Doret strained his hearing, sure that he could hear the wind, certain that his mind was playing tricks, but when the Inspector leant forward he wasn’t so confident.
“What was that?” Delacroix moved in further. He reached in his pocket, took out a notebook and pen, wrote something down. “That’s all you have for me?”
“What did he say?” Doret asked. “I didn’t hear him say anything.”
Delacroix’s eyes darted over the notebook. “Xezbeth.” He finally said, putting the notebook in his pocket, turned back to the priest. “Is that who put you up to all this?”
“What is going on here? Who are you people?” Neither of them had heard the door open.
A doctor stood there looking flustered.
Doret stood up. “We’re policemen.” He reached in his coat, pulled out his identification.
“That’s supposed to me make me feel better? Why are you harassing this poor man? Can’t you see what he’s going through?”
Doret scratched his head. “What about the things he did in the church? To that boy?!”
“Leave! Before I call security and have you thrown out.” He took a step forward. “Away from that bed.”
Doret moved in front of him, blocking his way. “Didn’t I just tell you? We’re policemen...”
“...who shouldn’t be here...unless of course you have a warrant?”
The younger policeman went to continue the argument but felt a hand on his shoulder. “We’re leaving.”
Delacroix stepped out, followed by the Doctor, an angry frown on his forehead.
“Our apologies.” Delacroix said as he and Doret walked away. The doctor mumbled something before heading back into the room to check on his patient.
***
The bar was busy. They sat as far as possible from everyone else. They didn’t want anyone overhearing them.
“You ever get the feeling this is getting out of hand.” Delacroix said eventually.
Doret sipped his drink. “You’ve been quiet since the hospital. Something has got you spooked. What was that word the priest mentioned, Xezbeth?”
Delacroix had a slightly vacant look on his face as he downed his Pastis. “You’re going to have to bear with me.” He stood up, threw some money down on the table. “Have another drink. Then go home, get some sleep. You look like shit. Tomorrow morning, we’ll speak to the boy.”
Doret grabbed the Inspector’s arm. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“Indulge me for now but keep in contact.”
With that, he left.
Doret stared after for him for a couple of moments before throwing his arms up in desperation. He signalled for the waitress to bring him another beer, he had an awful taste in his mouth he just couldn’t get rid of.
As he sat there, lost in his own thoughts, he didn’t notice the woman approach.
It was only when she stood directly in front of him, blocking his field of vision, he looked up.
“Can I help you?” He was falling into a dark mood, perhaps he should just go home and get some sleep.
“It is you.” The red-headed woman was grinning. She pulled up a chair. “You don’t recognise me do you?”
“Look...” He frowned, then smiled, ignored the migraine he knew was heading his way. “The nurse, from the hospital?!”
“You got it.”
He pointed to her half empty glass. “You okay for a drink?”
She nodded. “I haven’t seen you in here before.”
“I just stopped off for a drink on my way home.”
The woman looked around. “On your own?”
“Not now.”
The nurse took a large gulp of her drink. “One of those days, you know what I mean?”
He laughed. “Tell me about it. It’s been one of those months.”
“I wouldn’t do your job for all the money in the world. Some of the things you must see, it makes me shudder...”
Doret leant back. “Come on, you must face your fair share of horrors.”
“You just get on with it, you know.”
He finished his beer.
“You in a hurry?” She asked.
“Early start.” He tapped his forehead. “And I can feel a real humdinger of a migraine coming on. And when I suffer, I suffer.”
She played with her bottom lip. “Look, this is a long shot but I’m not on until the late shift tomorrow. It’s been a real shit storm of a day, I’m starving, you feel like eating? I know a great little pizzeria a few minutes from here...if you’ve got the time, obviously.”
Doret looked at his watch. It wasn’t that late, not really, and anyway, what was he really going to do when he got home? Probably just throw a minute-meal in the microwave then hit the sack.
Fuck it.
“Why not.” He flicked through the notes on the table, made sure there was enough to cover the drinks. “Let’s go.”
***
“More wine?” She asked.
He put a hand over his glass. “Better not. The boss doesn’t like me turning up with a hangover. Especially when we’re working on a difficult case.”
“Probably has a point.” She mocked slapped her forehead.
Doret picked up his glass of water, took a large sip. Damn, he could really do with something stronger but he knew it wouldn’t stop there. Two would become four would become eight and before he knew it he’d be totally fucked. He needed to keep his wits about him.
“You want to talk about it?” She prompted.
He shrugged but didn’t say anymore.
“I probably shouldn’t say anything and what do I know? But that man who set fire to himself...imagine his suffering.” She didn’t seem to want to let it go.
“I wouldn’t lose any sleep over him. A total whack-job, I wish I’d put a couple more bullets into him....sorry if that sounds a little harsh.”
She filled her glass with the last of the wine. “But what made him do it? I heard about all those bodies they found in the church...what drives someone to do that sort of thing? It’s not natural. Well, I don’t think so, but maybe that’s just me?” She let out a nervous laugh.
Doret picked up his knife, played with the crumbs on his plate. “I don’t think it’s just you.”
She eyed him closely, reached out, touched his hand. “You look like you have the weight of the world on your shoulders.”
He took a deep breath. “The boss and I, well, shit, you’re a nurse, I can trust you....we’ve been on the trail of some sick fucks. Some kind of cult. It seems they’ve been in Paris for a couple of months now. We think they’re from down south somewhere and something’s brought them up here...they’ve been operating in secret, in the shadows but now they’re out in the open.”
“And you think that priest has something to do with that?”
“If he was a priest...we’re not even sure about that. Fuck, we’re not sure about anything anymore. We’ve seen kidnappings, murders, bizarre arcane symbols painted all over the city...rumours about something called ‘The Sixteenth Chapel’ and God knows what that is, possibly the headquarters of this cult...but hey...we’re only the police.”
The nurse sighed. “...Sixteenth Chapel, can’t say I’ve ever heard of it?”
“It’s been driving the boss mad. We received a tip off yesterday that something might be going down in that church...and look what we found.” He ran his hand through his hair. “These are some evil motherfuckers, killing children and sacrificing seem to be their speciality...the usual family entertainment.” He laughed.
“So do you think that was what the boy was? A sacrifice...it sends chills down my bones.”
“Until we speak to him, we’re not entirely sure.”
She looked pale. “It’s hard to believe that his sort of thing happens nowadays.”
“You wouldn’t believe the things that happen, especially after darkness falls. Talking of which.” He signalled to the waiter. “It’s really important we talk to the boy. He’s the only
one we’ve found alive...well, beside the priest and when we spoke to him he wasn’t making any kind of sense.”
The waiter arrived with the bill. Doret took out his credit card.
“I’m intrigued...when you spoke to the priest, what did he say?”
Doret shrugged. “Waste of time. He knows something but I doubt he’s in charge. What we came across was definitely a ceremony of some kind but I think it’s just the tip of the iceberg.”
She swirled the last drop of wine in her glass, staring into the reddy remnants.
He tapped his PIN into the waiter’s handheld VISA machine. A couple of minutes later they were outside.
“I’ve really enjoyed myself but I need to get going.” He said.
She leant up and kissed his cheek. “Are you sure I can’t tempt you?”
He looked at his watch, took out his phone. No missed calls or messages. “It’s not that I don’t want too...”
She kissed him again, more passionately this time. “...so what’s stopping you?”
“I just can’t tonight.” He took out a small card from his pocket, handed it to her. “Call me, I’d like to see you again.”
She put the card in her jeans and walked away. “Don’t say I didn’t try.”
He looked heavenwards and cursed the Inspector.
***
Someone was following him.
It wasn’t long since he’d left the pizzeria. At first he thought about just ignoring them and heading home, but that was a stupid idea as was stopping and tackling them head-on.
He took the river route, up to the Pont de la Tournelle, then down the stone steps as quickly as possible. Waited there in the darkness.
Whoever it was appeared only moments later but didn’t come as far as he, and because of the poor light he couldn’t make out who it was.
He could hear voices. He thought maybe there were two of them but then fathomed that whoever it was, was on the phone.
Doret took out his gun.
A muffled voice. Couldn’t be certain if it was a man or a woman.
“Who knows? He managed to give me the slip...no, I don’t think he knows too much, just a collection of loose ends....okay, until tomorrow...the Chapel? Yes, I know...I can’t wait to see Him...will He be there...I’m blessed.”
And there, the words trailed off on the wind.
Doret’s heart was racing. At the mention of the Chapel, he’d taken a step forward but in doing so he kicked over a glass bottle, which, like him, must have been hiding. He cursed under his breath.
He waited a couple of seconds, half expecting whoever it was to come down the steps and find him, but no...nothing. His fingers tightened on the trigger.
Doret counted to five and headed back up the steps.
There on the street, he readied himself for a fight but he was alone. Suddenly, he felt so cold.
It was swiftly becoming a balmy night, a mist was forming on the surface of the water.
He pulled up his coat collar, took out his phone, just in case. Still nothing from the Inspector. He thought about calling him, but fuck that, he’d catch up with him in the morning. He put his gun away.
Who had been following him? The only obvious conclusion: the nurse. Surely it wasn’t co-incidence that she’d been in the bar? But was it just his imagination playing havoc with his thought processes? Her questioning wasn’t exactly aggressive, maybe she was telling the truth: a drink after a rough day?
As he walked along the embankment he noticed a taxi-cab waiting by the side of the road. He signalled for the driver to wind down the window, Doret gave his address. The driver seemed reluctant but once Doret waved some large Euro notes in his face he nodded and unlocked the door. Doret climbed in, the car did a sharp u-turn and pulled away.
If Doret had looked in the rear-view mirror he would have seen a large dark shadow creep over the statue of Saint Genevieve, the patron saint of Paris, something that had not gone unnoticed by the driver...
***
Another night, another nightmare. Something in his sub-conscious had him spooked but he wasn’t entirely sure what. He hit out at the alarm but it failed to stop the incessant ringing.
He opened one eye. Sunlight was streaming through the drapes he’d obviously forgotten to close. Pain hit him right between the eyes.
It took him a couple of moments to come round and realise that it wasn’t his alarm but his cell-phone. He found it at the end of the bed, flipped it open.
“Yeah?” He mumbled.
“Good morning to you too.” Delacroix.
Damn. He sat up. Tried to get the sleep out of his eyes. “Sorry, morning.”
“Late night was it? No, save me the details. There have been developments.”
Doret was awake now. “Developments?”
“Les Bosquets. Half an hour.” The Inspector launched into a coughing fit.
“Jesus...” Doret grabbed his watch from the bedside locker. “Tell you what, make it forty.” He went to say something else but Delacroix cut him off. “Don’t be late. I’ve been here most of the night.”
The line went dead.
Doret stared at the blank display on his phone before eventually snapping it shut and throwing it down on the bed. “Fuck.” He groaned, headed into the bathroom.
He took one look at himself in the mirror.
“You look like shit, kid.” He ran the shower, took a deep breath and got underneath it.
It took all his might to stifle his scream. It was fucking freezing.
***
Les Bosquets, Montfermiel, Eastern Paris
“We said forty minutes.” Delacroix sounded pissed off.
“I got here as quickly as I could. Is that mine?” He motioned to one of the two polystyrene cups in the Inspector’s hands.
“Probably cold by now.”
Doret took a sip. No sugar. No milk. But he didn’t dare complain, the boss was obviously irritated.
“You said there had been some developments?”
Delacroix nodded. “That’s why we’re here. The priest...he’s dead.”
Doret almost spat out the contents of his cup. “I can’t say that I’m surprised. But why are we here...shouldn’t we be at the hospital?”
“He didn’t die at the hospital.”
“Fuck.” Doret felt uneasy. The residents of Les Bosquets didn’t like the police, not one little bit. He knew they were watching from their windows. Waiting for their opportunity to pounce.
“God knows how he did it, but he managed to get to the Pont de la Tournelle, about eleven o’clock.”
This time Doret did spill his drink. “I’m missing something. If he was killed at the bridge why are we here?”
“Someone was helping him, after they killed him, they drove him here. It seems he was bundled in the back of a taxi, taken first to the bridge and then here. Some smart arse traffic cop picked the cab up on the cctv and tracked it around the city.”
Doret finished his drink. “I’m still not getting it.”
It was Delacroix’s turn to shrug. “The priest knew more than he was telling us obviously.” He paused. “Now, stick something over your face. Take a couple of deep breaths, you’re not going to like what you’re about to see.”
***
Even with their noses covered, the stench was overwhelming. Doret’s eyes were streaming. Out in the hallway, someone had vomited. Probably one of the younger officers.
They ignored the two policemen at the door and entered the apartment. They didn’t need to go far to see the full extent of the horror.
The priest was dead, no doubting that. His remains were spread all over the floor, the ceiling and walls, as if a grenade had been stuck in his belly and when it had exploded, it had scattered him this way and that.
Except for his head.
That sat atop a silver crucifix, planted in the middle of the room. Ripped, bloodied, pages from the Bible surrounded it. As were the entrails of several animals. Their carcasses nailed to
the far wall like macabre trophies.
What was left of his face had been completely stripped of its remaining features.
Delacroix pointed. Also on the wall, amongst the photographs of the boy in the hospital (of which there were many), the word Xezbeth had been painted in what was probably the priest’s blood. He grabbed Doret’s arm and motioned that it was time to leave.
There in the corridor, both of them fought to breathe.
“Let’s talk to the boy. He is the key to this.” Delacroix stated.
Who was Doret to argue?
***
Delacroix sat by the side of the bed, Doret by the door. The boy had come round. Groggy. Apparently, it had been very much touch and go during the night, but for now, he lived.
“The priest is dead.” Delacroix launched into his interrogation.
The boy displayed no emotion. “Good.” He whispered. He turned to Doret. “Have we met before?” He asked.
Doret shook his head. “I would have remembered.”
The boy turned away.
For what seemed an eternity, no-one said anything until Delacroix coughed into his hand. “What do you remember? How did you end up in the church? Can you explain the crucifixion?”
The boy stared up at the ceiling. “Perhaps I was drugged, perhaps I was having a vision. I don’t know. I can only remember fragments and those aren’t clear...do you think it’s important?”
“There must be something.” Doret said, seemingly distracted. “Did you know the priest?”
“I don’t believe I did.”
“But you said ‘good’ when he said that he was dead.”
The boy turned to face him. “Did I?”
“Stop playing games!” Doret exploded.
“He was killed on a bridge.” Delacroix attempted to calm the situation.
“I seem to remember the flames...he might have died happy if he’d died in the church.”
“There were photos of you in his apartment. It seemed he had some kind of...”
The Demonologia Biblica Page 35
