Heart Collector

by Jacques Vandroux

  Very detailed investigations had obviously been conducted at the crime scene. The zone had been gone over with a fine-tooth comb by the forensic team, but no leads had resulted. A total mystery!

  Laure hadn’t suffered any sexual offense. Her executioners had merely amused themselves with torturing her in accordance with a ritual that undoubtedly made sense to them but not to the police.

  The young woman’s corpse was still warm when they’d found it. But no one had noticed anything.

  Gilles Déramaux had never accepted his daughter’s death. He’d asked Nadia to make herself available to search for the murderer or murderers. Obsessed by this murder, the young woman had agreed. At the industrialist’s request, the administration had given its permission.

  For weeks she’d tried to understand, skimming through police and library databases. She’d frequented the underworld, delving into the very closed S&M scene and rubbing shoulders with Satanist circles. Working as a lone knight, she’d succeeded in infiltrating them. But after three months of work, she’d abruptly ceased her activities, to the despair of the victim’s father. She’d been too personally invested, going beyond what professionalism allowed her. This investigation had gradually transformed into personal vengeance. It was when she found herself on the verge of participating in an S&M party that she’d suddenly recognized the risk she was running. She was losing all concept of firm boundaries. So she’d decided to stop. Her three months of relentless research had led her nowhere, except to the edge of what her psyche could stand.

  “Is something wrong, mademoiselle?” asked the doctor upon entering the room.

  “I’m tired.”

  Nadia hadn’t been aware her face was dripping with tears. The tension of the last few days, the memory of Laure, being ousted from the investigation, it was all too much. Not even counting the misery of her personal life.

  “I’m going to examine you, if that’s all right.” The doctor was young and seemed impressed by the policewoman. “It’s the first time I’ve seen a gunshot wound,” he explained in an attempt to justify his eagerness.

  “If you’re still around in three or four years, you ought to see me back here.”

  He called a nurse, who pulled back the dressing. “The wound is very neat and should heal up quickly. You’ve bled, but alongside your misfortune you were lucky that neither the bone nor the tendons were touched. You should recover fairly quickly.”

  “So much the better, since I’m going home this afternoon.”

  “Are you joking?”

  “Do I look like it?”

  The doctor looked at the woman. He’d rarely seen such fierce determination.

  “I’ll sign all the papers you want. Give me the drugs I have to take, and I’ll stop being a drain on public funds right this second.”

  “But, as a doctor, I can’t let you go in this state.”

  Nadia tried going for broke. “I’m on the trail of a killer, the one the press and all the TV channels are talking about. I don’t want him to attack another innocent victim.”

  As the doctor hesitated, Nadia sat up on the edge of her bed. Her head swam, but she grabbed on to him to keep from lying down again. After a few seconds, she regained her balance.

  “Could you remove this, please?” she asked the nurse, holding out the IV drip.

  Sensing the young woman’s determination and the young doctor’s hesitation, the nurse obeyed. She added, “Your shirt and jacket are bloodstained. I’m going to get you a T-shirt. We must be about the same size.”

  “Thank you. If anyone comes looking for me, tell them I’m at home.”

  She stood up, walked carefully, and headed toward the room’s closet. The doctor stared at her uncomprehendingly, fascinated by his patient’s graceful, muscular body. His eyes didn’t leave her long, slender legs. The nurse’s voice brought him back to earth.

  “Doctor, I’ve prepared Mademoiselle Barka’s medication.”

  “Yes, yes, very good, give it to her.”

  Nadia pulled on her jeans, slipped into the sneakers she’d donned for her night mission, put on the T-shirt, took the medication, thanked the nurse, made an effort to give the doctor a grateful smile, and left the hospital room gritting her teeth.

  Chapter 26: Key Witness

  Monday afternoon. Julien was slumped in front of his computer. He’d seen the special broadcasts running in a loop on the twenty-four-hour news channels. The Rue Saint-Laurent, the picture of Camille Saint-Forge as he’d seen her in his dreams—or his nightmares—the Grenoble prosecutor announcing that the investigation had resumed, supported by a team of specialists sent directly from Paris. What had become of Captain Barka, then?

  Since then, he’d been staring at his screen without seeing anything. He was aware of being at the heart of this case, but in a way he didn’t comprehend.

  Sophie sat next to him. At first, he hadn’t wanted to talk to her, to protect her. Julien didn’t want to further entangle her in a grisly situation completely beyond his control. But his friend’s insistence had gotten the better of his resistance. And this time, she hadn’t laughed at all.

  Many of their colleagues had taken a vacation day after the intense week they’d spent getting their project in on time. Julien and Sophie were alone, except for a secretary whose office was situated near the entryway and a young engineer who seemed to be spending more time on Facebook than on writing lines of code.

  “The situation is becoming truly worrisome, Julien. You’re really sure you didn’t have any psychics or people with special powers in your family?”

  “Of course, Sophie, I’ve already told you ten times. I called my parents and asked them. I even called my grandmother, who was nicknamed the witch by some people. It scared me a little when I was a kid. She admitted to me one day that she’d given herself that reputation to keep men in the area from flocking around her—the price of her beauty. That’s it. So I don’t have any paranormal gene that’s been officially detected.”

  “I have an idea, but it might seem strange to you.” Sophie looked at him quite tenderly, and he was ashamed of getting carried away. She was trying to help him, and her presence did him good.

  “I’m listening, and I promise you I’ll consider it carefully,” he said with a half smile.

  “I know someone who might be able to help you.”

  “Who?”

  “Father Bernard de Valjoney.”

  “Have I met him before?”

  “I don’t know. Not with me in any case.”

  Sophie donated her time. This activism had always seemed bizarre to Julien, but he respected it and even admired her to a certain extent. She knew how to devote time to others and still was able to lead a busy social life.

  She continued, “Father de Valjoney is a priest of the diocese, and he has a lot of experience with this sort of thing. He doesn’t like to talk about it, but I had the opportunity to see him soothe someone, let’s say, in torment.”

  “You want to send me to an exorcist?” he asked, stunned.

  “Father Bernard isn’t an exorcist. He knows a lot about the human soul and his religious activities have brought him into contact with people who—how do I put this—say they’ve had encounters with spirits.”

  “He’s what, then—a psychic?”

  “Julien, if I’m suggesting you meet with him, it’s because he’s a very intelligent and insightful man who could help you. At worst, you’ll waste your time.”

  Julien looked at his friend. When he saw her serious and worried expression, a wave of gratitude washed over him. He felt like taking her in his arms and hugging her, begging her to never leave. But the presence of his colleague and a chronic difficulty expressing his feelings prevented him.

  “I promise, Sophie, I’ll go see him. It’s undoubtedly a good idea. I need an enlightened opinion.”

  The front do
or buzzer rang insistently. The visitor seemed to have very limited patience. After a dozen piercing tones, the secretary got up to let the person in. She’d barely touched the handle when the door banged open in response to a strong push. Julien and Sophie looked up, surprised. Three men had just entered in a rush, dispensing with the most basic courtesies. The first two, rather young, wore T-shirts, whereas the third was dressed more formally in a shirt and summer jacket. He didn’t look any classier for it, though.

  “We’re looking for a Julien Lombard.”

  “And who are you?” asked Julien, eyeing him.

  “Police.”

  “Can we see your papers?” he asked.

  The question annoyed the man, who took out his badge and shoved it in Julien’s face. “Will that do?” he barked aggressively.

  “My request seems most legitimate to me,” the young man continued. “You show up here like—”

  “I asked you a question!”

  “Could you repeat it?” asked Julien. He knew he was riling him, but the man was particularly unpleasant to him. He also wondered what this rather forceful raid meant. He’d clearly cooperated with the police by going to see Captain Barka.

  The policeman breathed deeply. He wasn’t going to lose his cool because of this jerk. A greenhorn who lived only by computers, a geek, as they said down at the station, wasn’t going to get the better of Captain Stéphane Rivera’s nerves.

  “Are you Julien Lombard?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I’m going to ask you to come with us.”

  “May I know the reason?”

  “You’re a key witness in the Monica Revasti and Camille Saint-Forge murder cases. We want to hear from you.”

  “But I already told Captain Barka everything I know.” His answer annoyed Rivera immensely.

  “Captain Barka is off the case. I’m leading the investigation now. So stop being a pain. I have a murderer running around Grenoble!”

  Julien realized it was pointless to negotiate anything with the policeman in front of him. “Okay, I’ll come with you.”

  One of the policemen grabbed him roughly by the shoulder. Julien shook him off vigorously. “It’s fine, I’m following you! I’m not being arrested for murder, you know!”

  “Don’t say anything, Julien, I’m going to call my mother. She might get to the police station before you do.”

  Julien looked at her in astonishment. He knew her mother was a notable lawyer, and this reassured him. Being alone with this policeman who was more like a mafioso—and impatient, to say the least—didn’t give him a good feeling.

  “She can’t deny her favorite and only daughter anything, especially since I don’t ask her often,” whispered Sophie, who had understood his expression.

  “And who are you?” Rivera asked Sophie.

  “Your prisoner’s fairy godmother. Be careful on the drive, I like him.”

  The cop looked at her, puzzled. He’d dealt with tough guys who wouldn’t talk, young thugs who’d insulted him, dealers who’d threatened him with revenge. But he couldn’t tell what these two suspects were playing at. Because he was sure this Lombard wasn’t clean. And if there was something to find, it wouldn’t take him too many hours to find it!

  As soon as the policemen had left, leaving the secretary befuddled, Sophie rushed to her phone.

  “Give me Madame Dupas, please . . . Thanks . . . Hello, Mom, I need you. Yes, you’re working on a big brief, but give me three minutes to explain.”

  Three minutes later, Sophie ended her conversation. “You’re awesome, Mom. And you won’t regret getting out of there . . . Yes, I’ll repay you. We can do some shopping together next Saturday. I saw a suit and a dress at Hirondelle that would look great on you! Bisous.”

  She hung up. Julien would be in good hands, and the policeman was going to regret crossing paths with her mother.

  Chapter 27: The Blues

  Nadia stretched out on the living room sofa in her two-room apartment. She’d always loved the atmosphere of the Quai Perrière, with all its pizzerias one right after the other. Sometimes an exotic restaurant or bar broke up the line, but directly beside it would begin another long string of pizzerias. The window opened onto the Isère, and the last rays of the setting sun brought a relaxing light into the room.

  Nadia, however, was not in sync with the atmosphere of the evening. She was in a state of depression she’d rarely experienced. Her injury, the stress, the exhaustion, and above all being removed from an investigation so close to her heart had depleted her last resources.

  The visitors who’d just left had finished her off: Captain Stéphane Rivera and three detectives fresh from the academy. Rivera had put on quite a show. To think she’d believed for an instant that he’d put his old grudges aside! For once, her intuition had been sorely mistaken. It hadn’t been mistaken, however, about the young doctor at the hospital. She’d immediately noticed his attraction, and it wasn’t completely by accident that she’d paraded around in front of him in her undies while gathering her clothes. She’d anesthetized his critical thinking. She’d even gotten one week of sick leave out of him. How inspired! She’d finally shown the order to Rivera, thus sparing herself exhausting hours at the police station.

  Obviously she was quite ready to cooperate. But that discussion—if you could call the strutting of that jackass to impress the young recruits and to show his colleague who was boss now a discussion—had deeply annoyed her. The three youngsters hadn’t been as impressed as Captain Rivera might have wished. Coming in that morning from Lyon, they’d read the files prepared for them and had had time to see Captain Barka’s résumé, which was rather impressive. When they’d arrived at the apartment, they’d seen a woman whose sadness contrasted with her beauty, and this had troubled them. Doubtless they had subconsciously leaned in her favor.

  Nadia had been amused when she noticed the gaze of one of her colleagues from Lyon slip unprofessionally toward her cleavage. Never in her career had she played on this level. She was even obsessive about keeping her femininity out of her professional activities. But that night, she was in her own home, wounded. She’d surprised herself by valuing even the most banal benefits from the young man. That revealed what she’d been reduced to! Rivera had done all he could to demonstrate to her she was out of the game, that she’d failed in her investigation and finally he was going to make progress. She’d understood his ploy from the outset, but she hadn’t been able to keep herself from feeling vexed and despondent.

  Now she was alone. Alone! The word terrified her. She didn’t know whom to call, if she even felt like calling someone. She hadn’t seen her father since she’d joined the police force without his permission—it had been fifteen years now. Her mother saw her in secret sometimes, and her brother, a dentist in Bordeaux, snubbed her completely. She got along well with him in her youth, but he’d become an arrogant and pretentious sort of guy.

  It had been more than three years since she’d had anybody in her life. Her last boyfriend had deserted her, tired of her random appearances, and had fallen for a bitch whose family had a magnificent estate somewhere on the Côte d’Azur and a fortune she couldn’t even guess at. That was indeed proof they weren’t meant to be together. But could she have someone in her life with her profession? Could she have children someday? For years she’d made fun of friends who carried on about their noisy progeny, but these days she felt like looking away when she met them in the street or at other friends’ houses. If she’d allowed herself to envy them, she would have burst.

  It was after her breakup that she’d thrown herself wholeheartedly into the Déramaux case. She’d definitely not chosen the best therapy. But when destiny knocks, feminine intuition is nowhere to be found.

  Then again, if she’d counted the number of men who’d tried to sleep with her, she’d practically be in the Guinness Book of World Records. She knew sh
e was beautiful, even very beautiful, and she knew how to gain sympathy when she wanted it. Furthermore, she was a cop, which excited more than one fantasy! But she didn’t want any of it. Once she’d agreed to go out with a guy, not bad-looking, a few months after her breakup. Just sex, they’d said. But she’d come out of it with a hellish sensation of nothingness, and she’d had only one desire after intercourse—to flee!

  Immersed in her dark thoughts, she wavered between a glass of rum and several sleeping pills, and even considered both, but she pulled herself together and settled for her antibiotics and a powerful sedative.

  She had to sleep. She’d taken a two-hour nap upon returning home, but she was worn out.

  Nadia went to the bathroom and pulled back her dressing. The wound was still raw, and she regretted having left the hospital on a whim. No, she’d been right! She didn’t know anymore. She knew only that she had to take care of herself. She’d taken a number of first aid courses during her career with the police. So she gathered up the products her nurse had given her. She disinfected the wound, remade the dressing, then left the bathroom and turned out the light behind her.

  The living room was now in shadow. Nadia opened the window, letting the still-warm air in. She drank a large glass of water and stretched out on the sofa again. The sounds of the street, the conversations of passersby and diners sitting at terrace tables, the clinking of glasses, and even the smell of pizza wafting up from the restaurants soothed her.

  Then she told herself the story of the little donkey in the mountains. It was the story her father used to tell her when, as a little girl, she was afraid of a storm or the night. Her eyes grew misty when she thought about it. Despite everything she’d sworn to herself, she hadn’t been able to drive her father out of her mind. And she was convinced he couldn’t drive her out of his. Lost in her childhood memories, Nadia finally fell asleep.