‘Do what you like, Francis, but don’t touch the computer, it’s mine.’
He had to get out of this situation so that we could resume our conversation. It was time for him to know that I wasn’t necessarily against him, that I wasn’t trying to judge him, but simply to understand why he had killed. Christian and Jacky were baffled and were on their guard.
Heaulme suddenly leaped up and violently overturned his chair. My colleagues immediately restrained him. He didn’t touch the computer. I had what I wanted. In asking for my permission before acting, he had just revealed a chink: he needed someone. My attitude also suggested the possibility of a closer relationship.
Christian asked him to sit down again and threatened to handcuff him. Heaulme slowly obeyed. He was extremely tense. As he lowered himself into the chair, he shot me a grateful look. He had just let me know that he trusted me. I was beginning to read him. At his recent interviews, he had placed me in the position of powerless witness to his violence, akin to that of ‘The Gaul’ on the beach. Now at last I was going to be able to change that role.
After Heaulme’s outburst, Jacky decided to suspend the interview. On the way back, I could sense that my colleagues had doubts about me.
‘I imagine you didn’t like me telling Francis Heaulme to do as he pleased?’
Before I could say any more, Christian interrupted. ‘No we didn’t. Supposing he’d picked up the chair and smashed the computer.’
Then I told them what I thought had really been going on during that scene. I insisted on the fact that it revealed a weakness in Heaulme. Eventually, they agreed with my analysis.
The next day, we all went back to our own units. In the light of these recent developments, Colonel F contacted the police investigation bureau at the gendarmerie HQ. There was a strong likelihood that a joint unit would be set up.
The cases were still a long way from being resolved, and Francis Heaulme had now been incarcerated for nearly a year.
Two months later, on 7 December 1992, my colleagues from Reims were back in Brest. We were ready for them. Over the last few days, we had exchanged several telephone calls. They had drawn up their list of questions. We met at the prison. I found the little room very useful. Not changing rooms has its advantages. People aren’t distracted trying to acquaint themselves with new surroundings, they already have their bearings and are better able to concentrate from the start.
Once again, we were there not to accuse Francis Heaulme, but to request information from him. Until now, that was the only method that had ever worked.
When Francis Heaulme entered the room, we were ready. He looked at me and I knew at once that this time he would not be playing games. He sat down. André and Claude asked their questions, to which he replied in minute detail, intricately describing elements that were sometimes of little importance. He still had a pensive air. He was probably thinking of another incident. Three hours went by, less fraught than usual.
Francis Heaulme concluded his interview with a rapid gesture. He hastily signed the pages, as if to rid himself of a problem. While André and Claude gathered up their documents, I walked out into the corridor with Francis.
‘Is something the matter today, Francis?’
‘I’m waiting for the ones from Bordeaux,’ he replied.
His tone was ironic, and I could detect his impatience. I was certain that he had already prepared his story, gone over and over each morbid detail as he brooded in his cell. Shut away from the world, he could no longer destroy others now, but he had found compensation in something that seemed to give him enormous pleasure, which was sending investigators chasing around on the trail of his crimes. Was this a means, typical of Heaulme, of continuing to torment his victims?
André and Claude were satisfied, they had their suspect. They had found the session easier and Francis Heaulme less intimidating than anticipated. This was true, and there was every indication that he had lost interest in the Reims case. Everything had been said on the subject and so he could no longer derive any pleasure from it. For him, there was no more challenge. He had moved on to something else. To another murder.
Meanwhile, in Périgueux, Jacky and Christian had done a colossal amount of work and had identified one by one the Turk, the German, the North African, the blonde woman and two other witnesses. So it was all true. The itinerary Francis Heaulme had outlined had led them to an attic room. It was time for another interview.
‘We’ve questioned the bearded fellow Heaulme mentioned,’ Jacky announced on arrival. ‘He confirms that he met him in Périgueux.’
This time, it was clear that our suspect had not always acted alone. We were going to have to widen our field of investigation.
The next day, back at the prison, Francis seemed eager to see us.
‘I thought you were coming earlier,’ he said, loping into the room.
Then he inquired after my colleagues’ health, expressing con cern that they might be tired after such a long journey. This thoughtfulness was most unusual for him. We remained on our guard. He sat down and Jacky began the interview.
‘We have a lot of questions to ask you. When you arrived in Périgueux, which establishments did you contact?’
Francis replied willingly, but his answer soon took a chilling turn.
‘Actually, when I arrived at the hostel, the fellow with the beard asked me what I was doing that evening. As I had no plans, he invited me to go with him to the park, next to the hostel. There, we waited for some other people. The fellow with the beard had brought some wine. The Arab, the woman and the Turks joined us. We sat down near the statues. The one in photo number three joined us about an hour later. He was drunk and aggressive. He tried to provoke me by asking what I was doing there. Not long after that, he called over to a young man who was crossing the park on his own. He was carrying a travel bag. He seemed to know him. He grabbed his collar and demanded his money. The young man didn’t want to hand over his money and the other fellow head-butted him.’
I stopped him:
‘The “other” fellow?’
He smiled and picked up again immediately, his eyes riveted on Jacky, as if to convince him.
‘That’s when I stepped in. I separated them. I told him to leave the kid alone. The young man, definitely a soldier, fell on the ground. The other fellow kicked him. He was unconscious. The Turk and the Arab took the soldier’s clothes off. We just stood and watched. They picked him up and carried him out of the park.’
Christian couldn’t help darting me a look. Francis Heaulme continued to put forward his version of events, as always without a trace of emotion. His description of the gym where the young man’s body was found was extremely accurate. I watched him. He wasn’t merely recounting the scene, he was back on the basketball court again, reliving it.
‘They put him on a big mat. I was hidden in a corner of the room … His hands were tied behind his back. It was the Arab who took the fire extinguisher off the wall and passed it to number three … There was blood all over the floor …’
It was gruelling, as it always is when a murderer confesses. But this time, we had to remain composed and continue to act normally as if what we were hearing was perfectly natural. It was important not to snap the tenuous thread that connected him to us.
Jacky brought the session to a close. It had lasted five hours.
Francis Heaulme went back to his cell wearier than usual. For him too, these sessions were draining. It is exhausting trying to be constantly in control. This time, he looked wiped out, as if he had come back from a very long journey.
Christian shared his first impressions.
‘The mat, the hands tied behind the back, the fire extinguisher, it was all there, but it’s a hell of a muddle. I still don’t know which of them were really in the gym. We’ve got a lot more work to do …’
Périgueux, Reims, Avignon and Brest: four charges already. For a long time I had thought that the Moulin Blanc murder was the work of a lone killer.
In a way, I wasn’t completely wrong. Heaulme had nearly always lived alone and rejected by everybody. These latest cases pointed to new possibilities. Heaulme did not have a particular type of victim. They could be young or old, tall or short, fair or dark. They could be men or women – but always people who were vulnerable. The scenarios he dreamed up and ended by acting out were fluid. Another aspect of his psychology was emerging. He liked to surround himself with an audience when the opportunity arose. Minor roles, like ‘The Gaul’, which Francis Heaulme set up like pawns and made reluctant witnesses, but who could very well become actors in the crime if he so decided.
As it happened, in the Bordeaux case, Francis Heaulme’s accomplice, charged at the same time as him, was called Didier G. Another vagrant whose name was to become tragically famous. He was found guilty of another murder: that of a seven-year-old girl, killed on the banks of the river running through the village of La Motte-du-Caire. It is awful to think that fate brought together these two men driven by the same killer urges. I feared that there were more of Francis Heaulme’s accomplices at large, but how many? Could they too be serial killers?
9
The trail continues
Colonel F, walking ahead of me, pushed open the glass door of the forensic research centre of Rosny-sous-Bois HQ. He went over to reception and introduced himself and me to the officer on duty. Today, after several months’ wait, we had an appointment with several members of the senior command of the gendarmerie.
We crossed a spacious lobby and descended the staircase leading to the basement rooms. On the way, I met a number of acquaintances. The building is a real meeting place, where investigators from all over France bump into each other in the pursuit of their inquiries. There are fewer than 400 of us and eventually we all come to know each other.
We entered a long, narrow room, with no windows or heating. It was February 1993, and a little warmth would have been welcome. Six people were already seated at tables in a board room arrangement, facing each other. An officer from the senior command, the commander of the technical department and his divisional heads introduced themselves in turn. We sat down and took out our notebooks. The senior officer spoke first.
‘As you know, we are here to set up a joint unit to investigate the criminal activities of Francis Heaulme. The criminal investigation units of Rennes, Bordeaux and Reims have alerted us to the need to open fresh investigations, as this man may have committed other murders. That is why I have brought you together. You represent all the gendarmerie’s investigation units.’
He turned to me and asked, ‘Abgrall, you who have a particular relationship with this man, how would you set up the investigation?’
I hadn’t expected to be put on the spot like that. I had thought there would be several proposals, but it seemed it was up to me to suggest the way forward. I mustered my thoughts and went ahead.
‘Francis Heaulme has been on the road since 1984. He is currently suspected of four murders between 1986 and 1989, all in different towns. Consequently, we need to find out where he stayed and what happened in those places.’
‘Is it possible?’ the officer asked the commander of the technical department.
‘Probably,’ he replied.
‘You just need to draft a new notice about this man and circulate it to all units,’ added a divisional head, ‘specifically requesting the dates and towns where he was stopped for an ID check.’
But we all knew that these requests were sometimes shelved even before the whole department had seen them. I jumped at the opportunity.
‘It is essential, without going any further, to centralise the replies, even the negative ones, so as to be certain that inquiries have been conducted in every town.’
By lunchtime, everything seemed settled. With Colonel F’s authorisation, I was to be sent on secondment to Paris, to the national gendarmerie headquarters. A joint unit was set up to coordinate activities at national level and liaise between the investigators.
I was officially in charge of this unit. A message was sent out to all the gendarmeries up and down the country and a liaison officer was appointed in each criminal investigation unit. If need be, this officer would assist me. At Rosny-sous-Bois, a data-processing expert would provide me with support, especially in identifying cases likely to be relevant.
These were considerable measures. This time, the senior command was providing serious resources. Given the numerous trips I was going to have to make, I was even given a car-hire budget and in exceptional circumstances I was permitted to fly, which was unheard of.
After a brief lunch, we set off back to Rennes. There was heavy traffic on the Paris ring road. Taking advantage of the opportunity to talk, Colonel F turned to me and said, ‘Things are moving forward, Abgrall, you’re going to be able to get on with the job now. You know, I’ve never seen a position like yours within the gendarmerie. The decisions taken today were unprecedented. It’s an opportunity, I’m sure, but there are also risks attached to the job. There are no free radicals in the gendarmerie, just remember that.’
He was right, and on reflection I felt this warning was probably useful. The other designated personnel remained attached to their units, except me. I was, in a way, suspended in the void. If I ran into difficulties, there was no guarantee that this freedom that I was enjoying wouldn’t turn to my disadvantage. But there was no question of doing a U-turn.
‘Thank you. I’ll try to bear that in mind.’
A week later, I was back in the belly of the fort of Rosny-sous-Bois, attending a meeting with the head of the Assault and Battery division. He showed me into a tiny room near his department.
‘You’ll be able to work in peace here. Don’t worry about the photocopier, it doesn’t work, so nobody has any reason to come here.’
The fort suffered from a dire shortage of space, so being allocated a room the size of a large cupboard was considered fortunate. The chief added, ‘Stay there if you like, I’ll go and get your new partner.’
I preferred to go with him. In a neighbouring office, he introduced Christophe, a slim man aged around thirty with a discreet air. He had been at the meeting with the senior command, and knew what it was all about.
While the introductions were being made over coffee, I quickly realised that he was thrilled to be involved in this investigation.
‘You know, here it’s always the same old routine. A question from one unit, a search, a reply and you start all over again. In your case, there are cross-references to be made, and I’m going to centralise everything. It’s a different ball game.’
I was in luck. This man was methodical and sharp to boot. He had given some thought to the question of computer cross-referencing the cases and had come up with some solutions.
We soon set to work. His office was barely big enough for two people, but we made do as best we could.
As I listed the points I wanted to include on the identification sheet, we talked about Francis Heaulme’s personality. Christophe took notes, identified key dates and asked me questions.
By 4 p.m., we had finished. The identification sheet read as follows:
Francis Heaulme has probably committed a number of murders all over the country. Does not always use the same method (bludgeoning to death, using a weapon – a rock or knife, strangulation with external injuries). Does not appear to use a firearm. Chooses his victims at random and leaves them naked or partially naked. Has probably committed double murders. Gets himself sent to hospital.
Information is required on evidence of his passage (hotels, hostels, particularly Emmaüs communities, police reports, police station log books and psychiatric hospital records …), unsolved murders, missing persons and discoveries of bodies, applications to various public services, social welfare offices, town halls, fire services (transport), hostels, hospitals … The period we are interested in is from 1 January 1984 to 8 January 1992. Information to be sent to the technical department at Rosny-sous-Bois with the code name ‘Heaulme Francis
’. These checks must be completed by the end of April 1993.
We included six photos of the murderer. They had been taken between 1989 and 1992. Heaulme’s expression changed dramatically from one year to the next. The one from 1989, for example, with its grimacing, tormented look, was particularly disturbing. On the other hand, in the most recent one, dated 1992, Francis, with short, neatly combed hair, looked calm. Potential witnesses who had met him during this period would have seen one of these two faces.
Christophe then programmed the central computer. In a few seconds, our request for information had been sent out to some fifty regional gendarmeries and police stations.
Throughout the period in question, Heaulme had been continually on the move. There was a strong likelihood that he had left numerous traces. We didn’t expect to have to wait long for the replies to start coming in.
The second phase of our computer search was less certain. It was a matter of identifying all the unsolved murders carried out in similar fashion to those we had already recorded. We would then be able to classify them in order of priority, and attempt to link them.
I said to Christophe, ‘Try over the last ten years, from 1981 to the end of 1991. Anything prior to that is invalid.’*
‘That far back?’ asked Christophe in surprise.
‘Yes, absolutely. The murders we know he committed show considerable expertise. He must have begun his career very early.’
Christophe set to work.
‘OK, but I have no idea how many this is likely to throw up.’
One by one, Christophe typed in the codes corresponding to the crime categories. Each offence, each crime had a letter and a number. After a few minutes of this tedious task, he pressed ‘Send’. All we had to do was wait. Five minutes went by. Suddenly, the phone rang. My partner picked it up. ‘Yes, yes, speaking … Yes, I’ve just sent it out … What? 1,125 cases! … OK, OK …’
Inside The Mind Of A Killer Page 12
