I Kill (20 page)

‘I don’t know, Nicolas. I really don’t know. We’ve got nothing. Any news from Lyons?’

‘They finished analysing the first tape, but their findings are no different from Clavert’s in Nice. So I don’t expect anything more from the second tape. Cluny, the
psychiatrist, told me I’d have his report tomorrow. I sent over a copy of the video to see if they can get anything from the measurements, but if things are the way you said, we won’t
find anything there either.’

‘Any news from Froben?’

‘No,’ replied Hulot with a sigh. ‘They didn’t find anything in Yoshida’s house. All the prints in the room where he was killed are his. The footprints on the floor
are the same size as the ones on Welder’s boat so we have the dubious consolation of knowing that the killer wears a size nine. The hair on the chair belonged to the victim. The blood is his
too, type O negative.’

‘Did they find anything in the Bentley?’

‘Same thing there. Lots of Yoshida’s prints and other prints on the steering wheel that we’re comparing with those of the bodyguard who occasionally drove the car. I ordered a
handwriting test on the words on the seat. But you probably noticed it was very similar to the first writing. Probably stencilled again, I’d say.’

‘Yeah.’

‘The only thing we have is the hope that he keeps on calling Jean-Loup Verdier and that he’ll make a mistake that leads us to him.’

‘Think we should put Verdier under protection?’

‘I already did, just to be sure. He called me and said his house was overrun by reporters. I asked him not to talk to them and I sent a car and two officers to keep an eye out. Officially,
it’s to take him back and forth to the station without letting him fall into the clutches of the press. Actually, I feel safer that way, though I decided not to say anything that would alarm
him. Otherwise, all we can do is keep the station under close watch. Which is exactly what we’re doing.’

‘Good. Anything on the victims?’ Frank asked.

‘We’re looking into it with the German police and your pals at the FBI. We’re digging into their lives but nothing’s come up so far. Three famous people, two Americans
and a European. They all had intense lives but nothing aside from what we already know. The only common factor is the guy who killed them.’

Frank finished his Pastis and placed the glass down on the wrought-iron balustrade. He seemed puzzled.

‘What is it, Frank?’

‘Nicolas, do you ever feel like you have something on the tip of your tongue, but you don’t know what it is? Like when you want to remember the name of an actor you know well, but
just then, try as you might, it won’t come to you?’

‘Sure, quite often. At my age, it’s normal.’

‘There’s something I saw or heard, Nicolas. Something that I
should
remember but I can’t think of it. And it’s driving me crazy because I can feel that it’s
important.’

‘I hope you remember soon, whatever it is.’

Frank turned his back on the magnificent view and crossed his arms over his chest. Fatigue and the feverish nervous energy that kept him going were etched on his face.

‘Let’s see. We have a killer who likes music. A connoisseur who calls the deejay of a hit show on Radio Monte Carlo to announce his intentions to murder. He leaves a musical clue
that nobody recognizes and then kills two people, a man and a woman, right after. He leaves them for us to find, in a horrible state, as if he is laughing at us. He signs the crimes “
I
kill
. . .” written in blood. He leaves absolutely no trace. He is cold-blooded, cunning, expert and ruthless. Cluny talks about above-average intelligence. I would say
way
above
average. He’s so sure of himself that he gives us a second clue in the next call. Again, it’s music-related and again we don’t get it. And he kills again. Even more ruthlessly
than the first time, and now the crime has a sense of justice about it. But he’s even more contemptuous. The tape in the car, the video of the murder, the same writing as the last time. None
of the victims shows signs of sexual violation, so he’s not a necrophiliac. But in each case he removes all the skin of the victim’s face. Why? Why does he do that to them?’

‘I don’t know, Frank. I hope Cluny has some ideas. I’ve been hitting my head against the wall, but I can’t even come up with a plausible idea. How can you fathom the mind
of a psycho?’

‘We have to try, Nicolas. If we manage to figure out why he does it, I’m sure we can find out who and where he is!’

‘Now you two stop talking shop.’ Céline’s warm voice and the aroma of her cooking suddenly penetrated their dark speculation. She set a steaming tureen on the table.
‘Here’s some bouillabaisse for you. Only one course tonight, but there’s lots of it. Frank, if you don’t have at least two helpings I’ll be personally offended.
Nicolas, you’ll take care of the wine, please?’

Frank realized that he was starving. The sandwiches he had eaten in the office without even tasting them were a distant memory. He sat down and unfolded his napkin.

‘They say that food is the true culture of the people. If that’s true, then your bouillabaisse is immortal poetry.’

‘You’re a shameless flatterer, Frank.’ Céline laughed, illuminating her dark, lovely Mediterranean complexion. The tiny lines around her eyes only heightened her charm.
‘But it’s nice to hear.’

Hulot looked at Frank across the table. He knew what his friend was holding inside, but in spite of it all, his affection for Céline and for Hulot made him behave with a natural kindness
that few people shared. Nicolas didn’t know what Frank was looking for, but he hoped that he would find it soon, whatever it was, so that he could find some peace.

‘You’re made of gold, Frank,’ said Céline, raising her glass to toast him. ‘And your wife is a lucky woman. I’m sorry she couldn’t make it tonight. But
she’ll come next time. And I’ll take her out shopping, to cut into your retirement fund.’

Frank didn’t flinch and his smile didn’t change. A brief shadow passed quickly over his eyes and then disappeared in the warmth around the table. He raised his glass and responded to
Céline’s toast.

‘Sure. I know you’re not serious. You’re a cop’s wife, so you know that after three pairs of shoes it’s grounds for divorce.’

Céline laughed again and the moment passed. One by one, the lights along the coast lit up the border between land and sea. They sat eating the excellent food and drinking good wine in the
shadow of the terrace, with darkness all around them.

Frank stood at the taxi rank in the main square of Eze, but there were no cabs in sight. He looked around. There were people on the street despite the fact that it was almost
midnight. Summer was coming and tourists were beginning to flock to the coast, searching for picturesque images to take home with them.

He saw a large, dark limousine drive slowly through the square and head towards him. The car pulled up beside him, the door opened, and a man got out. He was at least a few inches taller than
Frank, powerful but agile in his movements. He had a square face and fair hair in a crew cut. The man walked around the car and stopped in front of him. Frank could tell that he was carrying a gun
under his well-cut jacket. He had no idea who the man was, but he already seemed dangerous.

The man looked at him with expressionless brown eyes. He seemed more or less Frank’s age, maybe a year or two older. ‘Good evening, Mr Ottobre,’ he said in English.

‘Good evening. I see you already know my name.’ Frank showed no surprise. A flash of respect passed over the man’s eyes and then they returned to neutral.

‘I’m Ryan Mosse. American. Like you.’ Frank thought he could detect a Texas accent.

‘Nice to meet you.’ The statement contained an implicit question.

‘If you’d be so kind as to accept a ride to Monte Carlo,’ said Mosse, pointing to the car, ‘there’s someone inside who’d like to talk to you.’

Without waiting for an answer, he opened the back door on his side. Frank saw someone else in the back seat, on the other side. He could see the legs of a man in dark trousers, but not his
face.

Frank looked Mosse straight in the eye. He, too, could be dangerous and he thought he should let the other man know.

‘Is there any special reason I should accept your invitation?’

‘There are three. The first is that you’ll avoid a long walk home since it’s pretty hard to find a cab at this hour. The second is that the person who wants to talk to you is a
general in the United States Army. The third is that you might find some help solving a problem that’s been bothering you lately.’

Without showing the slightest emotion, Frank stepped over to the door and got in the car. The man sitting inside was older but of the same military appearance. He was more heavily built, given
his age, but he emitted the same sense of strength and authority. His hair was completely white but still thick and crew cut. In the car’s dim light, Frank saw himself observed by a pair of
blue eyes that were strangely youthful in the tanned, lined face. They reminded him of those of Homer Woods, his boss. He wouldn’t have been surprised if the man told him he was Homer’s
brother. He was wearing a white open-collared shirt with the sleeves rolled up. On the front seat, Frank noticed, lay a jacket that matched the trousers. Mosse closed the door and got in behind the
wheel.

‘Hello, Mr Ottobre. May I call you Frank?’

‘Mr Ottobre’s fine for now.
Monsieur . .
.?’ Frank purposely said the word in French.

‘I see the information they gave us about you is true. Drive on, Ryan.’

The car pulled out gently and the old man turned back to Frank.

‘Forgive me for stopping you so rudely. My name is General Nathan Parker, US Army.’

Frank shook the hand he held out. The man’s grip was firm, despite his age. He probably exercised daily to keep that physique. Frank sat silently, waiting.

‘And Arianna Parker’s father.’

The general’s eyes sought an instant of surprise in Frank’s but did not find it. He leaned back against the seat and crossed his legs in the narrow space of the car.

‘You can probably guess what I’m doing here.’ He averted his eyes as if he were looking at something out the window. Whatever it was, only he could see it. ‘I came to put
my daughter’s body in a coffin and take her back to America. The body of a woman that someone flayed like an animal.’

Nathan Parker turned back to him. In the intermittent light of the passing traffic, Frank saw the glitter in his eyes. He wondered whether it was more from anger or grief.

‘I don’t know if you’ve ever lost someone close to you, Mr Ottobre Frank suddenly hated the man. The information he had about Frank certainly included the story of his wife. He
realized that for Parker this was not a moment of shared sadness but simply an exchange of goods. Parker continued his speech in a casual tone. ‘I’m not here to cry over my daughter.
I’m a soldier, Mr Ottobre. A soldier doesn’t cry. A soldier settles the score.’ The general’s voice was calm, but it held a lethal fury. ‘No maniac bastard can do what
he did and hope to get away with it.’

‘There’s an investigation going on for exactly that reason,’ said Frank, gently.

Nathan Parker turned sharply.

‘Frank, aside from you, none of these people would know where to stick a suppository, even if they had detailed instructions. And you know what things are like in Europe. I don’t
want this killer caught and put in a mental institution because he’s soft in the head, and then let out in a couple of years, with an apology.’

He paused and looked out the window again. The car had reached the road out of Eze and was turning left towards Monte Carlo.

‘Here’s what I suggest. We’ll organize some top guys and continue the investigation ourselves. I can have all the help I want. The FBI, Interpol, even the CIA if we need it. I
can bring over a group of good, trained men, better than any cops. Quick boys who ask no questions and just obey orders. You’ll be in charge.’ He nodded towards the man driving.
‘Captain Mosse will work with you. You’ll continue the investigation until you catch him. And when you do catch him, you’ll hand him over to me.’

The car had reached the city in the meantime. They’d just passed the Jardin Exotique after turning down Boulevard Charles III. Continuing on Rue Princesse Caroline, they were now nearing
the harbour.

The old soldier looked out at the place where his daughter’s mutilated body had been found. He squinted as if trying to see better. Frank figured that his vision had nothing to do with it;
it was an instinctive reaction caused by the man’s violent anger. Parker continued speaking without turning his head. He could not tear his eyes away from the quay where the illuminated boats
waited for another day at sea.

‘That’s where they found Arianna. She was beautiful as the moon and she had a first-class mind. She was a fine girl. A rebel. Different from her sister, but a fine girl. We
didn’t get along so well, but we respected each other because we were equals. And they killed her like an animal The man’s voice trembled slightly. Frank sat in silence, leaving Arianna
Parker’s father to his thoughts.

The car skirted the harbour and headed towards the tunnel. The general leaned back against the seat. The yellow lights of the tunnel coloured their faces.

When they emerged again in the open air of the night, near Larvotto, and the car turned down Rue du Portier, the old man finally broke the silence.

‘Well, what do you say, Frank? I’m a personal friend of Johnson Fitzpatrick, head of the FBI. And I can go even higher. I assure you, you won’t regret it. Your career could
take off. If it’s money you’re interested in, that’s no problem. With what I can offer, you’ll be set for life. It’s an act of justice, not just revenge.’

Frank remained silent, as he had been throughout General Parker’s speech. He, too, paused to look out the window. The car was turning down Boulevard des Moulins, about to turn up the hill
towards Parc Saint-Roman. The list of things they knew about him obviously included his address.