Текст книги "Taste of Fear"

Автор книги: Jadran Hawke

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Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 7 страниц)

13

The Dark Stallion was admiring his chest in the mirrors just behind the row of treadmills and suspended TV screens. He was wearing a tight tank top and sweatpants. His shoulders and his pecs were huge, filled with blood. The Pump.

He checked his watch. Ten seconds more. He took a deep breath, flexed his muscles in front of the mirror one more time and went back to the bench press. He grabbed the Olympic bar, at shoulders’ width. Threw his shoulders back. Planted his feet firmly on the floor. Unracked the bar and dropped it to his sternum, in a controlled way.

Phew! He pushed the bar. An explosive move. One! Then he dropped it slowly. Pheeew… He pushed again. Two!

He repeated for ten reps, completing his fourth set of bench presses for the day. Again, he posed in front of the mirror. His veins were popping out of his forearms, upper arms, shoulders and neck. He pulled up his shirt, flexing his abs. Two, four, six, eight packs. Lean. He smiled and walked back to the locker room.

He took a hot shower, feeling his muscles contracting as he was scrubbing his body with shower cream. He thought about Charlotte Bois and felt his penis getting bigger. She was such a nice piece of ass. But nothing compared with the next woman he had in mind. That one had been a bit more difficult to seduce. She wasn’t willing to get involved with someone at work. She had offered a bit of resistance, but not that much. The Dark Stallion actually loved it when there was a bit of resistance. It was more exciting.

She seemed to be less open than the other ones. Therefore, harder to get. More attractive. Despite her attitude, the Dark Stallion had managed to make her talk about her personal life. Just a little. The bare minimum. He had done it as a friendly coworker first. Then as a friend. And then as a confidante. There was a process to this. And he was about to reach the next step: lover.

She had been married once and wasn’t ready to do it again, she had told him. Perfect, he’d said. The Dark Stallion wasn’t into long-term relationships either. She wanted to move on. She’d been married too young and felt like she had missed several opportunities to discover herself, her body, her sexuality. No problem, the Dark Stallion had thought. He was pleased to help. He stroked himself thinking about her, eyes closed, swallowing the hot water from the shower. Oh yeah, she was delicious. She deserved something better than the previous ones. But what? He looked down at his penis. Big, he thought. Huge.

When he was a teen, a girl had refused to sleep with him as soon as he’d removed his underwear. Too big! It’s going to hurt, she’d said. That day, for the first time in his life, he saw fear, clearly visible on a woman’s face. He fell in love with the sensation. It was so exciting. That’s when he realized he loved watching women being scared by his size. He loved to be in control, to have power and decide to hurt them or not. Pain and pleasure. Everything was linked together. The distinction between the two was hard to identify. But it was better than anything. Better than making six figures a month in consulting fees. Better than feeling the pump at the gym. Better than cocaine and ecstasy. Even better than sex itself.

The Dark Stallion got out of the shower, towel around his waist, and walked to the washbasins, where he looked at himself in the mirrors. Again. Not bad, he thought. Not bad at all actually. He deserved to be famous. He had the looks, the money, the women. Everything. The press hadn’t talked about Charlotte Bois yet. What were they waiting for? He should have tipped them, he thought. Leaving a note wasn’t enough. It was too subtle for these stupid cops. They didn’t know how to work properly. Incompetent. The police were probably scratching their heads, wondering what to do. Ridiculous.

This time, he wouldn’t make the same mistake. In this day and age, who needs to rely on the press to publish something? he thought. He could do it himself. The Internet. Social media. But he wasn’t an online celebrity. He had no audience. So how to get attention?

He was applying moisturizing cream to his face when it became obvious. A viral video. Yes! That’s what he would do to his next victim. He would record the whole thing, the sex and the murder. Then he would just upload the video online and voilà! Everybody would talk about him. Everybody would know who he was. The Dark Stallion felt calm and confident. He had a new plan of action. He loved to have plans. It was the best way to succeed in this world. And he was definitely a successful person.

He removed his towel and tossed it on the floor. He was naked in front of the mirror. Proud. Beautiful. Like a Greek statue. He raised his arms and flexed his muscles. A man walked by him and looked at him like he was a freak. The Dark Stallion ignored him.

He didn’t care. He was invincible.

The Pump.

14

John left Crédit Parisien and headed to Groupe Finaris. This time, he knew what he wanted. What he needed was a list of all the IT consultants who had worked in close collaboration with Liliane Genet. His plan was to have two lists from both banks. Then he would compare them and, hopefully, find the same name twice – the Dark Stallion or whatever his real name was.

John talked to an IT guy again. This time, the man didn’t protest, and agreed to provide him with a list of freelance contractors who had worked with Liliane. Even better, he promised to deliver the same day, later in the evening.

Things were finally going somewhere, and John relaxed a little. He drove home, with the satisfaction of a man who’d had a productive day. On the way back, he called Sovann to keep him up to date.

“Did you see the families?” John asked.

“Yeah,” Sovann said, a bit discouraged. “I really hate it. Makes me depressed, really. Every time, it feels the same. Like I’m shooting them with my mouth. My words are the bullets, crushing their hearts, their souls. This man kills those women, and I feel like I’m killing the families.”

“I know,” John said. He knew how it felt. “Thanks for dealing with it, man.”

“Someone has to do it,” Sovann said, resignation in his voice. “I just hope I won’t have to do it again. Not before, I don’t know. Ten years at least.”

“We might have a break,” John said. “The man we’re looking for, I think he’s not a banker. He’s a consultant. An IT guy with a lot of knowledge in the banking industry. And he might offer his expertise to several banks at the same time, depending on what they’re working on.”

“Okay,” Sovann said. “So how do we find him now?”

“I’ve got help from two IT guys from the two banks. One of them promised to give me a list of all the consultants who worked with Liliane Genet by the end of the day. The other one said it could take up to twenty-four hours to get those who worked with Charlotte Bois.”

“Really? Why so much difference?”

“I don’t know. Different levels of skills maybe. Anyway, once we have everything, we’ll look for people who appear on both lists. And we’ll go from there,” John said.

“Okay. I’m doing some research now,” Sovann said.

“About?”

“Similar murders elsewhere in the country. I don’t think our guy is a total beginner. We could find other clues.”

“Great.”

“Keep in touch, man.”

“Yeah. I’ll call you back tonight.”

John hung up and parked his car in the street. When he got home, Cécile was still there, wearing an apron, cooking dinner for two. He kicked off his shoes, kissed her and collapsed on the couch. He closed his eyes for ten minutes and tried to clear his mind. It was time to disconnect.

He looked around and noticed something different. It even smelled different. Cécile had cleaned up his apartment during his absence. No more dust on the TV, the shelves and the table. The floor had been mopped too. And the bedsheets were drying near the heater.

That woman…

“You didn’t have to do that,” he said.

“Do what?” she said.

“Cleaning everything.”

“It was either that or I had to go home. Sorry, but I can’t live in a slum,” she said, grinning. “There’s no doubt in my mind that you’ve been single for several months…”

He smiled. He didn’t think his place was that bad.

“I won’t be able to kick you out tonight, then,” he said. “I feel guilty now.”

“Don’t worry. I’m just cooking what’s in your fridge and I’ll bring the food home when I’m done,” she said with a wink.

They had dinner and watched a movie. John couldn’t stop checking his phone. He was waiting for a call from Alex, the IT guy who had promised to deliver at the end of the day. And he was still waiting.

When he opened his eyes, it was already bright outside. Morning light. John was still on the sofa. He had fallen asleep in front of the movie. He checked his phone immediately. Nothing.

Shit.

He thought about calling Alex right away but decided to wait a bit more. He needed his coffee first. Finally, at 11:10 a.m., Alex called him.

“Sorry,” he said. “I thought the database would be easier to hack but I was a bit overconfident.”

“It’s okay,” John said. “Do you have everything?”

“Yes.”

“Where are you?”

“Still at work. I was about to go home but I wanted to let you know I was done,” Alex said.

“Stay where you are. I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” John said as he threw the remaining of his cup in the sink.

He went to his bedroom and found Cécile sleeping. He thought about waking her up to tell her he had to leave, but decided against it. She would figure it out.

He met Alex at the reception of the bank.

“You’re sure the list is exhaustive?” John asked.

“I triple checked,” Alex said. “That’s also why it took a bit longer.”

“How many names?”

“Close to eight hundred over the last six months.”

Eight hundred? Jesus…

If the Dark Stallion was telling the truth, another woman in Paris would be dead by Monday morning. They say knowledge is power, but that was only partially true. Knowing was only one thing. Feeling helpless about knowing something was the most difficult. John didn’t feel like he had power at all.

In the afternoon, John called Pierre Gentil, of Crédit Parisien. He couldn’t start doing anything without the second list to reduce the list of consultants to something more manageable. Hopefully, just a couple of names. It would make things so much easier.

“Mr. Gentil?” he said on the phone. “Detective Montclair.”

“Hello, Mr. Montclair.”

“Still working on what I asked you?”

“I’m really sorry, we’ll try to start as soon as possible.”

John checked his rear-view mirror and eased his car to a stop at the curb. He frowned and closed his eyes, trying to stay cool. He was still gripping the steering wheel, and his knuckles turned white.

“Excuse me?” he said with disbelief. “Did I hear you say try to start?”

“Yes, I’m really sorry.”

“Stop being sorry,” John said, hitting the steering wheel with his palm, “Do you realize what it means? A woman will die, do you understand? You were supposed to be done already!”

“We had a P1 ticket.”

“What the hell is a P1 ticket?”

“Priority 1 support ticket. A big problem, if you like.”

“How big? More important than catching a murderer?”

“Twenty-five million euros were at stake, Mr. Montclair. My management was in panic and screaming at us. I had to deal with it first, I’m really sorry.”

John calmed down. Twenty-five million. He couldn’t even imagine the kind of pressure Pierre Gentil was under. But he knew how it felt to be yelled at by his boss. Not a pleasant feeling at all. Gentil was just doing his job.

“Alright,” John said. “Are you done now?”

“Yes.”

“So you can you start trying to get me that list then?”

“I’m getting started immediately. I’ll call you back as soon as I’m done.”

John hung up and started driving again, when his phone rang. It was Cécile.

“Cécile?” he said.

“Where are you?” she said. He could hear the disappointment in her voice.

“I had to take care of something but I’m done.”

“Are we going to spend time together or do you have other things to do?” she said. Her tone wasn’t aggressive. She was just asking. But obviously, she had her own expectations.

John sighed and blamed himself. Their relationship was still new and so far, she had been perfect. He hadn’t even said thank you for the dinner and the housekeeping.

“I’m coming home right now,” he said apologetically. “Sorry for leaving you alone.”

John hung up and accelerated, driving slightly over the speed limit. His phone rang again.

What the hell?

He didn’t recognize the number this time.

“Montclair,” he said.

“Papa?” a little voice said.

“Yes, honey. What’s wrong? What are you doing on the phone? You should be at school,” John said.

“I am at school. Where are you?” Claire said.

“I’m driving, honey. What’s the matter?”

John heard someone taking the receiver from Claire’s hands.

“Mr. Montclair?” a woman said with a bitter voice. “This is Claire’s teacher, Mrs. Denis.”

Oh no, please. Not Mrs. Denis…

John frowned. “Yes? What’s going on?”

“Claire’s mother said you were supposed to pick her up today after school. She’s been waiting for you for thirty minutes already,” Mrs. Denis said with an accusing voice. “Are you coming?”

John raised his hand to his forehead and shook his head. Friday! The week-end he had been waiting for so long to be with Claire.

“Jesus, I’m really sorry,” he said. “I’m on my way.”

“Are you working on this murder case, Mr. Montclair?” she asked. “The one they talk about in the news?”

John smiled. At least, Mrs. Denis knew why he had forgotten to pick up Claire and was tolerant, he thought. “Yes, I am,” he said, proudly.

“Well, if you’re not able to pick up your own daughter, I really don’t know how in the world you’re going to catch a criminal!” she said before hanging up.

15

John was faced with a dilemma. On the one hand, he wanted to be with Cécile and show her how much he’d appreciated being taken care of. On the other hand, he wanted to spend time with his daughter. Doing both wasn’t totally impossible. The only problem was that he didn’t know how each one of them would react.

First, Cécile. Their relationship wasn’t official yet. John didn’t even know if they were actually in a relationship. Maybe it was just a little love affair that wouldn’t last. Maybe she had no plan to settle down with him. Heck, John wasn’t even sure he was ready to settle down himself. Not after a failed marriage.

And there was something else. She hadn’t said anything, but John had a gut feeling about it. He suspected Cécile of resenting the idea that he already had a child. The surprise in her voice, followed by an uncomfortable silence the first time he had told her on the phone. Then her assumption that he wasn’t the type of guy to have a daughter. It just didn’t make sense.

No. It was something else, maybe an excuse. Maybe dating someone with his own family wasn’t in her plans. He couldn’t blame her for that actually. Who could? After all, Cécile had a good situation and lots of opportunities in life, either professional or personal. Unless she fell deeply in love with him, there was no reason for her to accept his past. He would be a burden more than anything else. Maybe not at the beginning but after a while, she would grow tired of the situation. John was almost sure of it.

But what Cécile thought wasn’t nearly as important as what Claire would think. And feel. John didn’t want her to see him dating other women. Not unless he was sure it was serious. Not unless he could find someone to take care of Claire like her own daughter. He knew it was a demanding request but he wasn’t going to lower his expectations. It was his daughter first and above everything else.

Also, he didn’t want Claire to be confused about having more than one daddy and more than one mommy. He was convinced that it would confuse her and destabilize her emotionally. He had no degrees to prove it but he was pretty sure about it. Her mother didn’t seem to bother introducing her to her boyfriends, but it was her decision. Julie wasn’t his wife anymore. He couldn’t tell her how to raise their child. When he had divorced, he had renounced this right. He just didn’t know it at the time.

Reluctantly, he called Cécile and explained to her the situation. He apologized. A lot. Cécile said it was fine for her but John couldn’t tell if she was just being polite or if she really didn’t mind. He wanted to tell Cécile that he would introduce her to his daughter later, maybe after a month. But he decided against it. He realized he was a bit too optimistic. A lot could happen in a month. Four weeks. Thirty days. Thirty opportunities for things to go wrong.

We’ll see, he thought. If she’s still around after a month, things will happen naturally.

John parked his car, unbuckled Claire’s seatbelt and walked past the bakery.

“Want a strawberry cake?” he asked.

“Yaaay!” Claire said, raising her little fists in the air in victory.

Cécile had left the apartment immaculate. Everything was clean and tidy.

I should invite her for dinner, John thought. A nice place this time. When I get my paycheck at the end of the month.

John and Claire watched a movie together. Claire fell asleep before the end. Her mouth was opened and a bit of saliva was dripping from her lips.

John called Pierre Gentil again. It was Friday night already and they couldn’t afford to waste too much time. The Dark Stallion would strike within the next forty-eight hours. The database wasn’t easy to hack. The second list wasn’t ready at all. Even though John had expected it, he was still frustrated. Pissed. And they still had to compare both lists. He told Pierre to get in touch with Alex, the other IT guy, as soon as he was done. They were supposed to call him as soon as they had come up with a list of consultants who had worked for both Groupe Finaris and Crédit Parisien for the last six months.

“And remember, it’s urgent. Even more than a P1 ticket,” he reminded Pierre Gentil.

Then he called Sovann but his partner didn’t pick up. He left a message to tell him he had nothing new and asked him how things were progressing for him. And he was done for that day. No more work, he decided.

He lifted Claire from the sofa and took her in his bed. She rolled on to her side and curled up exactly where Cécile had been sleeping a few hours earlier. He could still smell her perfume in the room, mixed with her body odor. It gave him butterflies in his guts. He thought about her and wanted to call. He had been rude. He had basically kicked her out of his apartment.

“Were you sleeping?” he said when she picked up.

“No,” she said.

“Thank you,” he said in a low voice. “And sorry.”

“I know. I understand.”

“Are you upset? Mad at me?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Not really.”

“I’m really sorry.”

“I know.”

John felt that she wasn’t in the mood to talk and wished her good night. He took a shower and went to bed. It took him about an hour to fall asleep, trying to clear his mind.

Claire. Cécile. Julie.

Then he thought about the case.

Liliane. Charlotte. The Dark Stallion.

When he woke up, Claire was still sleeping. Snorting. He moved gently and checked his phone. Sovann had left a message. He was also waiting for an answer from other police stations in big cities. It could take a while.

Then he prepared breakfast and got dressed, when he received a call. Pierre Gentil.

“Yes?” John said hastily. “Do you have it?”

“Yes.”

“Complete?”

“Yes, phone numbers, addresses, everything.”

“Okay, send it to me,” John said.

Sending such sensitive information online, without any security, wasn’t the best practice. But John had very little time left. He gave Pierre his email address and turned on his laptop. His computer was old and it took nearly five minutes before John could access the Internet.

When he finally opened the file, he frowned. He called Pierre again.

“Are you sure this is the list I asked you?”

“Absolutely.”

“Sure?”

“Yes, sure! One hundred percent.”

“Shit…”

“Why? What’s the problem?”

John didn’t answer and hung up. There were still two hundred and fifteen names on the list. Two hundred and fifteen potential Dark Stallions.

16

John had lunch with Claire at home. He was silent. Absent-minded. Lost in the Dark Stallion case. More than two hundreds names, he thought. What the hell am I going to do with that?

He felt discouraged. Almost beaten. Something terrible was going to happen. He knew it. But when exactly? Where? Who?

He could already hear his phone ringing, announcing another victim. He could picture the scene. A naked woman, beautiful, lying on her stomach, her hands handcuffed behind her back. Dead. But how? The first two murders had been different. If the Dark Stallion was consistent, he would use another method to kill the next woman. This man needed to have control, to follow a ritual, some kind of routine. Yet he also needed variety, something new and different to spice things up.

The week-end will be glorious, John remembered. Meaning the third woman would probably die in a spectacular way. He checked the newspapers and shook his head. The front pages were all about the death of Charlotte Bois, the second victim of a killing spree in Paris by the dangerous and mysterious Dark Stallion, the headlines said.

There we go, John thought. Now he’s all over the news and he probably wants more attention.

He hated himself for thinking that way, but John realized there wasn’t much he could do. He was truly helpless. More Detectives and police officers had been assigned to the case, but the investigation was very tough. They weren’t left with many clues. Actually, they had nearly nothing.

John thought that on Monday, they would have more data. A new name. A new dot on the map. The name of another bank maybe. More connections to make. But unfortunately, it would also mean one more dead body. One more family to visit. John felt extremely guilty. He felt responsible for these women. He was so close, yet so far.

“Papa?” Claire said.

John snapped back to reality. “Yes,” he said.

“Why don’t you eat? You’re not hungry?”

“I’m… I’m a bit worried, sweetheart.”

“Why?”

“Because… my job gives me headaches.”

“So find another job!” she said.

John chuckled. It was a good remark. “That’s a damn good idea, you know,” he said, smiling at her.

Claire nodded. “Mom said that you should find something else.”

“And now, you agree with her, huh?”

Claire nodded. “You won’t have headaches anymore,” she said.

“But who’s going to catch the bad guys then?” John said.

Claire looked up, thinking. “I don’t know,” she said.

John laughed. “You see? People need me to protect them,” he said.

She nodded.

After lunch, John turned on the TV to check the news. According to the weather forecast, a storm was approaching the capital. All Parisians who had gone to the countryside for the long week-end were advised to come back later that day instead of waiting for Sunday.

Claire took a nap and John decided to do a few pushups. As he was counting fifty-six, his phone rang. He ran to it, afraid that Claire would wake up.

“Yeah?” he said.

“John, listen to this,” Sovann said. “I’ve got access to the archives of several police stations in big cities. Marseille, Lyon, Lille and Strasbourg.”

“Okay,” John said.

“Guess what – there have been murders in those cities with the same pattern. Listen. This one happened in Marseille. Quote. The victim is a woman, attractive, face down. She’s naked. Her hands are manacled in the back with handcuffs. Unquote.”

“The Dark Stallion,” John said. “His signature.”

“Exactly. Same report in the other cities. He’s definitely not a beginner.”

“They have no idea who he might be? No clues?” John asked.

“Not a clue. Case closed every time.”

“Shit. The bastard is good.”

There was a silence.

“It’s the week-end, John,” Sovann said. They both knew what it meant.

“I know…”

“What can we do? He’s going to do it again. We know it!”

John sighed. “I have no idea. Let me think about it,” he said.

John paced around the living room. He couldn’t stand still. They had so much data about him, yet nothing to catch him. So frustrating. He sat down in front of his computer again and went through the list of consultants. He just read the names, one by one.

Nothing.

He decided to take a nap with Claire. When he woke up, he went through the list again. Wrote down the cities where the murders had happened. And then, it became clear. He knew what to do. He grabbed his cell phone and called Alex.

“Alex? This is extremely urgent. Can you get access to the résumés of the consultants on the list?” John asked.

“Sure.”

“Then do it. Now. Call me back when you’re done,” he said before hanging up.

Six minutes later, Alex called back. “Done,” he said.

“Okay, now I want you to eliminate everybody who didn’t work in the following cities. Marseille. Lyon. Lille. And Strasbourg. Call me back when –”

“Wait, wait,” Alex said. “No need to hang up, I’m typing the SQL queries as we talk.”

“The what?”

“The database requests you’re asking me. It’s not that long.”

“Okay. Got it?”

Alex paused for a few seconds, typing on his keyboard and waiting for the result.

“Yeah, done.”

“What do we have?”

“Two results.”

Yes!

“How old are they?” John asked.

He heard Alex typing on his keyboard. “Thirty-nine and fifty-seven.”

“Drop the older one. What’s the name of the other guy?”

“Bourdot. Gérard Bourdot,” Alex said.

I got you, sonofabitch!

John asked for his address and wrote it down on a napkin. Then he sent it to Sovann, along with the real name of the Dark Stallion. He rushed to his bedroom, opened his cupboard, a drawer, and pulled out a Desert Eagle .50, a personal gun he’d bought on the black market. Bigger. More power. Safer. He turned around and looked at Claire. She was still sleeping. He couldn’t leave her alone.

What should I do? Call her mother?

Maybe not a good idea, he decided. If she had to cancel her plans at the last minute, she would make him pay by not allowing him to see Claire anymore. Not a good deal.

His brother was in Canada and his parents lived too far. There was one person, though. He felt terrible about asking her but he had no choice.

“Yes, John,” Cécile said when she picked up.

“Cécile, listen. We found the guy. We’re going to break into his house,” John said.

“When?”

“Today. As soon as possible. Now.”

“Okay…”

There was a short silence.

“Can you come and take care of my daughter?”

Silence.

“Please?”

She kept silent and sighed.

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”