Heart Collector

by Jacques Vandroux

  For a few moments she’d lost all sense of time, and the silence surprised her.

  She crawled to get out from under the weight of the body that had just flattened her to the ground. She recognized him—Nikita Bogossian—a look of surprise forever frozen on his face. His chest had a gaping hole in it and was covered in blood. The gang members, bewildered by the death of their ringleader, had let their weapons slide to the ground.

  “You all right, Captain?”

  Nadia felt her shoulder. It was horribly painful. She bit her lips and replied, “Better than him.”

  “What should we do with the others?”

  “Line them up.”

  Nadia watched as the men, completely sobered by the violent disappearance of their leader, obeyed like sheep. They were obviously stunned by this turn of events. For once, they weren’t the ones committing the reign of terror. She knew they sensed they were at the mercy of two men and a woman who knew how to fight and weren’t afraid of them.

  Without a word, Captain Barka observed them in the moonlight, saying nothing, memorizing their faces and their fear. The youngest started to shake uncontrollably and let go of his bowels—there was a foul odor. She looked at him. She should have hauled them off to jail, but catching the murderer was her priority.

  “War isn’t a game. This time you’ve come out alive. But it won’t happen again.”

  “Get lost now,” Fortin instructed them.

  Immediately, the group fled in silence, running as fast as they could.

  “You all right, Nadia?”

  “Somewhat. What time is it?”

  “4:20.”

  “Shit, we lost twenty minutes. Let’s get back down right away.”

  The disorganized gang was now entering the Rue Saint-Laurent. Nadia was following them with her eyes when suddenly . . . there he was, motionless, with a shape in his arms! His victim, whom he was transporting to her final resting place.

  He stood there, motionless, disconcerted by the arrival of this silent horde jostling him in the middle of the night. He had to be alone, alone with this girl and his memories. Alone with this girl, facing his destiny.

  He looked up and saw three shadows running toward him. His instincts told him to flee. He was their target. He didn’t know what could have happened, but he was being hunted, him, the hunter. He immediately dropped his victim, turned around, and broke into a sprint.

  “Catch him,” screamed Nadia.

  She stopped, took a knee, and in spite of the pain in her shoulder, reached for the pistol attached to her belt. Nothing! She must have forgotten to collect it. “Rodolphe, stop him!”

  Drancey took out his weapon, stopped running, and fired twice. The first bullet missed its target, and the second grazed the fugitive’s arm.

  “Shit! Don’t worry, I got this!” he shouted, now running again.

  One, then two sirens pierced the night. Two police cars pulled up in front of them. Finally, they’d have the backup they’d so cruelly lacked. The tires squealed to a stop, and six men piled out of the cars. They threw themselves on Fortin and Drancey.

  “Police! Put down your weapons immediately!”

  “Fuck, he’s getting away, fuck you!”

  “Put down your weapons or we’ll shoot!”

  “We’re on the same side,” screamed Drancey while trying to get his badge out.

  “Hands on the car, move it!”

  Realizing that conversation was impossible for the moment, Drancey dropped his pistol, heartsick.

  He and Fortin were shoved unceremoniously against the cars. Nadia ran over after recovering her Sig Sauer. When she saw the scene, she understood immediately the mission had failed. She approached the group, badge in hand, and explained calmly, “I’m Captain Barka. These two men are with me. What’s going on here?”

  One of the policemen came up to her and looked at her papers. “You can release them. They’re ours.”

  Drancey exploded. “Fuck, I never stopped telling you that was the case. Where’d the guy I was chasing go?”

  “Which one? There was a whole crowd.”

  Drancey looked at the street. It was empty now. Lights were appearing in the buildings, and a few curious onlookers leaned out their windows. “What are we going to do now?”

  Captain Barka addressed the officer in charge of the intervention. “Give my colleagues two or three men. We’re after the baptistery killer.”

  “Shit! Lefort, Sarita, and Bouvet, go.” Fortin, Drancey, and the three men took off running.

  “Why did you interfere?” asked Nadia.

  “We got several calls reporting gunfire. What’s going on?”

  “Call some ambulances, we’ve got two cadavers on our hands.”

  “What happened?”

  “I’ll tell you on the way. Just one thing—nobody touch the woman’s body before the EMTs get here. It might still hold clues for the investigation.”

  “Yes, Captain. And you mentioned another body?”

  “A drug trafficker, an arms dealer probably.”

  The policeman looked at her, stunned. “Long night?”

  “A little, yes.”

  Then he noticed in the harsh light of the streetlamp that the captain’s jacket was covered in blood. “What happened to you?”

  “Collateral damage, but rather painful.”

  Upon reaching the Bastille trailhead, she saw the body of Camille Saint-Forge stretched out on the ground. Unlike Monica Revasti’s, this death had permanently marked the girl’s face with suffering. Her dress was smeared with blood around her chest. Nadia touched nothing and sat down next to her.

  “I’m going to wait here. You’ll find the other body a hundred yards up.”

  The policeman left with one of his men.

  Nadia looked at Camille and buried her face in her hands. The adrenaline faded, and the reality of the situation overtook her, like a tsunami of contradictory feelings. They’d been just seconds away from catching the killer. Now he was on the loose again, and maybe another woman was already in danger. The ghost of Laure Déramaux flitted before her eyes again.

  Exhausted and weakened from blood loss, Captain Nadia Barka slipped into unconsciousness and slumped gently onto the sidewalk.

  Chapter 23: Harassment

  Dominique turned off the ignition. The car fell silent, and only the sound of the garage door automatically closing covered the driver’s heavy breathing. The final clatter of the door hitting the frame reassured him. He was safe.

  He opened the vehicle’s door and extricated himself with difficulty. He looked at himself in an old mirror leaning against one wall of the garage. The harsh light of the naked bulb hanging from the ceiling gave him a sallow look. He didn’t linger and climbed the cement stairs slowly. He entered the foyer, then went up to his bedroom.

  The man looked at the broken glass littering the floor near the window. Everything came back to him. The girl who’d tried to escape, who’d tried to block his road to his salvation. The one before had been much more sensible, and he’d been nice with her. But this one, what a bitch! Right to the end she’d interfered with his plans. He’d sacrificed her without pity—she didn’t deserve his mercy. But what had happened when he got to the church? No one had followed him, he was sure of that. Why had those men descended on him out of nowhere? They hadn’t even looked at him. Yet when he’d seen the woman and two men chasing him and the girl, his sixth sense had screamed at him to flee. So he’d abandoned his victim without being able to finish the ritual. Too bad. The ritual wasn’t necessary, but he would have liked defying Magali again.

  As he ran, he’d felt a burning in his arm and hadn’t understood right away that they’d opened fire on him.

  Now he was tired, so very tired. In spite of everything, he had enough to last him until the solstice, or at least he hoped so
. His thirtieth solstice . . . and his last. Arsène had promised him. He had to rest now.

  Dominique pulled off his shirt and looked at it. Blood had run down the sleeve. The bullet aimed at him had barely grazed his skin. He threw the shirt in a corner of the room. He finally undressed and got into the shower. The scalding water running down his body washed away the impurities of the night. Hang on until the solstice and it will all be over. He took full advantage of this time to cleanse, then exited the bathroom naked. He was hot enough as it was. He lay down on his bed.

  He looked at his alarm: six o’clock. It was time to go to bed. He closed his eyes, savoring the silence of the room. Suddenly, he tensed. He wasn’t alone. No, she couldn’t come back again and harass him further. He shouldn’t open his eyes, he should ignore her. But the urge was stronger than he was. He looked out in the room.

  She was there, in front of him, suitcase at her side. Her face was still just as emotionless. Dominique’s gaze fell on Magali’s rounded belly. His anger was instantly tinged with bitterness. Why hadn’t she accepted the future he’d always offered her? He would have provided the child with complete protection—no one would have sullied him. He who had used and abused his fellow men knew well the dangers of the world. This son would have allowed for his redemption! He’d already prepared two rooms: one for Magali and one for the little one. He would have raised him according to his precepts and taught him everything he should know and fear. Magali had dared to make a scene when he’d spoken to her of his projects. He looked at her again. She hadn’t moved. Her long brown hair seemed to float in the breeze, even though there wasn’t a breath of air in the room.

  Abruptly, exasperated, he addressed her. “What do you want from me, really? You’ve been coming to torture me for years! You probably think yourself a victim, the innocent lamb, sacrificed by the executioner?” He burst into stilted laughter.

  “My poor Magali, I gave you everything! But the little girl knew better than everyone else, the little girl who knew nothing of the world felt ready to confront it and lose my son to it! What do you blame me for now? Trying to rid myself of the hatred you’ve brought me over the years? Because yes, it is hatred to pursue me like this every year at this time. But you’re solely responsible, Magali! If you’d accepted my advice and my love, you’d still be here . . . and my son as well! What are you trying to do? Make me feel remorse? Ridiculous, ridiculous . . .”

  The man, his body seemingly paralyzed, was now screaming in his room. His mouth, distorted by a sneer, warped his features. He continued. “But Arsène, who’s always helped me, found the way to get rid of you . . . once and for all! And you know it!”

  He looked at her and seemed to see pity pass over her eternally young features.

  “Still trying to plunge me into remorse or guilt? But you’re wasting your time, my poor Magali. These girls are giving me their hearts to banish you from my existence. You’re the one killing them, Magali! In any case, you’ll have left my life permanently in less than a week. So get out, get out before I get angry and I shut you up in the penance closet! You remember, don’t you? Get out!”

  He closed, then reopened his eyes. The woman had disappeared, as if she’d never been there. He relaxed. So Arsène was right! The writings of Fra Bartolomeo were effective. He’d hang on until the solstice and then would be delivered.

  Chapter 24: Rude Awakening

  Nadia opened her eyes. She didn’t seem to be in her bedroom. She felt like she was moving through cotton wool. She concentrated with difficulty on the shape in front of her.

  She was lying down. Yes, that was it, she was in a bed. She tried again, and the shape in front of her started to take on substance, then an identity. “Commissioner Mazure? What are you doing here? And where am I?”

  “You’re in the hospital, Nadia. You lost a lot of blood, then consciousness. You were brought here to urgent care, and a doctor removed the bullet in your shoulder.”

  With an intense effort at concentration, Captain Barka recalled the night’s chain of events and became gloomy. “We almost had him, Commissioner, we almost had him . . . but I failed.”

  Mazure gently laid a hand on her forearm. The young woman was surprised by her superior officer’s gesture. “Fortin and Drancey have made their report, and you have nothing to blame yourself for. How are you feeling?”

  “Groggy. But after a few hours of rest, I’ll be out of here and ready to continue the investigation. I’m gonna nail that bastard.”

  The policeman looked upset. His colleague stared into his eyes. Mazure felt transfixed by the young woman’s angry glare. “No, Nadia. That won’t be possible.”

  “But why?”

  “You’ve been temporarily relieved from the investigation.”

  The news stunned the young woman. “Relieved? But why are you relieving me from the investigation?”

  “I had a long talk with the surgeon who operated on you. You absolutely must recuperate. Your body wouldn’t be able to sustain the same pace.”

  “Just give me twenty-four hours, and I’ll be right as rain! I’ll see this through, even if I have to sacrifice my health.”

  “That’s exactly what I want to avoid. Besides, I got the ministry to assign ten additional investigators.”

  “Perfect! Let me lead them!” Her volume was increasing.

  A nurse passing in the hallway came into the room. “You need to calm down,” she scolded. “You’ve just come out of a delicate procedure.”

  Nadia was not in the mood to be lectured. “Leave me alone. I didn’t ask anyone’s permission to get shot. I don’t need yours to talk with my superior officer.”

  The nurse looked at Commissioner Mazure, who motioned to her to let it go. She shrugged and left the room.

  The policeman let Nadia talk. He perfectly understood her frustration and was convinced Nadia was ready to continue leading the investigation. He was aware of her ability to keep going as long as she had a breath of energy. But he also knew her well enough to know she wouldn’t respect the limits imposed by her own body and that she could potentially suffer grave consequences. He was also afraid the similarity between this case and the Laure Déramaux case would push her over certain lines.

  “So who’s taking up the investigation?” asked Nadia.

  “Captain Rivera.”

  The young woman didn’t respond. No other name would have been so hard to take. Stéphane Rivera was taking over her investigation. She was too depressed by her superior’s decision to express her anger.

  “You’ll have to give him all the documents and cooperate, obviously, when necessary.”

  “I know my duty, Commissioner,” she replied coldly.

  Mazure looked at her, immediately regretting his remark. Captain Barka was one of his best colleagues. But he thought he’d made the right decision.

  “My main objective is always to put the killer out of commission. I’ll cooperate one hundred percent. But I’m tired now. And as you reminded me, I have to get some rest.”

  “Of course, I’ll let you get to it. I left my personal phone number on your bedside table. Call me if you need anything.”

  Nadia looked at him, bewildered. “Leave me the number for the emergency room instead. It’ll be more useful to me in the next few days,” she replied sarcastically.

  Alain Mazure didn’t react to his colleague’s jab. Seeing her that way almost reassured him—he hadn’t expected her to accept his decision cheerfully.

  “Oh, I almost forgot. You’ll have visits from Lieutenants Fortin, Drancey, and Garancher this afternoon. They’re already aware of the change in leadership.”

  He left the room, without a glance from the young woman.

  Chapter 25: The Déramaux Case

  Nadia felt her courage leave her. She let the nurse who’d just returned administer antibiotics and saturate her with pain medications. She turne
d her head toward the clock: it was almost two in the afternoon.

  She felt a lump rise in her throat. The humiliation she’d just endured wasn’t going away. When she faced facts, she knew she had nothing to blame herself for. She’d taken Julien Lombard’s stories seriously, even at the risk of looking gullible in the eyes of others. She’d done well.

  Now they had a new corpse that would give up its secrets under the expert hands of the medical examiner; the killer had taken form, and a thorough investigation would doubtless allow them to put a name to the man. Julien Lombard would also probably be able to help them. She knew she would have been able to make progress on the investigation, especially with the backing of ten specialists. How much faster it all would have gone!

  But now, she only had the right to stay in the hospital and answer questions if Rivera asked them. What a shitty situation.

  Without wanting to, her mind drifted to Laure Déramaux—her only unsolved case with the police. For months, Laure’s ravaged face had haunted her. She’d finally accepted the help of a psychiatrist to expel the young woman from her dreams. That’s how she’d met Dr. Isabelle Tavernier.

  Laure had disappeared three months prior. Responsibility for the search had fallen to Nadia. For the three months they’d scoured the city, then the département, to find her. Laure’s father, Gilles Déramaux, was a rich industrialist from Lyon, very influential in governmental circles. He’d invested his own funds to enlarge the team already provided. But despite a colossal amount of labor, they hadn’t gathered any valuable information during that time.

  Then one day, a backpacker had found a corpse in the Machecoul forest. They’d barely recognized Laure’s tortured body. The medical examiner had written the most terrifying report: she’d been tortured since the first day of her imprisonment. Her body looked like a playing field, with marks and scars in cleverly constructed geometry. But no one had been able to understand why. Nadia had looked at the photos until she’d memorized each wound inflicted on Laure’s body.