Crossing the Line

by Frédérique Molay

  “The river patrol. We couldn’t have been luckier,” Maurin said.

  This unit was based on the Quai Saint-Bernard and answered to police operational and technical services. Its officers had training in water-related areas, such as piloting, diving, and boat mechanics. The chief of the unit was a former diver and explosives expert with the national marine. Their mission was to ensure the safety of people and goods on the waterways in the capital and the area surrounding Paris. They were nicknamed the Saint Bernards.

  “They discovered it during a routine inspection.”

  “What state was it in?” Nico asked.

  “Identifiable. Clearly drowned.”

  Immersion changed the normal process of decomposition. It slowed significantly in cold water and accelerated once the body was removed, as if the body were trying to catch up. In winter, the Seine ranged from thirty-five to forty degrees and acted like a refrigerator.

  “The river patrol pulled the body up to the bank before we arrived and noted epistaxis. That’s a nosebleed and an indication that the victim could have been beaten before death.”

  They walked over to the corpse, which was in a body bag that would protect it from outside elements that might alter the evidence. The man’s face was purple, and fluid was dribbling from his mouth. One of his ears was torn, probably eaten by a rodent. His hands were wrapped in plastic bags to keep the wrinkled skin from slipping like gloves off his bones. Maurin held out a picture of Christophe Parize, which police around the country had received the day before. They looked from the picture to the victim several times.

  “It’s him,” Rost said. “Did you find anything in the surrounding area?”

  “Nothing important. Some cigarette butts and a gum wrapper that could belong to anyone.”

  “And the anchor keeping him under?” Nico asked.

  “The divers picked it up. We’ll get it to the lab.”

  “Brr. It’s freezing,” Rost grumbled. “No time to be taking a dip.”

  “The officer who processed the crime noted footprints in the snow, but who do they belong to? The murderers? The river patrol? People out walking? Frankly, I just told him to forget it,” Maurin said. “It’s a lot of work for no reason, since we’ve got nothing to compare them to.”

  Rost nodded.

  Maurin continued. “We’ll go over the island with a fine-tooth comb. Backup from the river patrol should be here any minute. But I don’t have much hope.”

  Nico agreed. They now knew they were dealing with an organized group. And the weather was not helping them.

  “They can go,” Nico said, looking at the officers responsible for taking the body.

  Maurin gave the officers the signal, and they zipped up the bag. The corpse disappeared.

  “Has someone informed Professor Vilars?”

  “She’s getting ready to do the autopsy,” Maurin answered.

  With accelerated decomposition, she had to act quickly.

  “Good work, Charlotte. Keep us posted,” Nico said.

  The two men walked back toward the Bir-Hakeim Bridge.

  “Christophe Parize! It’s completely crazy,” Rost said.

  “That proves one thing: we’re headed in the right direction. The murderers may have been able to get rid of Bruno Guedj, but they can’t get in the way of our investigation.”

  “Do you think they were trying to buy some time?”

  “They opted for a temporary solution: eliminating the weak link, or Parize. They’re afraid. And they must have a lot to lose to take that kind of risk.”

  § § §

  The atmosphere had changed at headquarters. The molar mystery had become a high-profile case. Although the detectives felt as though they had entered a dense, dark forest full of ghosts—a forest that at least two other people had gotten lost in—they were confident that they would find the signposts pointing the way to the culprits.

  Magistrate Becker joined Nico in his office. “Now we have proof that someone else—and probably more people, as well—were involved in the disappearance of Christophe Parize. He didn’t instigate his vanishing act all by himself.”

  “I never really thought he had the profile of someone who would find a replacement for himself and stage a car accident,” Nico said. “The good doctor must have been a pawn in a much larger operation. On September 15, while he was in Paris, Bruno Guedj recognized him, indirectly exposing his accomplices.”

  “Who then decided to get rid of the pharmacist.”

  “But we discovered Guedj’s message, and they started losing their grip.”

  “We sentenced Christophe Parize to his death when we got involved,” Becker sighed.

  “We’re facing some very determined people.”

  “We’ll still need to make sure it’s Parize who was fished out of the Seine.”

  “Believe me, the drowned man looked exactly like him. Kriven’s back. Should I call him in?”

  “Yes, let’s review the case.”

  Looking grim, David Kriven sank into a chair. “I hate hospitals. They stink. I feel like I’m covered with the smell. And all those sick people—”

  Everyone knew Kriven was a hypochondriac. He would be the object of much teasing over his trip to the hospital, and that would help to release some of the tension of the investigation.

  Kriven began. “Dr. Parize was a specialist in hematology and oncology. To give you some background, we all know what oncology is. Hematology involves not only the study of blood, but also the study of bone marrow and the lymph system. Both areas of specialization are often involved in the treatment of diseases such as lymphoma and leukemia. The hospital has made a name for itself in hematology and oncology, and it takes pride in its research. According to the people we questioned, the doctor was a well-liked, competent professional who was dedicated to the hospital. He was a valued member of the team.”

  “So Dr. Parize was perfect?” Becker asked.

  “Not entirely. A few months before his death, the doc became a regular Mr. Hyde.”

  “And you know why, of course,” Nico said. He was getting impatient.

  “He got passed up for department head. It made him very angry, nearly paranoid, convinced that his colleagues were conspiring against him. Then they named a woman to the position, which didn’t help.”

  “His wife was giving him trouble at home, and here comes another woman getting in his way,” Becker said.

  “Exactly. When his new superior recommended that he take a few days off to cool down, Parize lost it. The argument was heard all over the wing. Strangely, after he stomped off, he came back and said he would take the leave.”

  “Let me guess. That’s when he died,” Nico said.

  “And the chief wins the stove and refrigerator behind the curtain,” Kriven said.

  “Is there anything else?” Becker asked.

  “In fact, Magistrate Becker, there may be something else,” Kriven said with a smile. “Maybe something. I’m not sure. Three weeks before the accident, a bigwig from the hospital, Professor Claude Janin, disappeared.”

  “How did he disappear?” Becker asked.

  “His yacht caught on fire in the Mediterranean. The bodies were never found.”

  Nico reacted. “Bodies?”

  “The dude was having a grand old time with his mistress, a nurse he’d been seeing for ten or so years. Her name was Danièle Lemaire. Everyone in the hospital knew about the affair.”

  It was Becker’s turn to react. “Ten years! Now that’s a double life.”

  “Yep. He had been married for thirty-six years, had three kids, a dog, and two goldfish.”

  “And the nurse?” Nico asked.

  “She worked at Saint Louis, too. Unmarried, no kids, no dog, no goldfish. No ties. She was desperately hoping the big kahuna would leave his family and his comfortable life for her. Now they are finally united.”

  “That’s three deaths in three weeks at the same hospital,” Becker said. “Quite a hit for one hos
pital to take. What do you know about this bigwig?”

  “His résumé is as long as my arm. Very impressive. He ran one of the hospital labs, along with a research unit, and he taught immunology at Paris Diderot University. He spent a number of years in the United States, where he made major discoveries in histocompatibility. Sorry, don’t ask me what that means. I didn’t have time to look it up. These dudes blow me away. He was fifty-nine years old. Lemaire was forty-six.”

  “Did she work in his department?” Nico asked.

  “No, she had a job in intensive care.”

  “Was either one of them having trouble at the hospital?”

  “None. Everybody knew that Lemaire and Janin were having an affair, but it didn’t seem to bother anyone.”

  “And did either of them have problems in any other area of their lives?”

  “Nothing that we can pin down for sure. Some people at the hospital suspected that Janin’s wife’s had finally learned about the affair. And he had hoped to receive the Ham-Wassermann prize from the American Hematology Society. A Chinese fellow from Ruijin Hospital, which is part of Shanghai Medical School, won the prize instead. He was very disappointed.”

  “How disappointed?”

  “Professor Janin had slaved away in labs his entire life and had made significant contributions to the field. His work was recognized the world over. He had aspirations and even dreamed of winning the Nobel Prize one day.”

  “What about Danièle Lemaire?”

  “She was in love. She would have given him anything.”

  “Even her life?”

  “That’s what people said.”

  “Did they know Christophe Parize?” Nico asked.

  “Professor Janin and Dr. Parize were very close. They had lunch together often. Parize had great respect for Janin, who was something of a mentor, and Janin used Parize to widen his sphere of influence.”

  Nico noted that there was a fifteen-year age difference between Janin and Parize. Michel Cohen and he had a similar age span. Nico could understand the relationship.

  Becker interrupted. “Both had experienced professional disappointments and were going through rough patches at home. And they were thick as thieves.”

  “But to give up everything together?” Nico said.

  His phone rang. It was his secretary. “Professor Vilars would like to talk to you.”

  “I’ll take it, thanks.” He heard a click.

  “Nico? I just finished the autopsy and let Charlotte Maurin and the crime scene investigator go. I imagine you can’t wait to know my conclusions.”

  “Magistrate Becker and Commander Kriven are in my office. I’m putting you on speakerphone, if that’s okay with you.”

  “Perfect, two birds with one stone: the police and the court.”

  “Go ahead. Everyone is listening.”

  “I’ll try to be brief. I have confirmed that the body was that of Christophe Parize, based on his size, weight, a scar on his upper-left arm, and his dental records. We’ll have the DNA results tomorrow. After determining his identity, I focused on the drowning itself and the time spent in the water. The dribble found on his lips is foam. In a live submersion, the mixture of air, water, and mucus will appear around the mouth and nose two to three hours after the body is extracted and then disappear with decomposition. This was the case with our body. Furthermore, his lungs were full of water, which corroborates death from drowning. Finally, we found plant plankton and diatoms common to the Seine.”

  “Which means that Parize was drowned in the river,” Nico said.

  “That’s correct. The body temperature and overall state leads us to conclude that the victim was in the water for thirty-six hours. The time of death is sometime between midnight and two on Saturday morning. In addition, the victim has a gash on his right wrist and forearm, most likely caused by rope. I also found a bluish gelatinous hematoma in his brain. I conclude that Christophe Parize was tied up and knocked out, which is confirmed by the epistaxis noted by the river patrol. Finally, the ear injury is unrelated to the cause of death. It’s a postmortem tear inflicted by rats. I hope this gives you something to work with.”

  “It does. Thank you for doing this on such short notice.”

  “It’s nothing. See you soon. I’m sure I will be, considering all the bodies you’re piling on me these days.”

  She hung up. Armelle Vilars liked getting a little jab in. Nico knew it was friendly, her way of teasing him.

  “At least things are clear,” Becker said. “Dr. Parize was tied up and taken to the Île aux Cygnes, where he got hit behind the head and was sent off to dreamland. Then someone threw him from the pier into the water, tied to an anchor. A harsh way to wake up. And all of that just a few hours after our fake Dr. Parize was exhumed. Another coincidence.”

  “What will the prosecutor decide to do?”

  “He’ll give me the full investigation. We now have three murders on our hands. Obviously, we need to focus on Dr. Parize. He is key to the mystery. Once we know his story, we’ll be able to solve the cases involving Bruno Guedj and the fellow in the car fire.”

  “I’m meeting with Christophe Parize’s parents,” Kriven said.

  “I’ll have his ex-wife and their children come to headquarters,” Nico said. “It’s time we had a little conversation with them in here.”

  “And we need to compare what Janin and Parize were working on,” Becker said.

  Kriven sighed. “We’ll be at it for days.”

  “I’ll ask Rost to put his three detective squads on it,” Nico said. “That’s eighteen people. We’re on their heels, so let’s get going and start biting at them.”

  Becker and Kriven nodded, looking determined. They all had the feeling that the hourglass had turned over. Their time was no longer running out, but the murderers’ time was.

  22

  “What area or areas of medicine would involve both hemato-oncology and immunology?” Nico asked.

  Caroline gave him a reflective look as she considered the question. That look had captivated him months ago, when he had met her in her office as a patient.

  “Both specialties have a connection to blood cells, which play a key role in the respiratory and immune systems and in coagulation. Hematology is largely focused on the production and circulation of blood cells, which involve the bone marrow and lymphoid organs. A hemato-oncologist specializes in the various forms of cancers related to the discipline and their treatment. That is where the immunologist comes in. Immunology is a very broad field. In this case, the immunologist studies the interactions between the cancer cells and the immune system. It involves the recognition of cancer-specific antigens that trigger the immune response. The aim is finding one or more therapies that slow the progress of the disease. This area of immunology has been growing quite rapidly and has been responsible for the introduction of antibody therapies, vaccines, and tumor-marker diagnostic tests that have changed how cancer is treated and have increased survival rates for leukemia, myeloma, and lymphoma patients, as well as survival rates for those with solid tumors. But there’s still a long way to go. Was that clear?”

  “Perfectly. And now I have a riddle. A hemato-oncologist and an immunologist are competing in the X Games. Who has the better odds of winning?”

  Caroline smiled. “The hemato-oncologist, because he can take his lumps.”

  “Right!” Nico said, kissing her hand.

  Nico was sure of one thing: Christophe Parize and Claude Janin were not in the same league. The immunology professor was Nobel material. So if their disappearances had something to do with medicine, they needed to look at the mentor’s research. It was in the area of T-cell lymphomas.

  Once again, Nico called on Caroline for help.

  “We have three types of cells: red blood cells, white blood cells or leucocytes, and platelets,” she said. “There are also different types of leucocytes, including T cells, which play a key role in immunity. A number of diseases affect leucocytes,
most notably lymphomas, and there are several types of T-cell lymphomas. Some are more common than others, and some strike children and young adults more often than people who are older. One form that children seem to get more often is lymphoblastic lymphoma. It spreads quickly. Tumors sometimes develop behind the breastbone and interfere with breathing. Frequently, both the bone marrow and the blood are affected, and this is called acute lymphoblastic T-cell leukemia. It is often quite aggressive.”

  “So what does an immunologist who’s researching weapons to use against these bad guys do?”

  “He identifies lymphoma antigens, produces antibodies, and does clinical trials.”

  “On animals?”

  “Yes, before any therapy can be used on people, animal testing must be done. Years can go by between the first tests and patient trials.”

  “And where does chemotherapy fit into all of this?”

  “It’s a key part of the cancer-fighting arsenal. It kills cancerous cells and keeps them from proliferating. The protocol varies, depending on the lymphoma and the patient. It is often necessary to prescribe high doses of chemotherapy. Unfortunately, chemotherapy is very hard on the body. I hope it will become archaic one day. The kinds of targeted therapies that I mentioned before are the future of cancer treatment.”

  After giving all this some thought, Nico ordered Kriven, Théron, and Charlotte Maurin to come up with a list of T-cell lymphoma patients treated by Dr. Parize and to cull the patients who also had some connection to Professor Janin. This would narrow the scope of the investigation.

  Meanwhile, the molar was making the headlines. Some editors had bought the practical-joke theory and were clamoring for stories about medical-school pranks. Some reporters, however, were taking a more serious tack and wanted to know where the division’s investigation was going. Fortunately, none of them appeared to be aware of the connection between Bruno Guedj’s alleged suicide and Christophe Parize’s murder.

  Nico had convinced the Guedj family to play along. But how long would they put up with this? The pharmacist’s death was certainly no prank. Nico was more determined than ever to find out who murdered him.