-Forge took a handkerchief out of her Louis Vuitton handbag, dabbed at her eyes, and described yet again her phone calls with her daughter.

  “I was supposed to meet Camille this afternoon at five thirty. We’d arranged to have tea at an outdoor mall near the Place Grenette. I was supposed to give her some papers . . . And she never arrived.”

  “When did you see or hear her for the last time?”

  “She had a stupid fall and hurt her ankle badly. So Denis took her to South Hospital in the early afternoon to get x-rays.”

  “And you left her there alone?” asked Nadia.

  The young man who was with them, face marked by guilt, spoke. “It’s all my fault!”

  “Why is that?”

  “I never should’ve left her alone. There were a lot of people waiting, and I had a tennis match at my club at four o’clock. She told me to go. She was supposed to take a taxi back to Grenoble, but I shouldn’t have listened to her.”

  “It had nothing to do with you,” the lawyer cut in. “When Camille decides something, nothing can stop her.”

  Madame Saint-Forge continued. “Camille called me around four o’clock, telling me it would be her turn soon. Then she called me a little before 5:30 to reassure me and tell me that her injury wasn’t serious. But she was very annoyed, because we had arranged to meet, and she couldn’t find a taxi.”

  “We’d planned to spend a week relaxing in the Canary Islands, and we were supposed to leave by six o’clock at the latest,” explained Maître Saint-Forge. “My daughter found a good quality apartment that she wanted to rent over by Meylan, but she needed a cosign from us. I’d prepared the papers.”

  “And then?” asked Captain Barka.

  “She called me back two or three minutes later to tell me a doctor who was leaving the hospital had offered to take her to the city center.”

  “Try to remember exactly what she said to you. The words are important.”

  The woman took a few seconds to dive back into her conversation from that afternoon.

  “The call was very brief. She told me she’d be there within fifteen minutes and that she’d have time to hug me before we left on vacation.”

  “That’s all?”

  “Yes.”

  “And then?”

  “After fifteen minutes, I called her back. The phone rang, but she didn’t answer. I left her a message, telling myself she must be running to the coffee shop, and she hadn’t bothered to pick up. Five minutes later, I called again. But that time, I went directly to voice mail. The phone had been shut off.”

  “When did you decide to notify the police?”

  “First I called Denis. It wasn’t easy to get ahold of him, because he was in the middle of a match. As soon as he found out Camille had disappeared, he went charging over to South Hospital. One of the receptionists remembered seeing the young woman leaving with a blond man.”

  “I asked to send a team to the scene as soon as they gave us the news,” Garancher cut in. “We should also have a copy of the surveillance tapes of the hospital parking lot any minute now.”

  “Go see where they are, Jérôme, and gather the initial evidence as quickly as possible,” said Nadia.

  “They left over an hour ago. It shouldn’t be too long now.”

  The lawyer broke in. “You’re worrying me, Captain. Do you think the risk is as great as all that?”

  “I’m going to speak frankly, Maître. Like all people who read the paper and own a television set, you are no doubt aware of the crime that was committed near the cathedral. What we haven’t revealed to the press—and I will ask all three of you to keep the information to yourselves—is that the victim’s heart was removed by the murderer.”

  Camille’s mother shrieked, then started to whimper. “No, not my daughter, not my little girl.”

  “I’m not saying that your daughter is in the hands of the killer, madame, but I want to leave no stone unturned. Do you have a picture of Camille with you?”

  Denis de Tardieu took out his wallet and removed a small photograph, which he handed to the police officers. “We took it yesterday in a photo booth, just before I proposed.”

  Nadia grabbed it and looked it over quickly. A rather pretty girl, a little haughty looking but not excessively arrogant. She handed the photo to the officer next to her.

  “Make a copy and give the original back to the gentleman. I think he’s fond of it.”

  Jérôme Garancher came into the room, followed by a woman with a vigorous, almost masculine appearance and a
certain charm. Captain Barka gave her the floor.

  “I’ve just come back from the hospital. I left Roger and Alberto there. They’re still questioning the staff.”

  She addressed herself to the missing woman’s parents. “Your daughter left with a blond man, between fifty and sixty years old, not bad looking according to two nurse’s aides who saw them. Does your daughter know a man who might answer to this brief description?”

  “Absolutely not, or at least she never mentioned him to me. He just happened to be there at the right moment, or that’s what Camille thought.”

  Marie Bauchard continued her report. “According to our witnesses, he’s not a doctor at South Hospital. He was waiting there for two or three hours, going back and forth between the lobby and the parking lot or the adjacent hallways. One of the nurses on duty asked him what he was looking for, and he replied that he was waiting for an acquaintance who was supposed to get out today. The nurse told herself he must be from another clinic and went back to her rounds.”

  “She didn’t show more curiosity than that?” the lawyer interjected sharply.

  “From what we understood, monsieur, the emergency room doesn’t lack for work, especially on a Sunday. I’ll continue. They then went out to the parking lot, and a patient taking a walk saw them getting into a blue Mercedes.”

  “How can he be sure?” asked Nadia.

  “He’d noticed Camille Saint-Forge. ‘A pretty little package’ is what he told us.”

  “So we should be able to find her thanks to the car.”

  “I’m getting there. The surveillance images just confirmed what the patient told us. I’ll show them to you so that you can formally identify your daughter,” she added, addressing the parents. “But the radiologist, whom we managed to reach, already confirmed to us that your daughter was indeed wearing the same red outfit as on the tape.”

  “Yes, that’s what she’d put on before leaving,” confirmed Camille’s future husband.