The 7th Woman

by Frédérique Molay

  “Cute, intelligent. She’s a real catch,” she whispered in his ear.

  Caroline stood up from the sofa when he came in and held out her hand. He couldn’t breathe. He felt weak, and nothing came out of his mouth. Good God, he found that woman attractive and wanted her! A smile was all he could manage. He saw nothing else but her, standing there without her white coat. Her long, thin legs were partly hidden by a tight green knee-length skirt. She wore black shoes that matched her blouse. A discreet gold necklace hung around her neck, crossing veins he imagined pulsing under her skin. At that exact moment, he would have liked being a vampire, biting into her soft ivory skin with all his passion.

  “Don’t just stand there. Sit down,” Tanya said. “Can I get you a drink?”

  “No alcohol tonight. I have to go back to the office after dinner. Fruit juice is fine.”

  “Is it these murders in Paris?” Caroline asked. She had a charming voice. “I heard about it all afternoon at the hospital. You were on the news.”

  “That’s right. Be careful,” Nico added, unable to take his eyes off the doctor.

  “And what about me? Shouldn’t I pay attention?” Tanya interrupted.

  “The murderer prefers brunettes,” Nico said, taking in Caroline’s perfume.

  “Oh, I showed a picture of Dimitri to our guest before you arrived. I couldn’t help myself,” Tanya said. “I’m always amazed at how much you two look alike.”

  “Do you have children?” Nico asked abruptly.

  “No. I have dedicated my life to medicine, with its long years of study and fighting my way up the ranks.”

  “Let’s be clear about things,” Alexis said, finally showing some interest in the conversation, “Caroline is professor of medicine at the teaching hospital, which is quite exceptional at her age. She must be the only one. But she has worked like a dog to get there. You’re talking to a whiz kid, Nico.”

  “That’s pretty much like Nico,” Tanya added. “Chief of the brigade criminelle at the age of thirty-eight. That’s a record. It’s even given him a stomachache! Well, apparently that’s not so serious, which is all that counts.”

  “True enough,” Caroline said. “But he needs to take care of himself.”

  “Yeah, right. The only solution is for someone else to take care of him. He does have people who care about him, but that is no replacement for …”

  “Tanya!” Nico cut in. “Be quiet before you say something you’ll regret.”

  The women started to laugh, while Alexis was looking worried again. In other circumstances, Nico would have been attentive to his brother-in-law, but Caroline was there, with her long, thin fingers on her crossed legs and black nylons that he could hear swishing whenever she made the slightest move. All of his senses were alive, and he was having a hard time following the conversation. They sat down at the table. His sister had placed them next to each other. His leg brushed against hers, and she didn’t move away. His heart was beating fast. Tanya kept smiling at him, a sign that she had intuited his feelings. He wondered how Caroline would react if he put his hand on her thigh. But he would never dare, even though the urge was devouring him, and he didn’t know if he would be able to resist for long. He wanted to throw himself at her. He saw himself tearing off her cloths and kissing every inch of her body. He was astonished by the intensity of these feelings. Caroline put him into a state he had never experienced before, and he liked it.

  It was eleven-thirty when his telephone rang. The serious tone in Deputy Chief Rost’s voice alerted him immediately.

  “Nico, our guy struck again this afternoon, but they only discovered the body an hour ago.”

  “Where are you?”

  “At the scene. At 1 Place des Petits Pères, in the second arrondissement.”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  “Nico!” Rost called out before his superior hung up.

  “What? What is it?”

  “You’re not going to like what you find here.”

  What did Rost mean? He sounded both uncomfortable and worried.

  “Go on, tell me,” Nico ordered.

  “The murderer’s got you in his books. I mean, he left a new message.”

  “Perfect. That will help us. And since he has decided to establish direct contact with us, I won’t be surprised when he does it again.”

  “You don’t understand. It’s meant for you. Just for you.”

  Nico went quiet. He was having trouble understanding the situation.

  “He wrote your name, Nico. You’re the one he’s challenging.”

  Nico stood up from the table and went to get his jacket. The murderer had designated him as his contact person. What did that mean? Did they know each other? This kind of relationship between a criminal and a cop rarely happened. So why here? Why him? Everything he knew, both professionally and personally, blew up, his remaining certainties collapsed. Was this some kind of nightmare that was turning into manipulation? Was he going to wake up and spend a normal day at 36 Quai des Orfèvres, put an end to the fight between his son and Sylvie and regret that there was no Dr. Caroline Dalry? He turned to face her and looked deep into her eyes. She was there, very real. She already meant so much to him. Nothing else had any importance, nothing but her. He held out his hand. He had to touch her, to make sure she was not an illusion. He found her hand and gripped it clumsily.

  “I have to leave now. But if I could call you …”

  He could hardly recognize his voice, a murmur. He saw her blush ever so slightly. Her response was a smile, a smile like the sun lighting up the dark hours to come.

  “I want to see you for a minute, before you go,” his brother-in-law jumped in.

  “Later, I have to go.”

  “That’s impossible, you have to,” Alexis was nearly screaming, his voice trembling, to everyone’s surprise. “Please, Nico. Please.”

  Nico recognized the pallor and the shadows under his eyes as signs of fear. He decided to give his brother-in-law a few minutes. They went to his medical office, which was on the ground floor of the building. He hadn’t been here in a long time, because, in general, he tried to spend as little time in doctor’s offices as possible. Dr. Perrin turned on his computer. He was sweaty and uneasy. Afraid. Nico looked around the office. His diplomas were hanging on the walls. There were also boat frames and fisherman’s knots. He remembered that Alexis loved sailing.

  “Do you know how to make a fisherman’s knot?” Nico asked.

  “Yes, of course,” Alexis stammered. “All sailors do.”

  Nico had never seen him in such a state.

  “Look,” Alexis said.

  Nico walked around the desk and looked at the computer screen that was the focus of Alexis’ anxiety. He didn’t understand right away.

  “My computer files—all my medical files. Someone has hacked them. I don’t understand. And my appointments! It’s been a real mess since Monday. I don’t know … I’m scared, Nico.”

  “Calm down, Alexis. Explain what happened.”

  “The woman, the first, it was Marie-Hélène Jory, wasn’t it?”

  Nico went quiet. Her name had not been given to the press.

  “That’s it, isn’t it?” his brother-in-law insisted.

  Now he was sweating profusely. He was starting to act crazy.

  “And the second? Chloé Bartes, right?” he said, with the same amount of panic.

  “How do you know that?” Nico asked, wanting to understand.

  “It’s there! In my files! I don’t know these women. They’re not my patients. Someone added their files to my computer. I have their medical histories. I even know they were pregnant. And look, look, Nico. He wrote ‘murdered’ at the end of their files. Nico, I never saw them before, I swear. What’s happening? And there are pictures. I almost threw up! They are tied up, their bodies covered in blood, knives planted in their abdomens. I saw everything!”

  “Why didn’t you call me?”

  “I found one on Tuesday
morning. I thought it was a bad joke. This morning, it started again with Chloé Bartes. Then you were on television. I made the connection.”

  “And the third victim, who is she?” Nico asked.

  “A third? I don’t know. Wait a second.”

  Dr. Perrin opened his calendar, which surprised Nico.

  “Valérie Trajan.”

  Nico called Rost’s cell phone. The deputy chief responded immediately.

  “Can you give me the third victim’s name?” Nico asked.

  “Valérie Trajan. Why? Are you almost here?”

  “I need fifteen minutes.”

  The situation was totally incongruous, and if he hadn’t held Caroline’s hand a few minutes earlier, he would have definitely thought himself in a horrible nightmare.

  “That’s it,” he said. “Do you have information about her?”

  Alexis typed on the keyboard, and the information came up, along with the murderer’s announcement and the pictures. Nico studied the scene.

  “Can you print that all out?”

  “Of course,” Alexis said, his voice quivering.

  “How much time do you need?”

  “Do you want all three files with the photos?”

  “Yes.”

  “Ten minutes.”

  “OK. I’ll let you do that. I need to go. I’m sending my men. Did you have an appointment with this Valérie Trajan?”

  “Yes. I mean no. For the past three days, I’ve had nothing but no-shows. And each time, my first afternoon appointment has been one of the women who wound up being murdered.”

  “If I understand correctly, you had an appointment with Marie-Hélène Jory at two in the afternoon on Monday, with Chloé Bartes yesterday and with Valérie Trajan today?

  “That’s right. Except on Monday, the office opened at one in the afternoon. So Jory’s appointment was at one.”

  Nico stared at his brother intently, looking for an explanation in his eyes. He had known this man for fifteen years and truly liked him. Alexis was his sister’s husband, the father of their two children, a conscientious general practitioner who worked hard. He had a calm nature and was always affectionate with Tanya. Anya loved him, which was proof that he had passed many unbelievable tests. Dimitri liked him. So what was there? He knew how to tie fisherman’s knots, the victims’ medical files were saved on his computer, he had appointments with each one of them, and none of them had shown up. That wasn’t much. Then, just as he was leaving, another question came to mind.

  “Alexis, are you right- or left-handed?”

  “Left-handed, why?”

  THURSDAY

  10

  Valérie

  NICO HAD PLUNGED INTO another world. The investigation was breaking into a multitude of puzzle pieces that he couldn’t fit together. The criminal was talking to him, which didn’t make any sense. Alexis’ involvement would certainly worry his superiors. There had to be some explanation. And as if by chance, Caroline had entered his life at this moment, creating another disruption. If he were a believer, he might have seen the hand of God in that. Dominique Kreiss had mentioned the biblical connotation in the killer’s first message. He arrived at the Place des Petits Pères. Flashing lights lit it up. A worrying silence reigned, as though out of respect for the victim’s rest and the living’s suffering. Rost greeted him, a bleak look on his face.

  “The squads under Hureau, Kriven and Théron are here,” he said.

  Each of the nine squads responsible for investigating cases of violent personal crimes such as murder, rape and assault were on twenty-four-hour duty every nine days. Kriven’s detectives were on call Monday and responded to Marie-Hélène Jory’s murder. From then on, they led the investigation. Tonight, it was Hureau’s unit that took the call for Valérie Trajan’s murder. Hureau immediately made the connection with the previous cases and rounded up his colleagues, as protocol required, staying on to help under the orders of Deputy Chief Rost.

  “We’ve started questioning people in the building,” Rost said. “An upstairs neighbor named Florence Glucksman discovered the body. Her husband was supposed to come back from a business trip around eleven tonight, and she had prepared a special night for him. Around ten-thirty she realized that she didn’t have any candles. She went downstairs to borrow some from Valérie Trajan. The two couples knew each other and were friends. Valérie’s husband was also supposed to come back from a business trip. Florence Glucksman knew that Valérie’s husband hadn’t gotten home yet, so she wasn’t worried about interrupting anything. But when she didn’t answer the door, Glucksman got worried and went to get the extra key she had for her friend’s apartment—they each had one, just in case—and she discovered the body. Mr. Glucksman arrived half an hour ago, as planned. Mr. Trajan cannot be reached. He should be here any minute now. The body is in the same position as the previous ones, except that it is tied to the foot of the bed. I only gave it a quick look, since we wanted to wait for you. Other than Florence Glucksman, two officers from the precinct, Kriven and me, nobody has gone into the apartment. I called Dominique Kreiss. I thought you might want her around. She is already here. I think that’s all.”

  “Except for the message,” Nico said.

  Jean-Marie Rost looked defeated.

  “Yes, except the message,” he finally said. “It’s best that you see if for yourself.”

  “Very good, ask the precinct officers to take care of Trajan when he arrives. There is no need to let him up. Let’s spare him the show. And send someone to Dr. Alexis Perrin’s offices, Rue Soufflot in the fifth arrondissement. He’s there now. There are files concerning the three victims to pick up.

  Rost looked alarmed.

  “We’ll talk about it later, when it’s calmer,” Nico said. “And Alexis Perrin is my brother-in-law, so don’t be too hard on him.”

  Rost was disconcerted. He nodded and went off to give the orders. He entered the building, where Kreiss, commanders Kriven and Théron and Captain Vidal waited quietly. Rost joined them, and together they went up three flights to Valérie Trajan’s apartment. They passed other officers knocking on doors and questioning residents. It felt like an active but silent anthill.

  “Has somebody called Professor Vilars?” Nico asked.

  “Not yet,” Deputy Chief Rost said.

  “Do it, so she can get to the morgue and be prepared. We need to waste as little time as possible,” said Nico.

  Vidal opened his case and handed gloves to everyone. He took out a number of sophisticated lamps—white light, ultraviolet and infrared—to detect any trace evidence. The art lay in differentiating evidence that could be related to the investigation from the ordinary traces left by people who lived there. The quality of the lighting and the police officers’ intuition played key roles in this exercise. They advanced from one room to the next. The bedroom was farthest from the entrance, and they were in a hurry to get there. They stopped in front of the door, because the carpet that covered the floor was an area they had to preserve intact. The beige-colored fibers could hold some useful evidence, and the last thing they wanted to do was contaminate it. Only Vidal entered the room, carrying his vacuum, which he used to lift tiny difficult-to-detect deposits that the forensics lab would analyze later. When he finished, they approached the body. The scene was as unbearable as the previous ones. Valérie Trajan had experienced terror before dying. Her clothing was perfectly folded and placed on her bed. Her shoes were set down side by side in a nearly compulsive way.

  “Look at the slippers, over there,” Nico said, pointing.

  Their heads turned.

  “They are hers,” he said, “lined up like the shoes. And look at the night table. What a mess. Things are tossed any old way, with books and magazines just dumped in piles. I bet that Valérie Trajan was not a particularly orderly person. She was not the one who placed the slippers that way. It was him. It annoyed him, and he had to arrange them as he usually did. Vidal, make sure you get those to the lab. He must have be
en careful when he touched them, but you never know.”

  Captain Pierre Vidal used special tongs to pick the slippers up and slide them into a box designed for collecting and transporting evidence. Dominique Kreiss couldn’t take her eyes off the victim. The murderer had reduced her to a pile of pulpy flesh to satisfy his murderous urges. She felt a hand on her arm. It was Nico, always attentive to how others reacted.

  “And the message?” he asked.

  “Behind the door,” Kriven answered.

  “Show me.”

  Bloody, threatening letters spread across the wall.

  “Nico, I am shattering my enemies, and Sunday you will not be able to rise!” Kriven read aloud. “He’s provoking you.”

  “What does he mean by you will not be able to rise?” Dominique Kreiss asked. “Is he addressing the head of the brigade criminelle? Or is this more personal?”

  Nico stared at her, looking lost.

  “You need to be careful,” the psychologist said. “This is becoming a very dangerous game for you.”

  They squatted near the body, each studying it from head to toe.

  “There is a little lock of hair, there, between the breasts,” Théron said.

  Vidal collected it. The hair was short and brown like the previous ones. This guy was playing with them. Nico focused and carefully studied the victim, memorizing every detail.

  “You must have made some mistake,” he said, addressing the murderer. “There are no perfect crimes in this world. You couldn’t help yourself; you had to touch those slippers. Your obsessions are pushing you out of control and will lead to your downfall.”