Crossing the Line

by Frédérique Molay

  The gate opened. The courtyard, surrounded on all sides by the condominium complex, was magnificent. A bronze statue of a cherub-like child with a cloth tied around his waist was in the middle of the space. He was holding a large vase above his head. It was filled with snow now, but Nico imagined that the vase overflowed with plants when the weather was warm. The ground-floor apartments had greenhouses. Nico looked up and counted five stories. The victim’s apartment was on the top floor. Several doors led to different wings in the complex.

  “There is a second entry from the street,” Le Marec said.

  They crossed the cobblestone courtyard and walked out on the other side, finding themselves at 5 Rue des Minimes. It was like some sort of magic trick. They went into the building and took the stairs to the apartment.

  Nico rang the doorbell.

  A woman who appeared to be about fifty years old greeted Kriven and Plassard at the counter. The badge on the lapel of her white coat read “Melanie, pharmacist.” When Kriven showed his badge, the woman’s eyes widened. She gulped and pursed her lips. Kriven asked to speak to her manager. A man in dark pants and a striped sweater came out from the back. Kriven guessed that he was in his thirties. He looked self-assured and even slightly pretentious.

  “Could we go someplace quiet to talk?” Kriven said. His tone was polite but firm. “It’s about Bruno Guedj.”

  The expression on the man’s face changed instantly. Kriven tried to read him. Was it surprise? Apprehension? Relief? It seemed to be a mix of emotions, and that got the detective’s attention. He looked at Plassard and saw that his partner was having the same reaction.

  “Let’s go into my office.”

  Mrs. Guedj was a pretty and curvaceous woman of forty-five with blond highlights in her hair. But her pale complexion and the deep purple circles under her eyes betrayed fatigue and stress. A young man who looked protective appeared behind her. Nico guessed he was the elder son.

  “Ma’am, I’m Chief of Police Nico Sirsky, head of the Criminal Investigation Division. This is Deputy Chief Claire Le Marec.”

  “Please come in. This is my son.”

  Nico held out his hand to the young man, who followed them into a comfortable and tastefully decorated living room. Nico noted that there was a balcony, an incredible luxury in Paris. A thin coat of snow covered the garden furniture and bushes along the railing.

  “As I understand it, you are questioning my husband’s suicide,” Mrs. Guedj said.

  “The doctors at the Paris Descartes University made a strange discovery,” Nico said.

  Stoic, Mrs. Guedj waited for the rest.

  “Your husband had a message hidden in one of his teeth, under a filling,” Le Marec said.

  There was another silence. Nico let Mrs. Guedj take in the information.

  “Do you know who could have helped him do that? Perhaps his regular dentist?” Nico asked.

  “Dr. Maxime Robert. His office is in on the Rue du Temple, next to the Church of Sainte Élisabeth,” Mrs. Guedj answered. The pitch of her voice had risen.

  “Did your husband have an appointment recently?”

  “At the end of October. He got that horrible filling. He said it was just temporary.”

  “Had he complained of a toothache?”

  Nico gave Mrs. Guedj time to think. “No, I don’t think so,” she said after a few moments. “I don’t remember anything. It’s odd, now that you mention it.”

  “I’m Denis Roy,” the pharmacy manager said. “We were all upset by Bruno’s death. It was so unexpected.”

  “Suicide is hard to predict,” Commander David Kriven said. “But there are often changes in behavior in the weeks or months beforehand. It doesn’t happen without a reason. Nobody here noticed anything?”

  Roy sighed and looked away.

  “Something is bothering you, isn’t it?” Kriven said.

  “I don’t really know. He had changed.”

  “Since when?”

  “September. He had become nervous. Actually, he looked tortured, nearly paranoid. He jumped every time the phone rang. He would look at people funny, especially if they weren’t regular customers. He seemed to be expecting—or afraid of—something.”

  “Like what?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “And you didn’t ask him?”

  “Yes, I tried. Melanie did too. He said it was something personal, nothing serious.”

  “Did you believe him?”

  Denis Roy shrugged.

  “He would get calls on his cell phone and either go talk in private or hang up. He’d be very distracted after every call. Something was definitely worrying him. And once, at the end of September, some weird guy showed up here.”

  “Had you seen the man before?” Kriven asked.

  “Absolutely not. Nobody here knew him.”

  “Could you help us do a composite image of him?”

  “Of course.”

  “What happened when this guy came in?”

  “Bruno took him into his office and locked the door. There was some shouting, and the man left.”

  “And then?”

  “Bruno clammed up. He looked afraid. He’d refuse to answer our questions about it.”

  “But you said your boss’s behavior had changed before that meeting.”

  “That’s right. It just got worse after the man came in.”

  “Which would explain why he bought a gun for the store,” Plassard said.

  “A gun? Certainly not. None of us here would own a firearm, despite the risks of the job. A pharmacy not far from here was robbed for uppers, but that didn’t change our position on having a gun at this pharmacy.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “If you’re talking about the gun he used to kill himself, it didn’t come from here.”

  “A Unique semiautomatic,” Plassard said. “Are you certain that you didn’t see it here at any time?”

  “I’m not familiar with guns, but if there was anything even resembling a gun in this store, I would have known about it.”

  “Didn’t Mr. Guedj have a safe?” Kriven asked.

  “Yes, Melanie and I have the combination. We keep the day’s earnings in it.”

  “Did you know that your boss was taking an antidepressant?” Plassard asked, pushing for information.

  “No, I didn’t.” The pharmacy manager looked at the floor. “I should have known. Is that what you’re trying to say?”

  His pretention-tainted self-assurance was cracking.

  “Not at all,” Plassard said. “Clearly, Bruno Guedj wanted to tell you as little as possible. We are trying to understand why.”

  “What was on it? On the message?” Bruno Guedj’s son asked, looking Nico in the eye.

  “It won’t be easy to hear.”

  “I want to know, and so does my mother.”

  “‘I was murdered.’ That’s what your father wrote.”

  “Are you sure it was him?” Mrs. Guedj asked.

  “A handwriting analysis confirmed it, and other tests are being done. Would you be able to provide us with anything that he wrote out by hand? That would help.”

  Mrs. Guedj stood up and left the room.

  “My father hadn’t really been himself lately. I couldn’t get him to tell me why. I should have insisted.”

  “You’re not to blame. Something happened, and he didn’t tell you anything about it. He must have had his reasons. Maybe he wanted to protect you. It’s our job to figure out what occurred.”

  Mrs. Guedj returned. “Our Christmas list. One evening at the beginning of September, we talked about buying presents for the holidays. You know how it is. Every year, we always start too late and end up shopping at the last minute. Then we swear that we’ll do it differently the next time. This year we intended to stick with our plan. That night, we shared a good bottle of wine and made out the list. Bruno took everything down.”

  Taking the list from her, Nico glanced at her son. He seemed to be barely
controlling his pain and anger.

  “Did your husband have store letterhead here?” Le Marec asked.

  “Yes, in his office.”

  “Can we have a sample, please?”

  “I can find it,” the young man said, getting out of his chair.

  “The day your husband died, you told the police that he wasn’t doing so well and was taking antidepressants,” Nico said.

  Mrs. Guedj was barely holding back her tears. “That’s right. I still don’t understand what could have happened. We had a good life, with our family and work. We were lucky. I loved my husband, and I believe he loved me. The children were doing well and brought us all the joy parents could dream of. I have no idea why Bruno suddenly became so sullen and distant. He refused to talk about it.”

  “You don’t have any idea at all?” Le Marec asked.

  “Believe me, I’ve wracked my brain, but I can’t find any logical explanation.”

  “Did he have a prescription for the antidepressants? Was he seeing a physician?”

  “No, he helped himself at the pharmacy.”

  Her son came back into the room and handed Le Marec the letterhead.

  “When did his behavior begin to change?” Nico asked.

  “In September.”

  “Not long after that evening when you talked about Christmas?”

  “Two or three weeks later.”

  “Do you remember the date you made the list?”

  “It was the weekend before our youngest went back to school, so it must have been on September 5.”

  “Which means something happened sometime between September 19 and September 26,” Nico said.

  “Yes, that’s it. Bruno had a few phone calls that annoyed him, but that’s all that I noticed.”

  “Who were they from?”

  “He said it was work, and I shouldn’t worry.”

  “What telephone did the calls come in on?”

  “His cell.”

  “Did you overhear anything he said?”

  “No, he locked himself in his office and then came out all agitated.”

  “You also told the police that you didn’t know he had a gun.”

  “Bruno hated firearms. He would never have had one in the house, if for no other reason than to keep the kids safe.”

  “Did you tell the police that?”

  “Yes, but still, it looked like a suicide. And Bruno left a letter asking us to forgive him. If he really wanted to end his life, it’s easy enough to get a gun on the streets.”

  “Who told you that it’s easy to buy a gun on the street?” Nico said.

  “The officers who were here. It’s frightening.”

  “Except that he wrote ‘I was murdered’ on a piece of plastic that he hid in his tooth!” her son shouted.

  “Did he tell you about his decision to donate his body to science?” Commander Kriven asked.

  “No, he didn’t,” Denis Roy said. “When we learned about it, we were all shocked—there was no funeral or anything. But Bruno loved his job and helping the sick. In the end, it’s understandable that he would want his body to be put to good use.”

  “What’s going to happen to the pharmacy?” Captain Plassard asked.

  “I wanted to go into business for myself. Bruno knew it and was encouraging me. I had already started looking for a pharmacy. Then he died, and since there is no successor, the possibility of buying this business has come up. I met with the staff, and I’d like to stay here.”

  Kriven held his gaze. Guedj’s suicide had come at just the right time for this manager.

  “I just wish it hadn’t happened this way,” Roy added, fidgeting.

  “Did Mr. Guedj make any provisions in the event of his death?” Kriven asked.

  “Bruno was always planning ahead. He had life insurance.”

  “Was it a good policy?”

  “Indeed. It was enough to provide for the heirs. The beneficiaries will get the money from the life insurance and the proceeds from the sale of the pharmacy.”

  Franck Plassard steered Roy to another topic. “He had paper supplies for the pharmacy, didn’t he?”

  “Yes, enough for day-to-day business.”

  “And sheets of plastic?”

  “Maybe. I mean no. Nobody uses it for anything.”

  “What about Mr. Guedj’s office?”

  “We haven’t touched anything in there. It’s still too hard.”

  “Can we take a look?”

  “Of course, it’s right over here.”

  “Could the message have been some practical joke your father was playing?” Nico suggested.

  “That’s impossible,” the young man cried out. “He would never do anything so childish. It’s too…too hurtful. He wasn’t like that. He would never have wanted us to suffer.”

  “What he says is true,” Mrs. Guedj said. “Bruno would never have pulled that kind of stunt.”

  “On the day he died, you let Dr. Owen know that your husband had given his body to science,” Nico said.

  “Bruno made me promise. I wasn’t keen on the idea, but I didn’t have the strength to oppose him.”

  “You didn’t agree with his decision?”

  “It was so sudden. We never even talked about it at length. He just told me what I needed to do. He usually didn’t handle things that way. Let’s just say I felt backed against a wall.”

  “When did he tell you about his decision?”

  “At the end of October. He gave me the papers and showed me where he kept his donor card.”

  “Did he tell you why he wanted to donate his body?”

  Mrs. Guedj sighed. “He just begged me to respect his wishes. It was really important to him. Urgent, even. I didn’t have a choice.”

  Le Marec looked at Mrs. Guedj’s son. “You didn’t know anything about it, did you?”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “What’s happening with the pharmacy?” Nico asked.

  “Bruno made sure we’d be taken care of. And one of his employees, Denis Roy, offered to buy the shop. That’s what my husband would have wanted.”

  “How did your husband make sure you’d be taken care of?”

  “He did the usual things, like taking out life insurance. I’ll have enough money for our children’s education, and I won’t have to sell the apartment, at least not right away. He arranged everything with our notary, who’s handling the estate.”

  “And who is that?”

  “Maître Belin.”

  Mrs. Guedj looked at her son. “His card is on your father’s desk. Would you please go get it for us?”

  “I’m no specialist in inheritance taxes and the like,” she said after her son had left the room. “It’s best that you contact Maître Belin. I’ll let him know, so that he can give you what you need. He has handled our affairs for years. I’d be so relieved if you could help me understand what happened to Bruno.”

  “We will do our best,” Nico said, speaking softly. “Did your husband have any other family?”

  “His parents, two older sisters, an elderly uncle, and a second cousin he treated like a brother. Everyone got along well. Bruno’s mother is in the hospital right now. She’s getting on, and his death was a terrible shock.”

  “One more question. Was your husband right- or left-handed?”

  “Left-handed.”

  Captain Franck Plassard searched Bruno Guedj’s desk as his squad leader and Denis Roy looked on. Plassard knew what he was looking for.

  “I found it,” he said, pulling out a pack of transparent plastic sheets.

  “We’ll be taking this,” Kriven told Roy.

  “Why?”

  “Routine verification.”

  Kriven looked around for anything in the office that would give him a better understanding of who Bruno Guedj was and what was eating at him. His eyes stopped on a picture frame. He walked over to it and examined what was inside. He read and reread the words, as if they couldn’t be true.

  Ni
co’s cell phone rang. He stood up as he answered and headed toward the sliding door. Once he was on the snow-covered balcony, he closed the door behind him. He signaled to Le Marec to keep Mrs. Guedj occupied and stepped over to the railing and set a hand on the icy edge.

  “I’m listening,” he said, looking over the side of the balcony.

  “Are you sitting down?”

  “Better than that. I’m freezing my ass off on a balcony five floors up. Be quick, before I turn into a snowman.”

  “Aren’t you Russians like huskies? Great trackers and resistant to arctic cold?”

  “You got that right. I’m a great hunter and I love to work with my pack—as long as they don’t bust my balls. Now get on with it.”

  “Okay, here it is: Bruno Guedj got his degree at Paris Descartes University.”

  Nico contemplated two seagulls fighting over a piece of bread. Central and Northern European birds wintering in a Western European city.

  “You’ve got to admit that it’s unbelievable, giving your body to your own school.” Kriven was excited—Nico could hear it. “Returning to his past. What do you think it means?”

  The seagulls flew off. Nico would have gladly followed them. He had dreams of traveling.

  “He trusted them. He knew how things worked at the school, and he was betting that they would find his message.”

  9

  One of the three antiterrorism squads had an office on the fifth floor, at the end of the hallway. Nico said a few words to the team members and then went back down the hall. A green sign with white lettering read “Bike Room.” He grabbed the key from a box on the wall and opened the door. The ceiling was so low, he had to stoop. He climbed a set of metal stairs and finally reached the evidence room, which bore the nickname séchoir, or dryer. It was a tiny white-tiled room that was kept at the same humidity level and temperature year-round to safeguard the items stored here. Nico knew all too well that some people might consider the evidence room a horror museum. It had housed many bizarre and stomach-turning pieces of evidence.

  Inside, five wooden steps led to a window. He turned the handle and entered a world to which only a privileged few had access. It was the rooftop of the police headquarters, which gave a breathtaking view of Paris. Here, Nico always had the feeling that he was overlooking the world. It was as close to Olympus as a common mortal could get, and he held the city and its famed monuments in his hands: Notre Dame, the Panthéon, Montparnasse, the Eiffel Tower, the Louvre, and, in the distance, the futuristic buildings of La Défense. The Seine, with its boats ferrying tourists to various sights, and the bridges and streets filled with cars and pedestrians were a divine urban labyrinth, a gift from the gods requiring no Ariadne thread.