32

On the fourth floor of headquarters, the excitement was palpable. Tension, too, which was always felt just before the conclusion of an investigation. The division’s finest had put together the pieces of the puzzle: Timothy Krall in custody, Laurent Mercier in the next cell over, Camille Mercier and Daniel Vion in interview rooms.

Nico walked into his office, along with Becker and the top officers.

“Mercier’s alibi for the night Mathieu Leroy was attacked has fallen apart,” Deputy Chief Rost said. “Camille’s story is full of holes and inconsistencies.”

“Mercier settled his tab at Le Defender with his credit card at twelve thirty in the morning,” Commander Charlotte Maurin said. “According to the clients they spent the evening with, everyone left the Hôtel du Louvre and went their separate ways. The security guards at the Parc de la Villette discovered Mathieu Leroy around two in the morning, which gave Mercier plenty of time to commit the crime. The student was probably looking forward to a hot meeting. Instead, he met an animal. I’d say he was like the ones they used to sell at La Villette’s markets, but those animals weren’t predators.”

“We’ve done voice recordings for Laurent Mercier, Daniel Vion, and Timothy Krall,” Jean-Marie Rost said. “Gianni and Théo should be arriving at any minute now. Charlotte’s group is getting ready for them.”

“As soon as Clément Roux is well enough to listen, we’ll pay him a visit at the hospital,” Maurin added. “I understand he’s recovering.”

“Great. Here’s the plan,” Nico said, turning to Alexandre Becker.

Caroline’s text caught his attention: “Anya won’t be operated on until the end of the morning. Don’t worry. She’s in good hands. And Alexis and Tanya are here with me. They’re letting us keep her company until she goes in. Then we’ll stay till she wakes up. Don’t forget: I love you.”

“We’re going to let Tim stew in his cell,” Nico continued. “Plassard is dealing with Daniel Vion. We need to make sure he tells us everything; maybe he knows something else about Mercier. David, you’re being assigned to the wife. Be cold and scare her. If her husband is the man we think he is, she’ll break down. She needs to spill the beans.”

Everybody nodded.

“Jean-Marie, you’re in charge, and you’ll collect all the information.”

“What about Laurent Mercier?” Becker asked.

“I’d like to take him myself,” Nico answered.

The magistrate was required to interrogate any suspect charged in a crime that he was investigating. He could authorize police officials to interrogate any suspect who hadn’t been charged, as well as those who were close to a case, such as witnesses. Technically, the landscape designer hadn’t been charged yet. Nico was counting on Becker to give him the go-ahead.

“Let me do it, and you’ll have the signed confession this morning,” he told Becker.

Becker nodded. “I’ll be in my office. Keep me informed.”

“No problem.”

As everyone else streamed out of Nico’s office, Becker stayed behind. “You aren’t yourself this morning,” he said, touching Nico’s arm.

Nico hesitated. Could he tell his friend about the pact he’d made with fate?

“I’m sorry, Alex,” he said. “I’m worried about my mother.”

“She’ll be okay. I’m sure of it,” his friend assured him. “My wife spoke with Caroline last night, and she was confident.”

“I’ll feel better once she’s out of the hospital.”

“I understand.”

“We’ll hit the jackpot if our witnesses and Clément Roux positively ID Mercier’s voice,” Nico said.

“But we both know that’s not enough. We need more than a vocal match to make a case that a good lawyer won’t punch holes through.”

“We also have the photos that we found at the suspect’s house. They’re just like the photos of Jean-Baptiste.”

“You think Laurent Mercier was Jean-Baptiste Cassian’s lover?”

“Why not? His wife and Daniel Vion may have the answer to that question. And I’ve got one last trick up my sleeve.”

“Oh?” Alexandre Becker stared at him. He knew Nico had a flair for suspense.

“I’m keeping that a secret.” The chief winked at him.

Charlotte Maurin received Gianni and Théo in the small office she shared with Captain Moumen. Gianni had traded his see-through mesh shirt for an impeccable Jean Paul Gaultier suit and tie.

“We have a real lead here,” she told them.

“One of the guys from the pictures?” Théo asked. “I didn’t recognize any of them.”

“We’re not focusing on the way Clément Roux’s friend looked, but rather on how he sounded.”

“How he sounded?” Théo asked.

“I’m going to play three recordings for you and ask you to listen. Tell me if you recognize one of the voices. Listen carefully. You must be absolutely sure.”

“We’re ready,” Gianni replied calmly.

Moumen grabbed his computer mouse, opened the audio window, and started playing the recordings. The first voice rang out in the office. The two witnesses leaned forward in their chairs.

The two officers exchanged glances in the hallway. Then Captain Plassard went into the room where Daniel Vion was waiting. Commander Kriven shut the door behind him in the room where Camille Mercier was being held. They were determined to glean what they could from Laurent Mercier’s friend and spouse.

Kriven immediately saw how fragile the woman was. She was huddled in her chair, and Kriven sensed that she wanted to disappear, to forget the father of her children and the miserable life he’d put her through. That was what Nico had implied. It was up to him to find out if this assessment was correct.

“Mrs. Mercier, your husband is suspected in the murder of Jean-Baptiste Cassian.”

She bit her lip and was blinking quickly, a telltale sign of anxiety.

“Were you and Laurent lovers before your friend’s disappearance?”

She sat up straight. Her hands were trembling.

“Not yet.” Her voice was hoarse. “But I loved him.”

“And did he love you?” Kriven asked.

“Would he have married me if he didn’t?”

Who was she trying to convince?

“How long have you two been married, Mrs. Mercier?”

“Twenty-seven years.”

“And how would you describe your relationship as a couple?”

She didn’t seem to understand the question.

“Has your sexual relationship with your husband seemed normal to you?” Kriven pressed.

Her face turned red and then went ashen.

“Of course!” she shot back.

Too insistent to be honest.

“Laurent has always been preoccupied with his work,” she said. “And it’s demanding, so he tends to get tired. But I understand. He works hard to give us a good life.”

She didn’t look like she believed what she was saying.

“How is he with the children?”

“He’s a good father. He’s always there for them.”

Clearly, Laurent Mercier didn’t have much time for his wife.

“You and your husband have the same degree, but your name isn’t on the plaque at the entrance. Why?”

“Oh, he’s the one who runs everything. I’m just happy to help out when he’s got too much on his plate.”

Her statement contradicted what their clients had said. They said Mercier exploited his wife.

“That’s not what we found when we talked with your clients. Laurent actually relies on you quite a bit, doesn’t he?”

Camille was visibly embarrassed by the question.

“Is Laurent often absent in the evenings?” Kriven asked, changing the subject.

“Not at all. He enjoys spending time with his family. But sometimes he has to see clients in the evening.”

“And what about the other evenings?”

“He often works late in his office.”

“And that doesn’t seem odd to you? Have you ever suspected that he looks at websites? At porn or hookup sites?”

She opened her mouth slightly.

“Jean-Baptiste was gay. Did you know that?” Kriven asked.

She rocked back and forth in her chair. She looked panicked.

“He had a lover, and we think the lover is the photographer who took these pictures of him,” Kriven said as he set the prints on the table. “Do they look familiar?”

She shook her head emphatically.

“They demonstrate the same techniques your husband’s skilled at, wouldn’t you say?”

Camille was paralyzed.

What had Dominique Kreiss said? That if he was right, Camille Mercier was a submissive wife controlled by a tyrannical husband. Over the years, he had beaten her down to the point where she felt that she amounted to nothing on her own. She had become entirely dependent on him and didn’t think she could live without him. And so whatever he did, she would justify his actions.

Why had Laurent Mercier opted to live a cruel lie? Same-sex marriage had been legal in France for a while, but society was much less tolerant at the time Laurent Mercier and his friends were going to school. Being gay wasn’t accepted in the straight world, and many men felt compelled to marry women in an effort to reject their sexual orientation or cover it up. And men who had a real desire to father children were practically forced to marry women. Some gay men, pressed into pursuing lives that were dishonest at best, became mean-spirited and made their wives suffer for their bad choice.

“Haven’t you ever thought about going through his computer and personal things to see what he’s been hiding from you?” Kriven said. “An affair, maybe?”

“Yes,” she said in a tight voice.

Nico took Laurent Mercier out of his cell and walked him to the interview room with a guard at their side. His Sig Sauer was clearly visible on his belt. That always made an impression.

“Mr. Mercier, as you know, we found your darkroom. We also found your photographs,” Nico said as soon as they sat down. “Our specialists have looked at them and will tell us if, based on their resemblance, you’re the person who took the photographs of Jean-Baptiste Cassian.”

“Those portraits are at least thirty years old,” the suspect said, his tone still emotionless.

“The style and technical aspects of the photographs all bear a resemblance. You might even be using the same camera.”

“Even if I took those photographs, what does that prove?”

“Why hide it from us?”

“I was afraid you’d get the wrong idea and waste your time. If I’d confessed that I was the photographer, you’d have put me at the top of your list. But I’m innocent. I had nothing to do with Jean-Baptiste’s disappearance.”

“So are you saying that you took these pictures?”

“Yes,” he said with exasperation.

The two men sized each other up.

“I know you’re proud of your work, Mr. Mercier,” Nico said carefully. “And you’ve helped us with our investigation. Did you, by any chance, save the negatives?”

Nico noticed how Mercier’s pupils were dilated, and his jaw was clenched.

“Those photographs are very old. I get rid of the negatives when they’re a year or two old. If I kept all of my negatives, I would quickly run out of space.”

“What kind of relationship did you have with Jean-Baptiste Cassian when you took those photos?”

“He was a friend.”

“Yes, but his disappearance hit you especially hard, considering that you frequently visited his parents.”

“I wanted to comfort them.”

“I got the impression that you were the one who sought out Samuel Cassian and his wife and that they were kind enough to take you in.”

“I’d just lost a friend.”

“Lost?”

“A disappearance is a loss, is it not?”

“You would go into his room by yourself. That’s an odd thing to do, wouldn’t you say?”

“That was my way of dealing with it. I didn’t want to let him go. I felt like I could be close to him in his room.”

“You needed to smell his skin, his scent?”

Laurent Mercier didn’t flinch. Just then, the guard opened the door. Deputy Chief Rost came in without paying any attention to the suspect. He gave his boss a paper folded in half. He left just as quickly. “Gianni and Théo have positively identified Laurent Mercier’s voice. There was no question. Charlotte is on her way to the hospital. The doctors say Clément can listen to the recordings.”

Nico read the message slowly to keep his suspect off balance.

“We have witnesses,” he said calmly.

It was time to get serious.

“What did you find, Mrs. Mercier?” Commander Kriven asked.

“Folders on his computer,” she whispered in a hurried, nervous tone.

“What was in those folders?”

“Photos. Porn. Men together.” Kriven’s colleagues were analyzing Mercier’s hard drive and already had proof of what his wife was saying.

“Did you find anything else?” Kriven asked.

“E-mails. Laurent was meeting men.” Anger and disgust were evident on Camille Mercier’s face. She was a wounded woman.

Kriven swallowed. He had gotten what he wanted.

“Laurent Mercier is starting to go weak,” Nico told Jean-Marie Rost. “How’s everything going at your end?”

“Plassard’s done with Daniel Vion. He confessed that he suspected something was up with Jean-Baptiste and Laurent. But he wasn’t sure, and he was close to both Lara and Camille. He didn’t want to say anything. He’s still in custody.”

“Mercier should be nervous about his old friend being in the room next to his. Is David still with Mrs. Mercier?”

“He’s been with her the whole time. It’s getting good. She went through her husband’s computer and found gay porn. She’s spilling all his dirty secrets right now.”

“Perfect. It’s time for the lineup.”

The Paris police headquarters had changed little since the 1931 publication of Georges Simenon’s first crime novel about Jules Maigret. The police didn’t have modern rooms conforming to twenty-first-century standards. The holding cells on the third floor were used. So the hallway lights had to be dimmed to keep suspects from seeing witnesses. And the witnesses had to talk quietly, because there wasn’t any soundproofing. The whole setup was a far cry from the public perception of a police headquarters.

“We’re going to do this another way,” Nico said. “Set up a table in the room so that five men can sit side by side facing the one-way mirror.”

“Five,” Rost said. “That means Mercier, Vion, Krall, and two of our colleagues.”

“Perfect. I’ve also asked Michel Cohen to find us a young guard about the same height and weight as Jean-Baptiste Cassian and the victims from the Parc de la Villette. He’ll face the suspects, and we’ll put him in charge of the interrogation. Michel Cohen should be preparing him and the two officers right now.”

“How sneaky!” said Rost said.

Twenty minutes later, Michel Cohen, Jean-Marie Rost, David Kriven, Pierre Vidal, and Ayoub Moumen were all squeezed around Nico behind the one-way mirror. Gianni and Théo, the witnesses from the nightclub were let in, and Gianni gave the chief a hearty handshake. A few moments later, the young brown-haired guard who was to play the role of interrogator arrived.

“Go on in,” Nico whispered to him.

He was a guy who knew how to handle himself, Cohen had said. And he looked cool in his jeans and tennis shoes. They trusted him to do the job.

He stepped into the lion’s den. Mercier, Vion, Krall, and the two recruited officers were in place, with numbered placards in front of them.

“Gentlemen, let me explain why you’re here,” the interrogator began, looking them over one by one as he pulled out his chair.

Cohen had told him to play seducer.

“We’re here for an identification. Behind the mirror, witnesses are watching you. Keep in mind that you’re being filmed,” he said, sitting down and crossing his legs.

He paused to let the words sink in.

“Do not say a single word,” he said firmly.

He didn’t want Laurent Mercier’s voice to influence the witnesses.

“You can answer my questions by nodding or shaking your head. Do you understand?”

The five men nodded.

“Number One, are you familiar with the Parc de la Villette?” This man was one of their police officers. He nodded. “Do you visit the park?” Another nod.

“Number Two, are you married?” Daniel Vion shook his head. “Do you have children?” He did not.

“Number Three, do you live in Paris?” Timothy Krall nodded. He seemed shaky.

“Number One, do you live in Paris?”

Laurent Mercier was waiting to be called, and the abrupt return to the first man seemed to make him nervous.

“Number Four, have you ever visited the Parc de la Villette?” The second police officer shook his head.

“Number Five, did you book a hotel room for one night near the Parc de la Villette?” The question was meant to up the ante. Mercier paused, then shook his head.

“Number One, did you spend a night in a hotel near the Parc de la Villette?” The cop nodded. The best was yet to come. “And was the room to your liking?”

“Wait,” Gianni said.

“What do you see?” Nico asked. He leaned in to hear what the lawyer had to say.

“That gesture.” He pointed to one of the suspects. “The guy who picked up Clément was doing exactly the same thing.”

“I saw him do it, too,” Théo said. He was thoroughly absorbed in the drama unfolding on the other side of the one-way mirror.

“Number Five, are you married?” Mercier nodded. “Do you love your wife?”

Nico saw his unease. Gianni held up his fist.

“It’s Number Five,” he said quietly.

Mercier stroked his lip slowly with the middle of his finger.

“Now for the coup de grace,” Nico said.