“Dr. Fursac needs to know if Anya’s had any recurring problems with tachycardia,” Caroline said.
“He’d have told us,” Nico said.
“Not without her consent, honey. Even if he’s part of the family, he’s still bound by confidentiality.”
“Shall we go in?” Dr. Fursac asked.
They walked down the long, narrow hallway, brushing past white walls covered with posters of landscapes. Were these images of mountains and lakes supposed to relieve visitors’ stress? If so, Nico thought, they weren’t doing the trick. Dr. Fursac took them through the double doors to the nurses’ station and the patient rooms surrounding it.
“You’ll have to wash your hands and wear a gown over your clothes.”
“The intensive coronary-care unit is amazing,” Caroline said, quickly putting on the gown. “A unit like this saves lives every day. It has the most advanced medical technology in the world. We should be thankful that Anya made it here.”
As if they were floating on air, the medical staff moved from patient to patient, checking the machines, taking measurements, and repositioning IV bags and tubes. Despite Caroline’s reassuring presence, Nico was having a hard time controlling his distress. He felt like he was sinking into cold quicksand.
They found Anya’s bed. She was barely recognizable. A central venous catheter was connected to her neck. Lines running from monitoring machines to pads attached to her chest recorded her rhythms in incomprehensible spikes and curves. She was immobile and looked almost dead. Only her rib cage moved with any regularity, pushed up and down by the ventilator. Its whooshing accompanied the beeps of the machines. Nico bit his lip.
“You can say something to her,” Caroline said tenderly.
He paused to collect his thoughts. Then he whispered:
“In bleak despair and isolation
My days stretched on in quiet strife:
No awe of God, no inspiration,
No love, no tears, no sense of life.
And now once more I’ve seen that vision:
My soul awoke; I saw your face,
A fleeting moment’s apparition
Of perfect beauty and of grace.
My spirit soars in exaltation,
And once again there reappears
The awe of God...and inspiration...
The sense of life...and love...and tears.”
His mother had recited these lines by Pushkin so many times, he knew them by heart.
“Hang in there, Maman,” Nico said.
He stroked her forehead the same way she had stroked his when he was a child.
“Ya tebya liubliu,” he said.
They left the room and went back down the hall. In the lobby, they saw a man in a suit and black bow tie. He was nervously fidgeting with the edge of his jacket.
“You’re Nataliya’s son!” the man said as soon as he spotted Nico.
Nataliya? Nico looked at the man, uncomprehending.
“Sorry, that’s Anya. I call her Nataliya. You know, after Gilbert Bécaud’s song ‘Nathalie,’ because its mention of the Pushkin Café on the Red Square turning white under the snow—”
Nico just stared at him for a moment, then said, “You must be Roger. She’s still alive, and it’s thanks to you.”
“I am so relieved that we could get her here quickly. I know you’re very busy, but how is she?”
“We’ll have to wait and see. I’m happy to keep you updated.”
“Would you please? I’d really appreciate it.”
“Nico!” He turned at the sound of his sister’s voice. Tanya and Alexis were running toward him. She held out her arms. She was shaking. Her blue eyes were welling with tears, and her long blonde hair was a mess.
“She’s alive, Tanya. Mama’s alive.”
Nico gave his brother-in-law a cold stare.
“She wouldn’t let me break doctor-patient confidentiality,” Alexis said. “She didn’t want to worry any of you. You know how stubborn she can be. We got here as quickly as we could.”
“We understand, Alex,” Caroline said quickly.
Alexis and Caroline had gone to medical school together, and it was because of Alexis and Tanya that he had met Caroline.
“Tell us,” Nico insisted.
“Anya came to see me shortly after we got back from our trip. She was having chest pains. I ordered several tests, including electrocardiography and an ultrasound. They came back fine. All the same, I wanted her to go to the hospital and get one of those portable machines that measures cardiac activity over a twenty-four-hour span. A Holter. Anya agreed to do it, but she canceled her appointment twice. I was so furious, I threatened to quit as her doctor so I could tell you. She finally agreed and was set to go to the hospital next week.”
Alexis hung his head. Caroline put her hand on his shoulder.
“I’m scared,” Tanya said. She sounded exhausted.
“I’m sorry,” Nico said to Alexis. “You did nothing wrong.”
“Have you told Lana and Bogdan yet?” Caroline asked.
“Not yet,” said Tanya. Alexis and Tanya’s children were still at school. “I just left a message for them on the kitchen counter. We’ll tell them when we get home.”
“I’ll have to break the news to Dimitri tonight too,” Nico said. “He calls his grandmother about everything. Caroline and Alexis, could you keep track of Mom’s condition? You’re the experts.” Both doctors nodded.
“Visitors are only allowed in the evenings,” Caroline said.
“I’ll come tomorrow at six o’clock,” Nico said.
“I’ll come with you,” Tanya said.
“Of course. Call me later.”
Once he was back outside, Nico looked at his phone. There were several text messages from colleagues who said they were keeping Anya in their thoughts and prayers.
“Dimitri might be home by now,” he said.
“I’ve already told him that we’ll be late,” Caroline said.
“I’m so glad we’re all under the same roof these days. Have I thanked you today for moving in with us?”
“No, I don’t think so, sweetie. But I forgive you. You thanked me yesterday. While I’m thinking of it, don’t forget to call Jacqueline and André.”
Ties with his former in-laws had been strained during the time Dimitri’s mother, Sylvie, struggled with depression and prescription-drug dependence. But Nico had managed to mend fences with Jacqueline and Andre, and they had begun seeing Dimitri again. Sylvie, who had gone into rehab, was doing better now. She was splitting her time between Paris and Royan, where her aunt lived and where she sometimes saw Dimitri. He was dragging his feet, though, and seemed to be closer to Caroline than Sylvie. In the throes of her depression, Sylvie had neglected her son, and Dimitri had suffered for it.
“Jacqueline and Andre care about Anya,” Caroline said. “And they know how much Dimitri loves his grandmother.”
“Of course.”
Nico opened the car door for Caroline. He walked around and got in on his side. Driving away from the hospital seemed like abandoning his mother, and he felt unease in his gut. He put his hand on Caroline’s thigh, and she put her hand over his. Her touch reassured him.
Just as he was beginning to breathe normally again, the hands-free phone in the car rang.
“Nico?” It was Claire Le Marec calling for news.
He took a deep breath. “She’s alive, but it’s too soon to tell. Fill me in on the case.”
9
At night, the Parc de la Villette was a study in contrasts. Beams of vivid lights pierced the darkness, both drawing people in and pushing them away. Mathieu was sitting on a granite cube in the middle of the Leitner Cylinder, a sound tunnel about thirty feet wide. Water flowed in ribbons along its sides, which reverberated with electroacoustic music. The whole effect exacerbated the young man’s unease and sense of isolation; there was nowhere to look but up. Mathieu shivered. He was starting to get creeped out.
He felt
a hand on his neck. Someone was slowly kneading the muscles. Mathieu steeled himself. A man leaned over his face and shoved his tongue inside his mouth. Get it off right here in the Leitner Cylinder? Why not? Mathieu forced himself to control his desire. Why hurry? His companion pulled him up. He ground against his back and buttocks while licking his neck. Hot and incredibly sexy. The guy yanked his collar, uncovering his shoulder before nipping it with pleasure. He knew how to take charge. He slipped his hand under his jeans and massaged Mathieu’s penis. Now Mathieu couldn’t hold back.
“You little slut,” the man breathed in his ear. Mathieu’s blood turned cold. Being teased was one thing. Getting insulted by a stranger was another. He loved the thrill, but he wasn’t into kinky.
“You thought we’d fuck and that would be it?” The man sounded angry.
The man squeezed Mathieu’s penis—hard—and sank his teeth into his shoulder. Mathieu cried out in pain.
“Let me go!” he shouted.
The Leitner Cylinder felt like a prison now. He had to escape. But the aggressor’s arm was wrapped around him, keeping him from moving. Mathieu felt something sharp plunge deep into his abdomen. A searing pain gripped him. The bluish lights in the cylinder began to dance. Then the fountains quieted, and their murmurings faded away. The electronic sounds were now a baleful song. He collapsed.
The last thing he saw was a man who looked sullen and disgusted. He was holding a knife.
“Mama,” Mathieu moaned.
Icy darkness fell.
10
Guitar chords. The rhythmic beat of a drum. Nico sat up, startled. He had collapsed in exhaustion. His phone—Bichat Hospital! He thought of his mother’s heart, and his own began beating faster. Freddie Mercury’s voice resounded in the quiet room. “Another one bites the dust… Another one bites the dust.” He felt a hand on his back.
“It’s the ringtone for La Crim’,” Caroline said. Usually, that wasn’t comforting, especially at three in the morning. But in this case, a bloody crime was better than bad news about Anya. “How do you think I’m going to get along,” Freddie sang, as if he could read Nico’s thoughts. He picked up his phone and answered, putting an end to Freddie’s vocals.
“Nico? It’s Claire. I know it’s not the best time.”
Caroline curled against him and wrapped her arms around his belly. She kissed his neck. Nico shivered.
“It’s no problem,” he said.
Her breasts against his back. The stirrings of an erection.
“You would have been furious if we hadn’t told you right away,” Claire said uneasily.
Caroline caressed his torso slowly, then slipped her hand under the sheet and found his penis. Nico clenched his teeth.
“I’m listening, Claire. What is it?”
“There was an attack in the Parc de la Villette. I wanted you to get the news from us before reading about it in the morning paper.”
The investigators were required to alert the police chief or his deputy about any crime that seemed unusual. Nico guessed that Commander Charlotte Maurin had decided to call Claire Le Marec. It could have stopped there. Except it had happened in the Parc de la Villette, where they were already investigating a suspicious death, albeit an old one.
“The security people found a body in the bamboo garden. Around two in the morning.”
“What stage are you at?”
“We’ve started searching the area. The body hasn’t been taken away. I thought you might want to see it yourself.”
“I’ll be there. Give me twenty minutes.”
“We’ll wait for you here. I’ll send someone to the Pavillon Janvier to pick you up and drive you to the garden.”
They ended the call. Nico turned over and stretched out alongside Caroline. He kissed her passionately as she wrapped her leg around him and grabbed his hair. He knew this gesture well, and it redoubled his excitement.
“Come,” she whispered.
He licked her hard nipples and ran his hand over her thigh. Caroline arched, urging him even closer. He thrust himself into her, and at the moment of penetration, his spirit left the real world. His life was nothing more than this woman he held in his arms.
They clung to each other, their muscles taut and their breathing quick. He heard her moan against his cheek, and they peaked at the same time. Their tension finally released, they held on for another minute, drawing out their caresses.
“Get up, lazy boy,” Caroline sighed. She was used to emergencies and early-morning calls. She had them in her own line of work too.
Nico took a quick shower and threw on jeans and a pullover before giving her one last kiss.
“What if I crawled back in bed just for a minute or two?” he asked.
She smiled indolently.
“Duty calls, Chief.”
Nico grabbed his keys and went to the underground garage. Montparnasse Tower loomed, a faithful sentry.
Deep in the Parc de la Villette, Nico and Claire Le Marec stood over a depression nearly twenty feet deep. Within it was a tropical forest. Beams of light swung over the terrain. The police officers summoned to the site looked like an expedition group ready to trek through the dense forests of the Amazon in hopes of finding an isolated tribe. But this wasn’t an expedition. It was a murder investigation. And clues were what they were seeking.
“This is the bamboo garden,” Claire Le Marec said. “Shall we go down?”
They descended a staircase to a Zen universe, where the ground was covered with pebbles arranged in black and white stripes. They hugged the vine- and root-filled walls to reach the team under Charlotte Maurin’s command. Nico nodded to his officers.
“It’s a whole microclimate here,” Le Marec said. “The walls absorb and release heat. Runoff is recovered from the lawns and brought to the garden. Jean-Marie and Charlotte are waiting for us in the sonar cylinder. It’s art by Bernhard Leitner, something about integrating the concepts of space and sound in a natural setting.”
“You’ve done your research,” Nico said.
Two narrow paths led to the concrete cylinder. Despite the acclaimed artist’s goal of creating a life-affirming space within the bamboo garden, it had served as a perfect predator’s trap on this night. The victim was still swimming in his own blood.
“Have you started examining the body?” Nico asked.
Three factors had to be considered: the location, the victim’s clothes, and the condition of the corpse.
“Yes,” said Commander Maurin. She was one of the most organized members of Nico’s team. “The victim died from a knife wound to his torso. We haven’t found the weapon. His name was Mathieu Leroy. He was twenty-three years old. He was studying to be a math teacher. He had a student ID his wallet. And a condom.”
Nico crouched by the body. Mathieu was rather handsome and well-dressed. Nico guessed he had planned to go out and have a good time. But he had come across a monster—maybe more than one. Had a chance encounter gone wrong? Or was it an evening with friends that turned sour? The result was the same either way: he’d been stabbed to death. But there was something else.
“His shoulder’s a mess,” Deputy Chief Jean-Marie Rost said.
“It’s actually been cut up,” Claire Le Marec added. “Some of it’s completely missing.”
His jacket and shirt had been torn away from the neck, and a chunk of muscle and skin had been cut out.
“He pissed his pants,” Rost said. “Scared stiff, apparently.”
“Any clues?”
“Hair,” Le Marec said. “Mathieu probably pulled his aggressor’s hair, so it should be in at least one of his hands.”
Mathieu had struggled, but the murderer hadn’t given him much of a chance. A single thrust into the abdomen. The wound was still fresh. There hadn’t been any hesitation.
“Why would he take a piece of the shoulder?” Le Marec asked.
“Cannibalism?” Rost offered. “Maybe a snack for breakfast.”
“You’re too much,�
�� Maurin said.
Her colleague gave her a dark smile.
“Why not?” Nico said. “There’s no limit to depravity. Have you been in touch with the medical examiner’s office?”
“We have,” Maurin replied.
Nico stood up and scanned the interior of the cylinder.
“The water usually flows down the walls, and there’s electronic music,” Maurin explained. “The park officials turned them off when they found the body.”
Nico nodded.
“The park’s going to be the talk of the town,” he said. “A buried skeleton and now this murder. We’ll have to get the area cordoned off. Kriven can help. We’ll make the arrangements in the morning.”
Nico looked back at Mathieu Leroy. Why had Mathieu been in this isolated place in the middle of the night? Had he come with someone? Maurin’s group would have to go through the victim’s life, interview his family and friends, and put together a timeline of the hours leading up to his visit to the park.
Telling his family would be the worst part.
11
Holding two coffees, David Kriven made his way up the stairs and through the obstacle course of the top-floor halls. The floor creaked underfoot. Kriven felt like he was walking through an old, decaying hotel. He glanced at his mugs to make sure the steaming liquid hadn’t spilled.
Finally, he reached the criminal psychologist’s office. The door was half open. Before he could open it all the way, he spotted a spider hanging by its thread from the ceiling. A spider in the morning: a sure sign of impending sorrow, his grandmother had once told him. She had died at a fairly young age. Apparently the janitors weren’t superstitious, because they hadn’t cleaned this particular corner.
“Dominique?” he asked. “It’s David.”
“Come in!”
He opened the door with his foot and set the mugs on the desk. The room was so small, squeezing in more than two people would have been quite a feat. A narrow window with bars added to the cell-like feel. Not the most pleasant place to work. Only the poster for Men in Black II lent any cheer to the room.
“You should update your poster,” Kriven said.
The City of Blood Page 6
