She got up and went over to her desk. She picked up a pen, noted down the names on a piece of paper, and handed the list to him. “If you want peace with Rivera, tell him you busted your butt all night with the files and recognized them.”
“Thanks for the alibi, Captain.”
“I thought of something else, too, and I have to admit it disturbed me.”
“Go on.”
“I wondered if there might be a connection between the Déramaux case and today’s.”
“I’m listening.”
“It’s just a theory, but in between naps these past two days, I surfed the Internet. And I stumbled across a site on Aztec tribes. The Aztecs tore out their victims’ hearts to give glory to their gods. But when I looked more closely, I saw that mutilation was also practiced in certain tribes under Aztec rule. I wondered if there could be a connection between the two. Laure wasn’t tortured randomly, but according to a very structured ritual. She was tended to after each ritual they inflicted on her.”
“Nadia, are you sure you want to go back there?”
“Yes. You have to resume investigating all the disappearances that have taken place over the last ten years. If a hiker hadn’t found her, Laure’s body would have disappeared without anyone ever knowing what happened. Can you open it up again?”
“Okay, I’ll look into it,” replied Étienne, impressed by his colleague’s transformation.
Then Nadia turned inward, daydreaming. It seemed to him she was drifting away again. The room was now completely dark—night had descended over the city. Street sounds drifted in through the open window, and a Neapolitan hit song from the pizza place below, a mandolin tune, dissolved into the night air.
Étienne looked at his friend. It was nice here, but he had to let her rest. He’d experienced a moment of deep intimacy, but he wasn’t dealing with just anyone. He mustn’t rush her. He cared too much.
“I’m going to let you rest. You must need some sleep. Thank you for this evening, Nadia.”
She looked at him in surprise. “You want to leave already? We’ve talked about practically nothing but work.”
“What do you want to talk about?”
“Why not you? We’ve worked together for years, and I don’t know much about what you’re like, your life.”
“Do you think it’s interesting?”
“I don’t know yet, but I really, really want to find out.”
“Fine, but to be fair, you have to tell me about yours.”
She paused for a moment. “Okay. You know this will probably be the first time.”
“I’m well aware of how lucky I am.”
Nadia got up and slid a disc into her CD player. The music of Cesaria Evora wafted into the air, offering up its sweet Cape Verdean chords.
The bells of Saint-André chimed one o’clock. They were sprawled on the sofa, leaning against each other, and they had little by little confided far more than they’d intended.
Étienne forced himself back to reality. He knew he was on a slippery slope. That evening, he hadn’t seen Nadia as an ace cop anymore, but as a seductive woman, mysterious and fragile, whom he felt like conquering and protecting at the same time. But he knew he was putting himself in danger—danger of falling madly in love with a woman who appreciated him, of that he was certain. Nadia likely even considered him a friend, which was a wonderful gift. But she surely wasn’t hooked like he was now. He’d fallen in love. He’d waited thirty-five years for it to happen. And he didn’t want to suffer, because he knew he would suffer terribly if it went wrong. He had only one solution—run away.
“I’m gonna head out, Nadia. I don’t want to impose on you.”
She stared at him intensely. Despite the darkness, he felt her gaze penetrating the deepest part of him.
“Stay and make love to me.”
His heart raced. Her gaze became insistent and melted his already weakened will.
She brought her mouth close to his and kissed him. The heat of her lips thrilled him, reducing his last arguments to cinders. Never again would he have a moment like this. He’d have time to think about the consequences later.
Chapter 33: Julien’s Testimony
“So you don’t even want to go get a coffee?”
“Sorry, Sophie, but I’m drained. At night, I wonder what nightmare I’m going to have, and during the day, I flip out as soon as I see a girl wearing so much as a white T-shirt!”
“Well, that’s one more guy who isn’t ready for marriage!”
Julien smiled at his friend’s joke. He was grateful to her for trying to pull him out of his bleak thoughts.
“Okay, fine, I’ll go with you. It will give us a break. I think I’m even going to take a few days of vacation—given how productive I am at work right now, it’ll be to the office’s benefit. Give me five minutes, I’m going to see Patrick about my leave.”
When he came out of the company manager’s office, he motioned to Sophie, and they met in the stairwell.
“So?” she asked.
“No problem, he understood. I’m on leave until the beginning of next week. To celebrate that, I’ll buy the coffee.”
“Yeah, I should take advantage! Such an opportunity rarely comes around twice!”
They sat in their usual corner.
“Father de Valjoney still hasn’t called you back?”
“It’s only ten o’clock. I don’t know what he’s up to. You don’t have any idea?”
“You’re the one who spent time with him,” commented Sophie. “He didn’t call me afterward for a morality check or to find out if you were of sound mind.”
“That’s absolutely not what I meant, but I was up half the night thinking about it. He seemed like he had a solution or a lead that could help me, but he didn’t want to tell me anything.”
“You know very well the Lord works in mysterious ways,” she said with a wink.
“Okay, fine. Let’s move on to another topic.”
The young man was interrupted by a vibration that quickly changed into a Lady Gaga hit. The sound grew louder until Julien managed to extract the phone from the pocket of his jeans.
“Hello?” He let a long moment go by. Sophie was surprised by his focused look.
“When would you like me to come by? . . . Okay, I’ll check with Sophie about her availability, and we’ll be right there.” He ended the call.
“An invitation for two to Zara?” asked Sophie.
“Not this time. You remember Captain Barka, from the police station?”
“She liked you that much?”
“Stop joking around for two seconds, Sophie. She wants to meet with us to go back over the murders from the last few days. And she’d like us both to come.”
Sophie grew serious. “But didn’t you tell me she’d been replaced on the case by the cowboy who came for you at the office?”
“Yes, and she confirmed it. But she’s still working on the murders. What do you say?”
“I think I’m going to take a vacation day, too. We can pop into the police station.”
“She’s not there. She asked us to come to her house.”
“Well, fortunately she insisted I come with you, because with that girl, I would have been suspicious.”
“Are you jealous?”
“Would that make you happy?”
“A little, but not too much.”
“No, I’m not jealous by nature. But best not to betray my trust when I give it.”
“And I have it?”
“I think so. Come on, enough discussion, where does she live?”
Julien looked at her, embarrassed. “I think I forgot to ask her address—or she forgot to give it to me,” he added quickly. “But no problem, I’ll call her back.”
Julien and Sophie finished off the fruit juice Nadia Barka had giv
en them. Sun streamed into the orderly room. They’d just talked for almost an hour and now knew details that hadn’t been revealed in the papers. Julien had described precisely what he’d seen and whom he’d seen. Sophie had corroborated his statements, and Nadia had listened to them with great interest.
“Have you given the same deposition at the police station?”
“Captain Rivera took me for an idiot when I told him all that. I gave him every detail, but I’m not sure he took my testimony seriously. He’s not the sort of man whose company you seek out.”
“That’s putting it mildly. But I’m going to ask you to go back and meet with Lieutenant Fortin. He’ll be very interested to hear what you have to say, even more so because I’ll give him a heads-up. Your description of the facts, and especially the killer, can really help us.”
“I’ll go after I leave here.”
“Thank you. I’ll keep at it on my side, researching the Aztec people and their customs.”
“Do you think it could have a direct link to the murders?” Sophie interjected.
“Maybe! I don’t have any proof, but something like a hunch.”
“My father teaches history, at the Université Pierre Mendès–France. I’m not sure pre-Columbian civilizations are his specialty, but if he can’t help you, he’ll surely be able to direct you to one of his eminent colleagues.”
“Could you get me an appointment with him?”
“Let me make a couple of calls, and if you’re available, we’ll go meet him. He’ll be happy to see me.”
Chapter 34: Raid
The sun scorched the grass, already yellowed by the heat wave. Ripples of heat shimmered over the ground, displacing from the lawn every trace of activity.
Drancey glanced at the car’s thermometer: almost ninety-nine degrees. Still five more minutes to cook inside the Subaru before they could start. Each of the three men was focused on the plan. Everything could quickly spin out of control in this type of operation.
Drancey glanced at his watch—2:00 p.m. He motioned to the two police officers. They got out of the unmarked car and headed toward the buildings.
“There’s the entrance to number sixteen,” confirmed Drancey. “We have to take it easy, boys. We’re not here to bust him for attempted murder, just to get his testimony.”
“No worries, Rodolphe, the mission is clear to us,” replied Pierre Galtard, a stocky man with a thick mustache.
The third team member, Rio Sissoko, simply nodded. He’d just spent three years in some rough neighborhoods around Lyon. He knew how to keep cool.
They approached the lobby. In the early afternoon, only a few people were out and about. Most were inside their apartments protecting themselves from the relentless sun. The arrival of Drancey and his team had yet to be noticed. They walked up to the mailboxes. Some had been vandalized. Luckily, they found the name of the man they were looking for.
“Eighth floor,” said Drancey. “We’ll take the stairs.”
The building’s stillness surprised Sissoko.
“We’ll all strike at the same time,” said Drancey. “They won’t have time to sound the alarm.”
That morning, Étienne Fortin had provided the names of the five suspects to target. Five teams of three policemen had been sent to get them at 2:00 p.m. in a synchronized plan.
After some inconspicuous climbing, they reached the eighth floor. They pushed away a shopping cart cluttering the hallway and inspected the doors.
“Of course, no names!” groused Galtard.
“What’d you expect?” replied Drancey. “Welcome signs on the doorknobs?”
Galtard didn’t react to the sarcastic comment.
“He still lives with his mother. She’s the one we’ll ask for. Come on, we’ll start on the left. In any case, we’ll get some information.”
“Maybe,” Sissoko quipped doubtfully. “Let’s go.”
Drancey knocked on the door. He heard someone bustling around inside the apartment. Nobody opened the door. The men felt the tension building. He knocked again. A feminine voice answered.
“Who is it?”
“Police, open up!”
After a moment, the sound of a key in the lock could be heard and the door opened halfway. The men stood back slightly. A wrinkled old woman appeared silhouetted against the light.
“What do you want?”
“Are you Madame Sikorski?”
She gave the three men in front of her a long look. She pointed at the door across the hall. “Over there. Nobody’s doing anything wrong over here.”
Then she slammed the door behind her. The policemen looked at each other, then crossed the hallway.
“Here we go. If Sylvain Sikorski is there, the welcome may be less peaceful.”
They knocked on the second door. Once again, they heard noise inside the apartment. Doors slamming, then nothing. They knocked again.
“Who’s there?” screamed a masculine voice.
“Police, open up!”
A child heading up the stairs passed by the landing. He saw the three policemen and ran back down.
“That’s just what we needed. We have to act quickly.” Drancey hammered on the door. “Open up. We need to speak with Sylvain Sikorski. He may have been an inadvertent witness to the murder of one of the young Grenoble women found dead.”
“You think he’ll believe that?” asked Galtard.
“Probably not, but he should,” answered Drancey. “Open up!”
No one was moving in the apartment anymore. The neighbors from other floors were starting to peek at the scene from the stairwell, as if called by an invisible signal. They stared at the police on the landing, some curious, others with aggression. Sissoko decided to speak to them.
“Maybe you can help us. Monsieur Sikorski has likely witnessed a murder. We absolutely have to talk to him.”
A man of about thirty, with a shaved head, approached them, followed by three swaggering acolytes. The cops were on their turf.
“Hey, fool, you think we’re pussies? What do you cops want with Sylvain?”
Drancey recognized one of the men from the Chechen’s gang. He stepped away and let Sissoko do the talking. If that guy remembered Drancey, too, things would get damn complicated. The situation wasn’t getting defused.
“Go on, get lost, cops, before you get on our nerves,” continued the ringleader, raising his voice.
Sissoko tried again. “Nobody’s getting on anybody’s nerves. We’re here as part of the investigation into the murder of two people. We’re looking for Sylvain Sikorski as a witness. That’s all.”
The ringleader came closer to Sissoko, still backed by his bodyguards.
“You’re a fucking stupid cop! Didn’t you understand what I said? Here, we don’t negotiate. You fuck off.”
Drancey saw the crowd growing. About fifteen people were now watching the exchange. He boiled inside. He couldn’t stand guys like this. Sissoko looked his counterpart dead in the eye.
“We’re not interested in any trafficking taking place here. We just want to interview Sylvain Sikorski as a witness.”
He noticed the subtle nod the ringleader gave to his neighbor on the right, a wild-eyed kid. Sissoko was instantly on high alert. The kid took a knife from his belt and jumped on the policeman. On his guard, Sissoko dodged the stab and, in two seconds, disarmed his attacker by trapping him in an armlock. He tightened it, causing a whimper to escape from the kid’s mouth.
“Intimidation is useless. We just want to talk with Sylvain Sikorski.”
His calm surprised the crowd, who were expecting an outbreak of violence. The ringleader hesitated for a moment, then looked at his troops.
“I think they don’t understand who we are, or whose house they’re in! We’ll have to show ’em different. They’re gonna learn about my rage. I make the
law here, not three asshole cops.”
He looked at the policemen, certain of his power in this building. Drancey walked confidently up to the man and seized him firmly by the right arm. Then he exploded.
“Poor bastard, cut the crap. You remember, Sunday night, when you were with the Chechen. When you tried to rape that girl, threatening to kill her. And then all of a sudden, the Chechen collapsed like a piece of shit, killed by the bullet that should have nailed him long ago. Well, we were both there! And what did he do, the big man who makes the law here? You tell your friends what the big man did? No? Well, I’ll tell them. He shit his pants!”
Drancey looked at the mesmerized crowd. “He sniveled like a little kid. ‘Please, don’t hurt me, I have to take care of my family.’ You shit yourself over it, you poor bastard. Did you tell your pals about that?”
The gang leader’s face had changed color. His features were clenched, and he couldn’t manage a response to Drancey’s attack. The cop kept going.
“But we’re not here about that today. I think my colleague explained it to you very clearly . . . unless it didn’t make it through your thick skull, moron.”
The man reacted to the last insult. “Slaughter them!”
An uproar answered his order. Drancey’s remarks had been effective.
“He’s lying!” screamed the humiliated ringleader.
The voices of the different gang members rose to a crescendo. The hoodlum, sensing he was on the verge of losing his authority, pulled a pistol out of his jacket pocket and aimed at Drancey. Galtard intervened, quick as lightning, and twisted the ringleader’s arm. With a cry of pain, he dropped his weapon. The policemen looked at each other and decided to leave their weapons undrawn. They had to take advantage of the situation and avoid adding to the tension.
“Help me, fuckers! Help me!”
But no one moved.
“That’s enough now!” A deep voice was heard from the stairwell. All conversation stopped immediately. “Max, you didn’t keep your word.”
The ringleader’s face paled, frozen by that simple sentence.
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