Heart Collector

by Jacques Vandroux

  “Stop!” ordered Julien.

  Nadia stamped on the brake pedal. The car stopped instantly.

  “On the right. Look. The big building with the round turret. The pines around it. And the dovecote up on the roof. She’s there.”

  Tingles of excitement ran up the policewoman’s fingers. “Are you sure?”

  “Certain!”

  “Okay. We’ll leave the car on the road. We’ll go on foot up the driveway, it’ll be much more unobtrusive. We should find Boisregard’s BMW. As soon as we’re sure they’re there, I’ll call my colleagues. Come on, we’re wasting time. From now on, you shadow my movements and follow my orders.”

  Impressed by the authority emanating from the young woman, he agreed and followed her as she strode smoothly toward the entrance to the house.

  Chapter 78: Revelations

  Sophie wasn’t trembling anymore. She’d gone beyond that stage. She was firmly tied, limbs in a cross, to the stone table enthroned in the room. Nothing could save her now except the miraculous arrival of her friends. But she couldn’t believe in the miracle anymore. She watched the blood running down her thighs. She barely felt the pain.

  On Boisregard’s order, Lèguezeaux and Simon-Renouard had tried to seize her. She’d fought and practically put Lèguezeaux out of action. Boisregard had had to join in to overpower her. He’d struck her violently in the back of the head. She’d then lost all capacity to defend herself. She’d experienced the scene that followed as if in a dream—or a nightmare. She’d felt them tear off her clothes, then something cold on her skin. The journalist had rubbed her body with a heady-smelling unguent. He’d taken full advantage of her skin, lingering over her breasts and buttocks. But she didn’t care. She was going to die, and he must be in a state of arousal close to insanity. She had a strange laugh while imagining the journalist’s frustration. But she didn’t care about that, either. Now she wanted it to be over, to get out of this bad Z movie.

  Then Sartenas approached her. He watched her with his demented eyes. And the fear that swept over her reawakened her survival instinct. He started to slash her left thigh. She didn’t feel much but had quickly realized the bright red liquid running down her leg was her blood. She screamed again, to Ballat’s great joy. The young woman’s suffering was revenge for his humiliation.

  Sartenas stood at her side. The four men closed in on the sacrificial table. Boisregard spoke.

  “Spirits of the shadows, accept the heart and blood of this woman. As Fra Bartolomeo has taught us, may they bring you new life, and may you see fit to shower your overabundance of life upon us.”

  Sophie forced herself to remain lucid. The eyes of the five participants were hallucinatory. There was no longer any trace of lustfulness in them, just pure madness. Only her blood interested them now. The young woman made a superhuman effort to keep her brain from cutting out. There were still a few seconds left, and she had to gain more.

  “Dominique, all yours!”

  Dominique grasped his scalpel firmly. “Magali, this blood will push you back into the depths of oblivion once and for all. Die again for your betrayal and the son you stole from me!”

  All at once it hit her; it was so obvious. Sartenas raised his arm, lengthened by his instrument of torture.

  “Your son isn’t dead!” the young woman flung out in a last survival reflex.

  The doctor ceased his movement. With a calmness she didn’t think she possessed ten seconds earlier, Sophie analyzed the situation. She’d thrown a grain of sand in the works. She had to keep going and make him doubt.

  “Magali Dupré didn’t kill your son. She abandoned him, and he was picked up. He’s alive. Your son lives in Grenoble.”

  Sartenas was thunderstruck. He wasn’t moving anymore, incapable of absorbing what this girl was telling him.

  “You lie! She’s speaking through you! You’re just the channel by which she continues to torture me. But you’re going to die, and her, too!”

  Sophie had to keep talking, sowing doubt.

  “I know your son. He’s thirty years old, and his name is Julien.”

  “Julien,” whispered Sartenas. “Julien.”

  “He’s tall, intelligent, and charming. He’s an engineer, and his vitality delights his friends.” She had to talk, to tell a story. She noticed her discourse was starting to have an effect. “If you want to meet him, I can introduce you,” she offered.

  “What’s his last name?”

  “If you want to meet your son, the son you’ve never known, you’ll have to go through me.”

  “But who are you to say that?” said the doctor, getting worked up.

  “A woman who loves your son. We’re supposed to get married. You’re not going to give your son the corpse of his future wife. I could introduce you to Julien as early as tomorrow if you want.”

  Sartenas put down his scalpel. The emotion was too sharp. He’d just discovered the son he’d missed so much was alive! If he’d known sooner, his life would have been different. He was certain the girl was telling the truth. She knew the name of his wife, how old his son would be. And she loved him. Sartenas had always been a dissembler, but he was convinced of the sincerity of the sacrificial woman’s voice.

  “Well, Sartenas, what’s happening to you?” asked Ballat.

  The financier’s shrill voice brought the doctor back to reality. What was happening to him? Simply that he could no longer kill this woman before being reunited with his son.

  “My son,” he answered simply, “my son, Julien.”

  “Well, now we’re in a family psychodrama. Arsène, would you happen to have a sentimental novel for our friend?” Thomas Simon-Renouard tossed out sarcastically. “I think he needs to recover from his emotions.”

  Sartenas didn’t react, as if he hadn’t heard the journalist’s comments. Boisregard made a soothing gesture with his hand.

  “Dominique, as important as this news is, I think permanently getting rid of Magali is the priority. If you wish, I can take your place and give you the heart. You’ll be cured.”

  “No. I’m asking only that you give me a few minutes to think.”

  The group looked at one another. They nodded one after the other.

  “We’ll give you five minutes, Dominique. But in five minutes, we’ll have made a decision.”

  Five minutes. Sophie had snatched five more minutes of life.

  Chapter 79: On the Scene

  The black X6 reflected the moonlight. The two other cars parked next to it displeased the police officer.

  “There’s at least four of them. We can’t take any chances.”

  She grabbed her phone and speed-dialed a number.

  “Fortin here, is that you, Nadia?”

  “This is Captain Barka.”

  “We’re up shit creek, Nadia! We’re going around and around Villard-de-Lans. We haven’t found anything. The whole village council is awake and going through the files, but we’ve got zilch. It’s starting to . . .”

  “I’m in front of the entrance to Boisregard’s house.”

  “Good God, what the fuck are you doing there? And how did you find it?”

  “I’ll answer questions later. First get down the GPS coordinates.”

  She looked at the coordinates on her phone and dictated them to him.

  “You’ll recognize the building. It has a round turret, and it’s located at the end of a private wooded driveway.”

  “Fuck, wait for us. We’ll be there in three minutes. We’re coming in, balls out!”

  “Definitely not balls out. We can’t alarm them. This is Sophie Dupas’s life. We’re going in!”

  “We?”

  “Julien Lombard and me.”

  “Julien L . . .”

  “I’m hanging up. Come quickly. There are three cars out front.”

  Nadia d
idn’t give her colleague time to respond. She took out her sidearm and moved toward the entrance.

  “We’ll just have to hope the house doesn’t have a security alarm!”

  The policewoman turned the knob on the glass door. It was locked. She grabbed her gun by the barrel and broke the glass. They flinched, afraid an alarm would go off. Nothing happened. Only the tinkling of breaking glass had briefly shattered the silence of the night.

  “All right, come on!”

  Nadia put her hand through the broken window and turned the key in the lock.

  “I imagine this nut job built a cellar or some secret place so he could work in peace. We have to find it,” she whispered in her companion’s ear. “Let me go first.”

  They moved quietly from room to room, listening for the slightest noise. But nothing. They would have figured the house was uninhabited if they hadn’t seen the cars and the remains of a meal on the dining room table. They went through the rooms again, opening every cupboard. Not the slightest trace of a staircase. Panic started to overtake them. They weren’t going to fail so close to the goal. They suddenly heard a sound in the entrance and threw themselves behind a sofa. Men were coming in on tiptoe. Nadia recognized Lieutenant Fortin.

  “Étienne, we’re here. The house is empty.”

  Four gendarmes and two policemen were accompanying Lieutenant Fortin.

  “Are you sure this is the right place?” asked the policeman.

  “Didn’t you recognize Boisregard’s car outside?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “So we search everything! Don’t leave a single square inch unchecked. And hurry, Sophie Dupas’s life may have only a few more seconds.”

  Without asking questions about the woman’s rank and her role in the operation, the gendarmes and policemen followed her instructions immediately, parceling out the rooms. Julien went out on the porch, stomach twisted with fear of losing Sophie. She was there, a few yards away, waiting for him! But where, dammit?

  He walked into the garden. The cool of the night only intensified the fire burning inside him. Where? Where had those bastards taken her? The hoot of an owl made him instinctively turn his head. His gaze was attracted by something shining. A metallic object was reflecting the light of the moon. It was sitting on a dark mass they hadn’t noticed on arrival. A sort of little sheepfold. Julien ran up to it. A heavy door guarded the access. It was half open and led to a stairwell.

  “Nadia, I found it! I’m going in!”

  Julien threw himself into the darkness of the sheepfold. Nadia and Étienne Fortin came out when they heard him. They had just enough time to see him engulfed by the hut and ran to lend a helping hand.

  Chapter 80: Sacrifices

  Boisregard had taken up the scalpel. He still knew how to wield it. He obviously had less dexterity than Sartenas, but he’d give him the heart of the woman he was going to slice open.

  The decision had been unanimous, and Sartenas had accepted it. Sophie had given them enough clues. With a little patience and active networking, they’d be able to find a thirty-year-old engineer named Julien in Grenoble. Boisregard had convinced the doctor his contacts in the upper tiers of government would quickly provide him with his rediscovered son’s name.

  Now they could deal with their sacrifice without qualms. Nothing opposed them any longer. Boisregard had considered his friend too shocked to carry out the offering to Quetzalcoatl. He was going to operate without anesthesia. He didn’t feel like sparing this woman who had nearly made him lose face.

  Sophie was going to die. She knew it. She’d done all in her power to give her friends time. But they still weren’t there. She knew she was going to suffer horribly for a few dozen seconds, but then she’d be at peace. She’d no longer see the vile beings surrounding her, feasting on her pain and fear. She heard Boisregard pronouncing words in a language she didn’t know. She glanced around for the last time. She saw only her legs, where the blood had stopped flowing. It would soon spurt from her pierced abdomen. But even at that moment, she regretted not having time to live with the love of her life. What a waste, she thought, preparing to feel death enter her.

  The prayer was finished. The stab and the pain were going to strike. She squeezed her eyes shut, as if that could allow her to deflect the blade of the scalpel. But nothing came. No! A sound. And a cry! And that cry was . . . her name! Sophie opened her eyes. She no longer knew whether she was floating in a dream or if what she was seeing was real. Julien charged Boisregard, a knife in his hand. She watched, a bystander, like the other participants hypnotized by the scene playing out before their eyes. Julien’s attention scattered for a second at the young woman’s tortured body. Taking advantage of that moment, Boisregard dodged the blow and drove the scalpel twice into Julien’s stomach. The young man crumpled. An inhuman scream tore from Sophie’s throat, barely drowned out by the double shot of Nadia’s Sig Sauer. The historian was flung backward and collapsed at the foot of the sacrificial altar. His white shirt was decorated with two red stains that blossomed in a few seconds, like two venomous flowers.

  Hidden by his two dazed companions, Simon-Renouard moved discreetly to grab the sidearm Boisregard had placed on the ground before taking Sartenas’s place. There was only one cop, and he had no desire to be mixed up in this business. The woman didn’t see him. He popped up and took aim. Nadia spotted him, but it was too late to react. She saw only the maw of the gun that was going to send her to the great beyond.

  A violent blow to her shoulder threw her against the wall. She collapsed as she heard two simultaneous shots. When she regained her balance, she saw her attacker on his knees, his arm dislocated. She turned her head. Fortin had the rest of the petrified group covered.

  “Thank you,” she said simply.

  Three gendarmes appeared next in the room, contemplating the bodies littering the floor. The highest-ranking one grabbed the radio, then went outside to call for help and a helicopter.

  Nadia approached Sophie, who was in tears. She’d resisted for the last few hours, but all the fear of this nightmarish day gushed out, even more violently. And the fear of losing Julien was close to driving her completely around the bend.

  “How are you, Sophie?”

  “Okay,” she replied quickly. “But what about Julien? Tell me he’s not dead!”

  Nadia leaned over her companion and took his pulse. She felt a weak throb. A gendarme freed Sophie. She hurried off the table, crumpled when she tried to stand up, but crawled to her friend. She took him in her arms.

  “Julien, don’t die. It’s thanks to you and for you I survived, so don’t die now,” she whispered in his ear, flooding him with tears.

  Sartenas tried to come closer. The name Julien, spoken several times by the young woman, had just shocked him. Fortin held him back firmly. The doctor fought.

  “You undoubtedly think I’m scum, but I’m also an excellent doctor, and that’s my son! So let me take care of him before emergency services gets here. If I do nothing, it’s obvious he won’t survive his wounds.”

  Nadia didn’t have the heart to disabuse him. It might be the only hope of saving the young man, who was losing blood at an alarming rate. She hesitated for an instant.

  “Let him do it,” asked Sophie.

  Surprised, Nadia looked at the young woman, bathed in her own blood and that of her friend. Then she observed Sartenas. She thought she detected an ounce of humanity in the look he was giving Julien.

  “It’s okay,” said Nadia.

  “I need medical supplies. I know where Arsène keeps them. Take me into the house so I can get them. During that time, put him gently on the table.”

  Three policemen who’d just arrived followed the surgeon. Étienne Fortin and Rodolphe Drancey cautiously placed Julien on the stone altar. Sophie, now dressed in Étienne Fortin’s T-shirt, didn’t let go of her friend’s hand, an invisible prayer on her li
ps.

  “Mademoiselle, you’ll have to come with me,” said a gendarme. “We have to get you some treatment.”

  “No, not right away,” begged Sophie. “I want to stay with him!”

  Nadia addressed the gendarme.

  “You must have a nurse in your company?”

  “Yes, there’s Guerinov. He must be in the house.”

  “Will you please ask him to come down here and give first aid to Sophie Dupas?”

  “I’ll go look for him, Captain.”

  “Thank you, Major.”

  Chapter 81: Funeral

  The coolness delivered by the storm that had just broken over the mountain cemetery was starting to dissipate. The two coffins sparkled in the sunlight reflecting off the raindrops that clung to the pale wood. They mesmerized the silent assembly. Only the murmur of the wind whispering in the branches of the fir trees accompanied Father de Valjoney’s words of hope.

  The priest pronounced a final benediction. The funeral staff manipulated the caskets with extreme caution so as not to disturb their occupants’ rest. The deceased were lowered into the grave of the modest family vault. One after the other, the mourners came forward and dropped a flower on their final resting place.

  Sophie Dupas, overwhelmed, couldn’t hold back her tears. She offered two lilies she’d picked from the surrounding fields. Denise and Emmanuel Lombard, who followed her, meditated a long time before the open pit: the memory of that June day in 1983 would never leave them. Denise was leaning on her husband’s shoulder, submerged in a wave of emotion that seemed to drown her. Aurélien Costel’s heart was being squeezed by a vise. How different his life could have been! He started to hate Cabrade as he’d never done before, gazing at the two coffins resting at the bottom of the grave. A whole part of his life was down there!

  Nadia Barka stood slightly off to the side. It was the first time in more than fifteen years that she was attending a funeral in a professional capacity. She’d even abstained from participating in the burial of Laure Déramaux. Today, the conditions were different. She felt something had changed inside her. Those heinous murders and their perpetrators had forced her to plunge into the depths of her soul. She hadn’t dared to do that since that night in the Parisian Métro. She observed the gathered congregation and felt in harmony with it. That empathy, so suddenly recovered, almost frightened her. Étienne Fortin, present at her side, seemed lost in his thoughts.