I Kill (25 page)

He compared that to the almost furtive visit from Dwight Bolton. The Principality authorities probably saw things the same way Bolton did, but from the opposite viewpoint. Now that the US
government had intervened, Frank’s presence there was no longer a personal favour, a gentlemen’s agreement. It was official.

Frank shrugged. He had absolutely no intention of becoming mixed up in diplomatic relations. He didn’t give a damn. All he wanted to do was catch the killer, lock him in jail, and throw
away the key. He didn’t care who took the credit.

‘I’m going downstairs. You coming?’ said Morelli, recovering from his earlier moment of awkwardness.

‘Think I should?’

‘I know they called you a couple of times but the line was busy.’

That was possible. He had been on the phone with Cooper for quite a while and had turned off his cell phone when Bolton arrived. He didn’t use it much anyway. It was almost always in a
drawer in the apartment.

Frank got up from the desk, picked up the photos and removed the videotape from the VCR. He took them with him. ‘Can we look at this downstairs?’

‘We’ve got everything you need.’

They left the office and walked in silence down the stairs. Frank’s expression was hard as stone.

The large conference room was painted in two different shades of grey. There were a number of people sitting around a long, rectangular table. Nicolas Hulot, Dr Cluny, the Sûreté
chief Roncaille and a couple of other people Frank didn’t know.

There was a moment of silence at his appearance and the fishy smell grew stronger. It was the classic pause of someone caught red-handed. Frank figured that this was their home and they had the
right to have all the meetings they wanted, with or without him. But the tension confirmed his suspicions. Nicolas glanced around, embarrassed, unable to look him in the eye, just like Morelli a
few minutes earlier. Hulot probably had other reasons as well. In Frank’s absence, he must have been soundly reprimanded for the negative results of the investigation so far.

Roncaille collected himself first. He stood up and took a few steps in Frank’s direction.

‘Ah, Frank, here you are. Come in and sit down. We were just doing a little summing up before you got here. I don’t think you know Alain Durand, the attorney general, who is
personally involved in the case.’

He pointed to a short man with a few, sparse blonde curls and tiny, deep-set eyes behind rimless glasses, sitting at the head of the table. He was wearing an elegant grey suit that did not give
him the air of importance he probably thought it did. Durand nodded slightly.

‘And Sergeant Gottet of the Computer Crime Unit . . .’

The man on Durand’s right nodded unmistakably. He was a young man, tanned with dark hair. He probably worked out in his spare time and lay on the beach all summer and a sunbed in the
winter. He looked more like a yuppie than a cop.

Roncaille turned to the men he had just introduced. ‘This is Frank Ottobre, FBI special agent. He has joined the Principality police for the “No One” case.’

Frank went to sit down next to Dr Cluny on the left-hand side of the table, almost directly opposite Nicolas. He sought his gaze, but Nicolas continued to look somewhere under the table, as if
he had lost something.

‘Okay,’ Roncaille said, returning to his seat, ‘I think we can go on now. Frank, we were about to hear Dr Cluny’s report on the tapes.’

Now it was Frank who nodded silently. Cluny pushed his chair closer to the table and opened his file of notes.

‘After analysing the tapes more closely than I could during the radio show,’ the psychiatrist began, ‘I have reached more or less the same conclusions. The subject is extremely
complex, a type that I must say I have never encountered before. There are some details in his modus operandi that are totally in keeping with most case histories of serial killers. The single
territory, for example. He only operates in the Principality. The fact that he always uses knives, which allow him direct contact with the victim. Moreover, the fact that he removes the skin can be
seen as both a ritual fetish and, literally, as
overkill.
By mutilating the corpse, the killer demonstrates his total control over the person he attacks. Even the quiet period between one
murder and the next is part of the general scheme. So, up to here, it all seems normal . . .’

‘But?’ asked Durand, with a deep voice that was disproportionate to his size.

Cluny paused for effect. He removed his glasses and rubbed the base of his nose, something Frank had noticed before. Cluny seemed to have a special ability to keep a crowd’s attention. He
replaced his glasses and nodded at Durand.

‘That’s right. Here’s where the “buts” begin. The subject has enormous verbal agility and a capacity for abstraction that is absolutely remarkable, unique in my
experience. His definition of himself as “someone and no one” is an excellent example. His imagery is even poetic at times, despite the bitterness. Aside from being highly intelligent,
he must have an exceptional cultural background. University studies, the humanities, I’d say. That’s different from the average serial killer, who is usually lower class with little
culture or education. They almost always have a very low intelligence quotient. There’s one thing in particular that puzzles me . . .’

Another pause. Frank watched the psychiatrist repeat the pantomime with his glasses and the nose rubbing. Durand cleaned his own glasses in the meantime.

A round of applause, Cluny. Great. We’re all ears but go on. And get yourself some contact lenses, won’t you?

‘The fact that there seems to be a compulsion towards the crime, the murder, during the conversation. Common personal experiences in subjects like this – an oppressive family, a
domineering parent or parents, abuse or humiliation and so on – are fairly normal. But there is an attitude that we usually find in cases of split personality, as if the subject were two
people at once. Which brings us back to the “someone and no one” mentioned earlier . . .’

To Frank, this was total bullshit. An exercise in style, nothing more. In this particular case, tracing the killer’s psychological profile might be helpful but would not determine
anything. The killer was not only a man who took action; he was a
thinking
man, and he thought a great deal before acting. His thinking was exceptional, and if they wanted to catch him, they
had to get
beyond
his capacity for lucid thought. Frank avoided saying so, however, because he didn’t want his opinion to be mistaken for admiration of the killer.

Durand interrupted, and from what he said, it was immediately evident that he was far from inexperienced. He knew how to run that kind of meeting.

‘Gentlemen, there’s no one here but us. This isn’t a contest. Please share any doubts you have, no matter how negligible. You never know where an idea may come from. I’ll
start. What can we say about the killer’s relationship to music?’

Cluny shrugged. ‘That’s another debatable topic. “Someone and no one” again. His passion is obvious. He seems to know a lot about it and love it. It’s a primary
refuge for him, a sort of mental retreat. But the fact that he uses it to leave a clue, a hint as to his next victim, is a way of destroying music, using it as a weapon to challenge us. He feels
superior, even though it’s based on a sense of inferiority and frustration. Get it? “Someone and no one.”’

Hulot raised his hand.

‘Yes, inspector?’

‘Aside from the psychological motivation, what do you think his practical goal is in removing a particular part of the victim’s anatomy? Let me make myself clear:
What does he do
with their faces? Why does he need them?’

There was silence in the room. Every one of them had asked himself that question over and over. Now someone was saying it out loud and the silence meant that nobody had an answer.

‘I can only guess, like any of us. Any guess would be valid at the moment.’

‘Could it be that he’s unbearably ugly and is seeking revenge?’ asked Morelli.

‘That’s possible. But keep in mind that a repulsive or even monstrous appearance is fairly conspicuous. Ugliness is something people notice immediately: ugly equals bad. If there
were some kind of Frankenstein wandering around, someone would have reported it. Someone like that doesn’t go unobserved—’

‘But it’s worth a try,’ interrupted Durand in his deep voice.

‘Of course. Anything is, unfortunately.’

‘Thank you, Dr Cluny,’ said Roncaille, turning to Sergeant Gottet, who had been listening in silence. ‘Your turn, sergeant.’ Gottet started speaking on his subject with
shining eyes, fuelled by the fire of efficiency.

‘We’ve examined all the possible causes as to why the UnSub’s calls were not intercepted.’ Gottet looked at Frank and it was hard for Frank not to smile. Gottet was
obsessed. The term UnSub was an abbreviation of ‘Unknown Subject’, used during investigations in America but uncommon in Monaco. ‘We have a new mobile phone monitoring system, the
DCS 1000, known as “Carnivore”. If the phone call goes through that, there’s no problem.’

Frank had heard of it in Washington when it was still in the experimental phase. He hadn’t been aware that it was now operational. But then, there were many things he was unaware of just
then. Gottet continued his report.

‘As far as fixed phone lines are concerned, we can enter the radio-station computer, the one that manages the switchboard, directly. We can check on every access with a search for the
signal, whether it comes from the phone-company switchboard, or directly or indirectly through the Internet.’ He paused for effect, but without Cluny’s results. ‘As you know, if
you have the right software and some wherewithal, you can make calls from the Internet without being traced. As long as there isn’t someone as good as you on the other end. That’s why
we’ve got a hacker who turned double agent. Now he’s a freelance consultant helping to protect against hackers. Sometimes he works for the police in exchange for our closing an eye on
his past escapades. There’s some incredible technology available for this kind of search. Next time, we’re not going to let him get away.’

Gottet’s report was much shorter than Cluny’s, partly because he had much less to say. The mystery of that untraced call was a stain on the department’s freshly laundered
shirt. Everyone would be rolling their sleeves up to their armpits to wash it clean.

‘Anything else?’ Durand looked around the room.

Hulot seemed to have recovered from his embarrassment and was cool and collected.

‘We’re continuing our investigation into the victims’ private lives but we don’t expect much from that. Meanwhile, we’re keeping an eye on Radio Monte Carlo. If the
subject calls again from the vicinity and gives us another clue, we’ll be ready to intervene. We have a special plainclothes team, men and women, to check the location. There’s also a
sniper unit equipped for night vision. We’ve contacted music experts who are willing to help us decipher the message, if and when it comes. Once the message is deciphered, we’ll put
anyone we consider a likely victim under protection. We’re hoping the killer will make a mistake, since up to now he’s been infallible.’

Durand looked around the table. Frank finally managed to see that his eyes were hazel. He addressed no one in particular.

‘Gentlemen, it’s pointless for me to remind you how important it is for
us
not to make any more mistakes. This is not just a police investigation. It has become much more than
that. We have to catch this man soon, before the press tears us to pieces.’

And the Council of State, if not the Prince in person,
thought Frank.

‘Let me know anything immediately, whatever the time. Goodbye, gentlemen. I’m counting on you.’

Durand got up and everyone followed. The attorney general headed to the door, followed by Roncaille who probably wanted to take advantage of his presence for a spurt of public relations. Morelli
waited until the two of them were far enough away and then he left too, with a glance of support at Hulot.

Dr Cluny was still standing by the table gathering his folders. ‘If you need me at the radio station, just call.’

‘That would be a big help, doctor,’ said Hulot.

‘Then I’ll see you later.’

Cluny left the room, too. Frank and Nicolas were alone. The inspector motioned towards the table where they had all been sitting.

‘You know I had nothing to do with this, don’t you?’

‘Of course I do. Everyone’s got their own problems.’ Frank was thinking about Parker. He felt guilty about the fact that he still had not told Nicolas about the general and
Ryan Mosse. ‘If you come up to my office, I have something for you.’

‘What?’

‘A gun. A Glock Twenty. I thought you’d be familiar with it.’

A gun. Frank had thought he’d never need one again. ‘I don’t think it’s necessary.’

‘I wish it weren’t, but at this point, we should all be ready for anything.’

Frank stood there in puzzled silence. He rubbed his face where his beard was already a dark shadow.

‘What is it, Frank?’

‘Nicolas, I think I found something.’

‘Meaning?’

Frank went over to pick up the envelope and the cassette he had placed on the table when he came in.

‘I brought this stuff, but at the last minute I decided not to say anything in front of the others because it’s so insignificant. We need to check it first, before we put it out
there. Remember when I told you there was something I couldn’t remember? Something that I
should
have remembered but couldn’t place? I finally figured out what it was. A
discrepancy between the video and the pictures of Allen Yoshida’s house, the ones Froben brought over.’

‘What?’

Frank took a photo out of the envelope and handed it to Hulot.

‘Look at that cabinet,’ he began. ‘The stereo cabinet behind the couch. What do you see there?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Exactly. Now, look at this.’

Frank picked up the cassette and put it in the VCR. The tape was still at the point where he had pressed PAUSE. He stopped the image again and moved his hand to a point behind the two
figures.