The 7th Woman (19 page)

“It's on the third floor,” Rost announced. “A retired couple bought the apartment from Fiori. There is only one door on each floor. There is a push-button system to enter the building.”

“I've got the equipment we need in the trunk,” Kriven said.

“Perfect. Let's go. I'll go first with Kriven. You follow along ten minutes afterward. Alexandre, you stay in the car.”

The die were cast. Nico was sure Fiori and Caroline were there. He felt it deep inside. He couldn't be wrong; the woman's life depended on it. He advanced toward the building's entrance with Kriven alongside him. The two men pinned themselves to the door, out of sight of the third-floor occupants. A large balcony shielded them. The commander opened his toolbox and took out the instruments he needed. He handled them skillfully, and they heard a click. Nico pushed the door open.

There was a tiled hallway, then a double glass door, followed by a choice between an elevator and a staircase covered with thick dark-green carpet. They chose the latter and began the climb. All was quiet. There was no sign of morning activity. Outside, dawn was having a hard time piercing the heavy clouds that were threatening rain. Second floor. The others were certainly entering the front door they had left open. Third floor. A reinforced door. Nico put his ear to the door, alert to the slightest echo of a voice, any unusual sound. There was nothing. And what if he were wrong? Anxiety tightened his throat, doubling his heartbeat. In his mind, he saw Caroline's face. He surprised himself by praying that he would get her back, that he would finally be able to take her in his arms. What should he do? Shoot out the lock and run across the apartment? If it were the wrong apartment, and the killer and Caroline were not there, he could always apologize to the owners and get their door fixed. If he were right, Fiori could lose control and kill Caroline in a fit of violence. Maybe it was a better idea to control the balcony and the windows, at the risk of being seen by the criminal. But time was short. The rest of the team was coming up to join them.

He stared at Kriven, a message in his look, and held out his arm, gun in hand. He pulled the trigger. The silencer produced the muffled sound of a champagne cork popping. The lock gave. Kriven pushed the door open with his full weight. Nico felt as though he had left his body, as though he were watching a movie in slow motion. His intuition guided him, almost despite himself. He slipped in after the commander. The others followed. They had done this many times before and simply followed their reflexes. They needed to clear every room as quickly as possible.

JEAN-MARIE Rost found the couple's room. The stale smell struck him. A man and a women, both around seventy years old, lay on the bed, their eyes wide open, dead. Blood stained their clothing. The inspector recognized the knife wounds. The unfortunate couple had nothing to do with this story. Nico was right, Fiori had been here.

PIERRE Vidal looked around the kitchen. He entered an adjoining pantry used to store utensils and canned goods. He started when the coffee machine suddenly turned on, and nearly shot it out of reflex. The black liquid began to drip. He realized that it had been programmed to go on. Nobody moved. How should he interpret the situation? Had the killer reduced them to silence? What about Dr. Dalry?

ONCE Joël Théron had crossed the dining room, he entered the door farthest from the front door. It led to a small room at the back of the apartment with a view of the interior courtyard, a place where light must have been a rare sight. An old sewing machine sat on a small, dusty worktable near a sofa. A mirror hung above an imposing fireplace. The shelves of a bookcase sagged under the weight of old books. All was silent. He noted nothing else. Maybe Nico had been wrong. Maybe Fiori never intended to come here, and the owners were away on a trip. The problem remained: Where had he taken the seventh victim?

DAVID Kriven was the one to enter the large, light-filled room directly in line with the dining room. An ornate, early twentieth-century desk stood near two French doors that looked over Place Jussieu. There was a magnificent Napoleon II gaming table, framed by two mahogany English bookcases. But there was no sign of an evil presence and even less evidence of Caroline. He imagined the state Nico must be in. What if they hadn't gotten there in time? What if he discovered her dead like the others?

NICO had taken the double doors facing the entrance. He guessed it led to the apartment's main room. He slowly turned the handle and saw the dark mass of a leather couch through the crack. This was the living room. He had been right. He pushed open the doors with a steady movement, a knot in his throat. There was no light. The shutters were closed. Yet he saw a shape sitting in a chair and then the form of someone wedged into an armchair. Neither showed any sign of movement. It was as though time had stopped for them. He looked at the chair and took a step forward. Then he understood. Terror took hold of him. He lowered his weapon.

I
COULD HAVE CHOSEN your ex-wife, but I understood that it would not have had the same effect,” Eric Fiori said in a merry voice. “Your sister. I thought about that very seriously. An attractive woman, but too blond for me. She did not
fit
, you understand? I had to make sure my victims fit the same profile, since that's what people expect of a serial killer, right? Tanya gave me the solution. She's the one who put me on the scent of the beautiful Caroline. It's your fault, in fact; if you hadn't fallen in love with her, she would be safe now. Did you fuck her? Was it good, Nico?”

Provoke him or play the game? What was the best solution? Nico heard his heart beating in his chest. Most important, he couldn't treat the criminal like an enemy, or he wouldn't be able to communicate with him. He had to feel empathy but not treat him like a friend. He had to get him to talk, listen to him, create a state of confusion in which the killer identified with him, the policeman, and vice versa. This would push the killer to pour out his feelings, but the cop was taking an enormous risk. Clearly, Fiori was extremely dangerous, and Nico realized that honest language would be the best weapon. This kind of criminal would be more destabilized by an attitude filled with understanding and kindness than by angry words he had heard all too often.

“No. I haven't yet made love to this woman,” he said calmly, hiding the worry that was eating away at him.

“Not yet? Poor Nico. So you'll never have the chance. You're crazy about her, aren't you?”

“I am.”

“Bingo! You at least kissed her, didn't you?”

“Yes, several times.”

“And what was it like?”

“I liked it.”

“You wanted more didn't you?”

“Yes.”

“Good, good. I suggest you set down your weapon now. You see, I'm pointing my gun at her, and I won't hesitate to pull the trigger, as you can imagine. I have nothing to lose.”

Nico obeyed and set his gun down on the coffee table. His colleagues would be coming, drawn by the sound of voices.

“Here comes the cavalry,” Fiori said. “Tell them not to try anything. They can turn the light on now.”

“Do what he says,” Nico ordered.

Kriven hit the switch, and light shot out of a superb Venetian glass chandelier. Fiori had risen from his seat and stood behind the young woman, his gun pressed against her temple. There was total silence. The police officers stared at the criminal without blinking.

“You've seen, now clear out.” Fiori sounded impatient. “Give your orders, Nico. I want them out of here. This is between me and you.”

“Go on,” Nico confirmed.

“Are you sure?” Rost asked. “The owners were killed in their bed.”

“He's sure,” Fiori said. “Or it's his chick next. And leave your pieces here. You probably have other ones, but that means there won't be as many.”

“Obey,” Nico said, in a firm voice.

His team members set their weapons down on the thick, cream-colored carpet and left the room. They closed the door behind them.

“I hope none of them are going to try to be smart,” Fiori threatened.

“If anyone does, he'll have to deal with me,” Nico cut in.

They heard their footsteps disappear.

“So here we are alone,” the coroner said.

“Why?” Nico asked, having trouble looking away from Caroline.

“You can stare at her, Nico,” Fiori said, watching him.

Caroline was sitting very straight, her hands tied behind the back of the chair, her skirt hiked up mid-thigh over skin-colored nylons, her white silk blouse unbuttoned to offer a view of a lace bra. Duct tape across her mouth kept her from saying anything. Her face showed no emotion. She remained her own master, and a captivated Nico was impressed. Caroline's eyes expressed relief in knowing he was there, and he hoped he would be deserving of this trust.

“What did you do to her?” Nico asked, deciding to take a familiar tone.

“Not a thing, don't worry. I just touched her breasts. You know how much I love that part of a woman's body. But I put everything back in order, her bra and her shirt. Have you already played with her tits?”

“Yes,” Nico said, his voice tight.

“You sound moved. They are soft, aren't they?”

Nico nodded. He wanted to throw himself at the sleazebag and bash him to death, but he had to be patient. He tried to relax and regain control of his breathing. He had to focus on the match. The end was near.

“Look. I brought my wife's breasts. They're in the jar! I thought I might have the time to sew them onto the beautiful Caroline. But none of that is important anymore.”

“Why?” Nico asked, feeling nauseous.

“Ah, why. Isn't that the big question. There always has to be a reason, isn't that right? In any case, it's always easier to understand and more practical to forget. What if I just did it for the pleasure? The pleasure of dominating, humiliating and massacring?”

“I don't believe that. There's something else.”

“What impression would you have if there were nothing else but that pleasure? You would think that all those women died for no reason, not even to fulfill a fantasy. You wouldn't have any explanation for the families. The unfairness of fate would pursue them to their last breath. But an explanation for my behavior would make their grieving easier. You would like that.”

“The words on the wall mean something,” Nico said, pointing to the message written quickly in still-fresh red paint.

“Read it.”

“For my loins are filled with burning. And there is no soundness in my flesh.”

“Psalm 38, verse 7.”

“What is this burning, Eric?” Nico asked, managing to pronounce his first name as if he were a friend.

“A dull, smoldering pain that the years have not erased.”

“What did she do to you? What did your mother do?” Nico asked, alert for the tiniest movement, afraid he might have sparked some anger.

“There we are, finally. The great motive that gives rise to serial killers: hate for one parent or the other. Mostly for that dominating, castrating mother who traumatizes her child. Isn't that reassuring? It is so much easier than to blame society and its ideologies. My mother—you
are
right, she was the first of all the bitches,” Fiori said, his eyes closed to better see her ghost.

“Tell me. I want to understand. Why thirty lashes with the whip? Why always thirty?”

“An anniversary, of course. Of the day when, after hitting me, she raped me. But can a woman really force a man or, in my case, a male child? And did I enjoy the perverted game?”

“A child endures but does not decide. You had no responsibility in what happened.”

“Perhaps. In any case, I took care of her.”

“So it was you, then?”

“Stabbed her thirty times in her gut. It was sheer butchery, but what pleasure I felt. It was exactly thirty years from the day she did that to me.”

“And your father?”

“He didn't give a shit. He left the house and rebuilt his life without me. Another woman, other children. He preferred to forget me and my crazy mother.”

“A teacher raised suspicions.”

“I see you studied my file. My mother shut her up quickly. Case dismissed.”

“You never talked about this to anyone?”

“I was just a child, you're the one who said it.”

“What do all these women have to do with it?”

“Nothing at all, Nico. Just fate. All they did was look like her. Same body, same presence. It must be that killing once was not enough for me.”

“Don't you think that it's enough now? Can't you finally find peace with yourself?”

“I see where you are trying to go, Nico. You would like to save the beautiful Caroline. I haven't decided yet. In fact, I wanted to kill her like the others and then invite you to come see. I would have gotten off on that. I would have loved watching you discover her ravaged, lifeless body and seeing your pain. I would have wounded you forever. You would never have forgotten me, even if you put me away forever. I would have taken one more life: yours. But I have to admit that you blew me away; you arrived earlier than I thought you would, and I had to change my plans. I'm angry, Nico. I wanted to kill her, and I did not have the time. So, we'll see. I'm still holding my gun, and I can pull the trigger whenever I want.”

“I will kill you afterward.”

“I don't give a damn, which is exactly why I am stronger than you. My life means nothing to me anymore.”

“Caroline is innocent. She does not deserve to pay for another.”

“Nico, do you know what a serial killer is? You don't need me to give you any lessons. I relieve my suffering by taking innocent victims. I have a pattern. I'm sick. I do not feel the slightest remorse. And if you don't stop me, I'll start over again.”

“I can't let you go, you know that.”

“Even in exchange for Caroline's life, Nico? You would carry the burden of her death on your conscience.”

Nico was wearing himself out with this conversation, and his mouth was so dry, he was having trouble articulating.

“She is not like the others. She is not pregnant.”

“That's true, but I decided not to care, as with Ader. Did you know that my mother got an abortion? I was six years old. There could have been two of us to fight her off.”

“I love her, Eric. Don't kill her, I couldn't bear it.”

“The mysteries of love, or is it sex? She is so attractive.”

Nico once again tried to catch Caroline's eyes; he wanted to run up to her, to untie her and take her into his arms and get her to safety. Yes, he had loved this woman from the first minute he saw her, and he couldn't live without her.

“What's with the brown hair you left for us?”

“A little souvenir from my mother. Did you know that she did drugs too? Professor Queneau couldn't have missed that.”

“Why did you use Dr. Perrin?”

“That scared you didn't it? Tell the truth. The kind, inoffensive brother-in-law dressed up like a killer. You know, I went to his office several months ago, under a fake name, of course. He loves those fisherman's knots. All those frames. I thought that would be fun, don't you agree? OK, have I answered your questions? Are you relieved? Now you can explain it to the families: ‘He killed her, but he had been beaten and raped as a child. That is why.'”

“Becker's childhood was painful, as well, but he managed to overcome it. Your past does not excuse or justify your actions. All it does is explain them.”

“Oh, oh! Now you are provoking me. Be careful not to push me to the breaking point. It could cost you Caroline. That Becker thing is incredible, isn't it? I dug around in your professional circles to spice up the chase; there are always secrets to discover. I found a big one. Little Arnaud Briard stabbing his mother to death, and now he's Investigative Magistrate Alexandre Becker. What a career. In the end, he and I both took care of our mothers in the same way.”

“For him, it was legitimate self-defense.”

“You're playing with words, Nico. It was for me, too. I admit I was a few years late.”

“He did not take out his revenge on the innocent.”

“So maybe it's in the genes. You know the debate: Are you born a serial killer, or do you become one? It's difficult to say. The scientists are split. When I was a kid, I liked to cut off lizard tails. One night, I stuck a kitchen knife into my cat's belly, and then I got rid of the animal. I always had a thing for other people's suffering. When a child cried during recess, I watched and felt a kind of pleasure. Do you think I was born bad?”

“There is good inside every one of us.”

“You're serving up religious bullshit. You can do better than that.”

“I thought you were a Bible enthusiast.”

“I haven't had any faith for a long time now. I used that to provoke.”

“Whom?”

“You, the judge, Vilars, all of you.”

“Professor Vilars?”

“The bitch. I would have gladly bedded her, but I wasn't good enough for her. And the way she looks at you. Are you even aware of it? She would eat you if she could.”

“That's a little exaggerated.”

“No, no. But it doesn't matter.”

“Clearly you do not like women. What about your wife? You were married for several years.”

“I had to look normal, didn't I? She was there, consenting, and I married her.”

“You must have felt something for her, at least at the beginning, didn't you?”

“I'm going to disappoint you, Nico, but no, never. Killing her allowed me to get rid of her. I don't regret anything. Don't try to find the slightest remorse. That would be useless. I have chosen my fate.”

“The future has not yet been written.”

“All true. So, what would you be willing to do, to sacrifice even, to save Caroline's life? What is she worth to you?”

“Me. A trade.”

“Easy. I've already seen that. I'm not interested in men. Not even your son. I could have taken him, though, you know? He looks so much like you. That would have been amusing. But you see, I barely even thought about it. I must admit that Caroline was convincing, pushing me to take her and leave him. Of course, I had come only for her.”

“That is all I have to offer: me.”

“What do you think she thinks about that? Let's ask.”

Fiori slid his hand along the young woman's face and ripped off the duct tape, freeing her to talk. Caroline grimaced.

“So, Dr. Dalry,” the killer said. “What do you think? Should I kill him in exchange for your life?”

“No.”

He didn't call her by her first name, and Nico realized how ill at ease he was with her, even if he did everything he could to hide it.