The 7th Woman (15 page)

“Yes,” Becker muttered, looking worried.

“OK, we will check all that. Has your hair changed color since you were a kid?”

“I've been dyeing it since I was a teenager. And I also wear colored contact lenses.”

Becker removed them from his eyes.

“I'm going to take them,” Nico said.

The natural deep blue of Becker's eyes surprised Nico.

“I was determined to erase that child murderer forever, I guess. But that doesn't matter anymore, does it? Blue suits me better. I'll have to get used to it again.”

“I'll have to ask you to follow me to headquarters until we clear things up,” Nico concluded, his hand unconsciously going to his stomach, a useless gesture, because only the treatment prescribed by Caroline would make it feel any better.

“You're not feeling well, are you?” Becker asked. “Didn't your doctor give you anything?”

“How do you know?”

“What? That you have an ulcer? Everyone knows. You yourself said that some information is hard to hide.”

SHE lived just yards away from Saint Germain des Prés, a neighborhood whose charm dated back a century, when it was a haunt for writers and artists. Place de Fürstenberg was her own little paradise. Her apartment was on the sixth and seventh floors of one of the buildings and had a charming little terrace that overlooked the dense foliage of the square's trees, allowing her to enjoy the sun any time of year. She wouldn't have given it up for anything in the world.

She got undressed and stepped into the shower. The hot water massaged her skin and calmed her. She felt so tired. Everything had happened so quickly over the last few days, and her stores of physical and mental energy were drained. She turned off the water with regret and wrapped herself in a soft terry towel. She rubbed her dripping hair. She left the bathroom and dropped onto the bed. She was hungry but didn't have any energy left to make something to eat. She had to sleep. She would take care of the rest later. As soon as she made that decision, her eyes closed, and her breathing slowed. She lost consciousness and fell into a deep slumber.

HE had followed her. He had chosen her. She would be the next one. She looked so tired, and it would be easy. He was sure that she was already asleep. He admired the shop windows on the square. He had all the time he needed. Maybe he would even visit the Delacroix Museum; he had never had the opportunity to do so before. Then he would ring her doorbell. She would open it, annoyed at having been pulled out of her sleep. She wouldn't suspect anything, although she was central to the case. He would walk through the door into her apartment. How could she think that he was bringing the evil right into her home? She would suffer the same punishment as the others. Nobody would be there to rescue her, and most of all, not Chief Sirsky.

MAGISTRATE Becker had followed Nico into his office. Michel Cohen had joined them, and the two police officers started the official questioning. Kriven's team was already reviewing his schedule for that week and had contacted his wife. They were getting a search warrant for his home. Professor Queneau would personally analyze Alexandre Becker's DNA, as well as the colored contact lenses. The police machine was rolling. Dominique Kreiss was interviewing the educators and psychologists who had been responsible for Arnaud Briard until he was eighteen. Could a boy who killed his mother in self-defense become a serial killer? If so, was he attacking his mother every time he killed a woman? Was this father of two children, this loving husband really the culprit?

Nico thought about his son, what he held dearest in the world. He was going to have to take him away from his mother for some time. This situation upset him more than he let show. Perhaps he should see a child psychiatrist to make sure Dimitri would come through unscathed. He would ask Caroline for her professional opinion. She would know. Caroline—he wondered what she was doing at this moment. She had said that she wanted to take a shower and rest a little. She would join him later. He would not let her go again. Tonight, she would sleep at his place to be safe. He wanted her so much.

SHE was so absorbed by her work that she started when her cell phone rang. It was Rémi. She hesitated and then decided to answer.

“Hey, sweetheart?”

“Yes,” she said without much enthusiasm.

“Is something wrong?”

“No, everything is just fine.”

“Will you be home late tonight?”

“I don't really know. I already told you, we're working on a complicated case.”

“I know, but I wanted us to have a little tête-à-tête tonight.”

“What do you mean by a little tête-à-tête?” she said with sarcasm.

“Why do you ask?”

“Do you mean a romantic dinner in a nice restaurant, holding my hand in the movies, going for a walk in the moonlight to talk about everything and nothing? No, none of that, of course. Do you want to know what a little tête-à-tête means to you? It means a good lay! And I've had enough.”

“Enough of what? Enough of sex? You are such a prude.”

“I'm not an object there just to satisfy your sexual fantasies, Rémi.”

“You are all the same.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing, forget it.”

“You're right. I'm going to forget it. Or rather, I'm going to forget
you
. I'm fed up. I want something else from a relationship.”

“Women are just not on the right wavelength.”

“In any case, I am no longer on
your
wavelength.”

“But you seemed to be having a good time. I thought you liked it.”

“I do like it, but not under these conditions. Your saying that you want to go to bed isn't enough to get me excited.”

“Foreplay—what bullshit!”

“OK. Pick up your things, and leave the keys in the mailbox.”

“So it's over? Just like that?”

“Exactly. I want to move on, Rémi. Good luck.”

“Bitch!”

“I want nothing more to do with you. I don't want to see you or hear from you again. Ciao.”

Dominique slammed the phone down. She had wasted eight months, and that left a bitter taste in her mouth. Now she had to forget.

HE made sure the keyboard was inactive—he had no margin for error—then he slipped his cell phone into his inside jacket pocket. The time had come. He typed the code, and the door at 5 Place de Fürstenberg opened as if by a miracle. He walked up five flights of stairs to reach his next victim's apartment. There was nobody to stop him. He was free to do as he pleased. He rang the bell. There was no reaction. He rang again. He put his ear against the door to listen and heard steps approaching. He composed himself. She opened the door, her eyes still heavy with sleep.

“Yes, what is it?” she asked.

He did not give her any time to think and jumped on her with all his force and covered her mouth. Very quickly, she turned into a rag doll in his arms. She was his. He was going to kill her. It would be like stabbing a sword in Sirsky's heart.

H
IS HANDS GOT LOST in her wool sweater as he ran them up her back. Their mouths were sealed together. He knocked her onto the bed and lay on top of her. He kissed her stomach and slowly made his way to her neck. He pulled off her sweater and unbuttoned her shirt, undoing her bra. He brushed her chest, descending to her hips and then focused on removing her skirt. They smiled at each other and finished getting undressed. He threw himself on her again, unable to contain himself, tasting every inch of her skin, delaying the moment their bodies would join. The phone rang. It had to be a mistake. But the person insisted, and it was difficult to ignore. A two-hour break was all he wanted. They moved away from each other, burning with unappeased desire, their hearts pounding.

“Who is it?”

“Kriven, boss.”

He wasn't his usual self.

“What's going on?” he asked, suddenly worried.

“She's dead!” Commander Kriven sobbed.

“Who, for God's sake?”

“Amélie—Captain Ader! Her husband found her at home barely a half an hour ago.”

“But how?” Nico asked, wanting to make sure that he had understood correctly.

“Like the others. The bastard really messed her up. It's horrible, Nico.”

Kriven was crying outright now.

“Shit! She could have been more careful!” he screamed. “She's a cop, damn it!”

“David, calm down. She couldn't be on guard twenty-four seven. Are you at the scene?”

“Yes. I haven't let anyone in. My team is outside, but I won't be able to control them for long. They want to see her. You understand.”

“I'll be right there. Protect the scene. That's very important. I don't want anyone walking around Amélie's body.”

“OK. We'll wait for you. Hurry, Nico.”

Kriven was begging him; he was on the brink of losing it. It was especially difficult to lose a colleague in the line of duty, and all the more so in such a horribly way. Nico wanted to scream. He had sent her home to get some rest. Guilt overwhelmed him. Amélie was talented and had a promising future. This case was becoming very personal. He wanted this asshole's blood, and he would get it.

He felt a warm hand on his shoulder. Caroline. He leaned into her for a few seconds to recharge his batteries.

“I have to go.”

“A new victim?”

“Yes. A young woman from
La Crim
'. A cop.”

“Go quickly.”

“Don't go anywhere, OK?”

“I'll stay here with Dimitri. Don't worry about us.”

“Caroline?”

“Yes?”

“I really want you, you know …”

She smiled.

“I'll give you a rain check,” she said with a wink.

NICO gave instructions to the two police officers assigned to protect Dimitri and Caroline and then got into his car. He thought about the series of events. First, the mystery around Magistrate Becker. Jean-Marie Rost had searched his office but found nothing, and Gamby hadn't found anything more on his computer. He and Cohen had led the search of his home personally but hadn't discovered anything other than a few old pictures. Alexandre Becker's past had been reduced to a few modest shots of Arnaud Briard as a baby and young child, alone and with his mother. His wife was the only person who knew. She seemed kind and even-tempered. The sky had just fallen in on them. Her parents had come to pick up the two children, with Nico's consent; there was no reason to get them mixed up in this terrible story. Kriven's officers had examined the magistrate's schedule in detail. There were some gray areas; they had no way to verify the anonymous phone calls and the impromptu departures from his office. As a result, they had kept him in custody at headquarters. And his former educators and psychologists couldn't contribute anything, even if they all admitted that he had shown an exceptional ability to overcome the tragedy.

Nico had left Becker no more than two hours earlier, giving himself a break to see his son and Caroline. Dimitri was at his mother's place, with his things piled in suitcases. Sylvie had left without even waiting for Nico to arrive, placing a sealed letter on the dresser in the entry. Anxiety filtered through the words, raising a number of questions about the future. She didn't say where she was going. She wanted to get help; she would return when she was better. She promised to send news to Dimitri. She thanked Nico for his support and asked him not to try to find her; she needed to learn how to get by without him. That was key to her getting better.

Then Caroline had arrived under escort, as he had required. Her introduction to Dimitri could not have gone better. She had a good dose of psychology and knew how to handle teens. Dimitri wasn't fazed at all by this new person in his father's life and adopted her immediately. He clearly needed a strong and friendly female presence. Before Dimitri disappeared into his room, he gave them a smile that warmed Nico's heart. After that, Nico had only one thing on his mind: getting Caroline into his bed. They flirted for a few minutes, and then they threw themselves at each other, unable to hold back any longer. Until Kriven called about the murder of his second in command, Captain Amélie Ader.

NICO arrived at Place de Fürstenberg. The flashing blue and yellow lights of the police cars illuminated the building. The feverish activity at this hour of the morning had awakened the neighbors. Captain Pierre Vidal was smoking a cigarette. Everyone knew he had stopped smoking nearly two years earlier. The night's news had been too much. The other squad members stood near him, still and silent. Théron's men were there too, which was normal.

A car was let through the roadblock that had been set up around the square. Cohen got out, accompanied by Nicole Monthalet herself. The presence of the
police commissioner did not go unnoticed. She shook hands and said a few words of comfort. She was one with this family: the police. Nico appreciated her presence. Together, they climbed the stairs to Captain Ader's apartment. Pierre Vidal followed, ready to get to work as soon as the order was given. Nico had suggested that he let someone else take over, because he had worked with Amélie every day, but he refused. Rost and Kriven were waiting for them; Maxime Ader was next to them. Nico had met him at
La Crim'
get-togethers. He was trying to hold himself together.

“Amélie is in the living room,” Commander Kriven said, his voice filled with emotion.

The sight of Amélie's nude and mutilated body was a nightmare. It was the madness of a man who had lost all trace of humanity.

“I didn't touch anything,” Maxime Ader said. She undoubtedly had told him about police procedures.

“There's another message,” Nicole Monthalet said, pointing to an envelope on the victim's thigh.

She put on the gloves that Captain Vidal handed her and took the letter. Inside, there was a carefully folded piece of paper and two handwritten sentences.

“Can't you even protect your women, Nico? I am God. You are nothing,” Madame Monthalet read.

“The bastard!” Cohen cried out.

“One thing now seems obvious,” Nico said. “Becker is innocent. I sent Amélie home when I went to the magistrate's office. He hasn't been alone since. We no longer have to keep him in custody.”

Three custody rooms were next to his office. He had put Magistrate Becker in one of them and left him sitting on a narrow bench. Two uniformed officers were guarding him, as regulations required. The walls were covered with graffiti left by many of the former occupants. Nico had no choice but to lock Becker up in this less-than-comfortable room until things were cleared up. He had seen the magistrate's crestfallen look at the idea of finding himself there, but Nico could not allow himself to feel pity. Now he was relieved to let him go. It was reassuring to see that Becker had, in fact, overcome his childhood trauma. They needed to start the investigation fresh.

“Let's get going. Search the scene,” Nico ordered. “And we have to get Amélie out of here. Has someone told Professor Vilars?”

“Yes,” Rost answered. “She is already at the medical examiner's office.”

“Very good. Jean-Marie, you take care of the body,” Nico ordered.

Everyone went to work, under the seasoned eye of Nicole Monthalet. When Amélie Ader's body was carried through the apartment in a body bag, they all stopped what they were doing and watched in respectful silence. Maxime Ader decided to go with his wife; tears streamed down his pale face.

“I've got an ear print on the door!” Captain Vidal's voice rang out.

Nico approached.

“Maybe our man listened before he rang,” Vidal said.

The lifted ear print would be compared to the culprit's when the time came, and this would be one more piece of evidence against him.

“There's a white powder on the dining room table,” Nicole Monthalet said. “Come take a look, Chief Sirsky.”

“It might be talc,” Nico said. “He uses surgical gloves. The talc scatters when he opens the sterile package.”

Quickly they realized that they wouldn't find anything else. The killer had kept a cool head and made only a few mistakes. It was enraging and frustrating. Monthalet and Cohen decided to go to the medical examiner's office to attend the autopsy. Nico forbade his men to follow, despite how unhappy that clearly made Kriven. It was out of the question that they watch their colleague go under the coroner's scalpel.

ON the way back to headquarters, Nico obsessed over the killer's latest message. The discomfort was palpable when Nicole Monthalet read it. “Can't you even protect your women, Nico? I am God. You are nothing.” The scumbag was blaming him. Why had he forced Amélie to go home? Why hadn't he let her continue her work at headquarters, as she had wanted to? Was it to reward her for discovering the link to Magistrate Becker? Was it because they badly needed rested, available detectives? Or was it because she was a woman, and he was treating her differently, as she had insinuated? Undoubtedly, it was all of these reasons. His decision had led to her death.

How terribly ironic—to be tortured by the very person you were tracking. Nico needed to bring down this criminal. But what exactly did he mean by “your women”? Was the killer telling him clearly that other women who were even closer to him were also in danger? The idea sent a shiver up his spine. Who was next on the list? His head was buzzing with questions when he arrived at headquarters. He double parked, leaving the key in the ignition, under the watchful eye of some uniformed officers. He went directly to the custody room where Magistrate Becker was being held.

The man had been sitting on the same bench for several hours. His face was in his hands. Nico relieved the officers and opened the glass door.

“You are free to go,” he said.

“That means that something must have happened, right? A murder while I was in custody? That's abominable. I am so sorry for the poor woman.”

Becker didn't stand up to leave, but instead continued to sit on the bench. Nico sat down beside him. The two men remained there in silence for several minutes.

“The woman in question,” Nico finally said, “The killer's fifth victim was a member of my brigade.”

“A cop?”

“Captain Amélie Ader. She's the one who made the connection between you and Arnaud Briard.”

“She did good work.”

“Exactly. But it was a lead in the wrong direction. I sent her home to get some rest after she made the discovery. And she was killed.”

“It's not your fault,” Becker said, as if he were reading his thoughts.

“So it seems.”

“A new message?”

“Yes. ‘Can't you even protect your women, Nico? I am God. You are nothing.'”

“His tone is very familiar. This determination of his to undermine you shows a real sense of inferiority.”

“Is he being sarcastic, or is it a threat?”

“You're wondering if
your women
could be in danger?”

“You could say that.”

“Is your family still under police protection?”

“Yes.”

“Is this personal, or does he want to destroy you because you are the head of the
brigade criminelle?
”

“We didn't find anything when we looked into the people I've put away in recent years.”

“We have a real sociopath on our hands. He's well integrated and has a job and no history with the law. The day you put someone like that behind bars, he never gets out again. But why did he bring up my past? How did he know?”

“He did it to mislead us and keep us off his trail.”

“You, me …”

“That said, maybe he is not so far removed from us.”

“You're giving me goosebumps.”

“Amélie Ader's autopsy has certainly begun. Are you coming?”

“I have to reassure my wife.”

“It's been done already. I called her just a few minutes ago. I warned her that you would have work to do and that you wouldn't be coming home right away.”

“What planning. Thanks. I'm right behind you, Nico. I can call you Nico, can't I?”

“With pleasure. We're in the same boat. We're going to have to start from square one again.”

“I'm with you. After the autopsy, get the whole team together in your office.”

“OK. We need to find him before he kills again. There has to be something we missed.”

“And at Ader's place?”

“Similar ropes around her wrists. The talc and an ear print on the front door.”

“That's not much. The SOB is careful.”

“Or he knows our methods.”

“Today anybody can know them just by watching TV and reading mysteries.”

“Not in such detail.”

“Perhaps not, but everyone knows not to leave evidence and fingerprints and that DNA is a key part of any investigation.”