Jacquot and the Waterman (41 page)

'And a single killer?'

Jacquot nodded. 'It looks that way. Victims drugged, assaulted and drowned.'

'And why wasn't I told that you suspected a connection between them?'

"We didn't know ourselves. Not until this last one. Not for certain.'

'And? Leads? Suspects? When can we expect an arrest?' Gathering up her gown, Madame Bonnefoy settled in her chair and set her arms on her desk. She knew what Jacquot was going to tell her, but she adopted a hopeful, expectant look. She'd worked enough cases with him to know that he was never less than thorough and resourceful and it was a rare case when he didn't bring in a player with enough evidence to convict.

'There have been developments...'

'Arrest is what I want to hear. Not developments. Arrest.'

'We don't have enough, Madame.'

"Well, let's start with three young women brutally raped and murdered within a two-mile radius of this office,' said Madame Bonnefoy, tapping the newspaper with a fingernail. 'And a fourth only an hour's drive away. Wouldn't you call that enough?'

'The killer leaves no prints, no evidence. And so far there are no witnesses and no motive.'

'Don't tell me no prints, no evidence, no witnesses. The press are going mad. Doubly so because they think they've been kept out of the loop. As I am, I hasten to add. And it's me on the spot here. I want results, Daniel. Fast.' She pushed the newspaper away from her and leant back in her seat. 'You said "developments"?'

'I was hoping you wouldn't ask.'

Madame Bonnefoy frowned.

'Apart from their age, sex and the way they died,' Jacquot continued, 'all we've been able to establish is that three of the victims were members of the same gym.' He decided not to mention that they had only made that connection the evening before.

'They probably all paid tax as well, and knew how to ride a bicycle.'

Jacquot pretended that he hadn't heard. 'There's a bar opposite the gym. We think the killer uses it as an observation post.'

'The girl you found yesterday. Did she use this gym?'

It was clear that Madame Bonnefoy still had her eye on the ball.

Jacquot shook his head, but hedged. 'Maybe. We don't know yet for sure . . .'

'So not what we could call a rock-solid development, then?'

'We have someone there, keeping an eye on the place. Staff. Customers. Something might turn up.'

Madame Bonnefoy gave him a pained but sympathetic look, as though to say: it's a long shot, but what else can you do? 'And? Anything else?'

Jacquot noted the implied whisper of understanding but didn't reckon he could stretch the examining magistrate's patience as far as the link between Vicki Monel's apartment and Aqua-Cité. The same company, Valadeau et Cie, involved with both. He'd keep that to himself for the time being. Instead, he gave a helpless shrug.

'What about a profile?'

'The usual. Loner. Mummy's boy. Single. Aged between twenty-five and forty. Familiarity with, and access to, drugs - the pronoprazone found in the first three victims and possibly in the latest victim. A hospital worker, maybe? Nurse? Doctor? But that hardly narrows it down,' added Jacquot when he spotted a flicker of interest from Madame Bonnefoy. 'There are thousands of people working in health care in this city. Bring in the single angle, age, gender, and you're still left with, what? Maybe fifteen thousand possible suspects?'

'And of course we don't have the resources

'You said it, Madame, not me.'

'And? What else?'

'Our profiler thought there might be a religious angle. The water. Cleansing. Some wild theory about baptism.'

Madame Bonnefoy sighed. 'So, we add the city's religious community to our list of suspects,' she said with a grim chuckle, then shook her head, exasperation fretting her expression. She gave Jacquot a steady look. 'What's your instinct?'

'Loner? Yes. Single? Probably, but not definitely. Age? It's a wide enough span to be a good bet, given the fact that the killer can handle a boat and lug bodies around.' Jacquot paused. 'I also believe he may be an out-of-towner. Not a local.'

'What makes you think that?'

Jacquot spread his hands. 'You asked for instinct.'

'Okay... Go on.'

'Well, look. If he's a local, chances are we'd have heard of him before. Four deaths in the last three months? I mean, what was he doing before that?'

'Well, he certainly knows his way round.'

Jacquot cocked his head.

'The Longchamp fountain,' said Madame Bonnefoy. 'He knew he could get access to the fountain after dark. That a part of it extends beyond the railings. And faces a small parking area. Easy to back up a car, and lift a body from the boot into the water. He also knows there are no security cameras on the perimeter. And with the cascades and overflows, you'd never hear the splash.'

'You've been doing your homework.'

'I try to keep in touch.'

'Well, you're right. He does seem to know his way round. But that doesn't necessarily make him Marseillaise. Take the first murder. The teacher Ballarde. He kills in the privacy of the victim's home, drowning her in the bath. He doesn't move the body from there. That's where he kills her and that's where he leaves her. Because that's the easiest option. Then, a month later, there's Grez, turning up at Longchamp. But she didn't drown there, remember. It's my guess he used his own place, then dumped her. But by now he's had time to look around. Choose his spots. Somewhere to take his pleasure where he won't be disturbed. Like the lake at Salon-le-Vitry. Like Aqua-Cité.'

'So if you think he's an out-of-towner, I assume you've put in a request to other
departements?
Similar cases?'

Jacquot nodded. "We started with other coastal cities - Nice, Toulon, La Rochelle, Cherbourg, Le Havre. Same with places on rivers and lakes - Bordeaux, Nantes, Annecy. Pretty well anywhere with access to water.'

'And? Any luck?'

Jacquot spread his hands. 'You know as well as I that you never get the full story. One police authority rarely likes admitting to another authority that they might have overlooked something, that their inquiries were not thorough and professional. But having said that, there are five or six cases we've come up with that could support the theory that the killer moves around. In Cherbourg, for example, three bodies washed up in a five-week period - during winter, so they weren't out swimming. But then nothing. The trail dried up. But four months later, the same thing starts happening in La Rochelle, then stops again.'

'And these bodies, in Cherbourg, La Rochelle - they were all women?'

Jacquot nodded.

'And drugged?'

'Hard to say, Madame. The longer a body stays in the water, the more difficult it is to detect certain drugs, to confirm foul play. Potential evidence becomes . . . contaminated.'

'And potential homicides have a way of ending up filed away as accidental deaths. A whole lot easier than launching an investigation that'll tie up manpower and possibly go nowhere.'

'I'm afraid that could sometimes be the case. But you can't blame anyone for not—'

Madame Bonnefoy held up her hand. She knew what Jacquot was going to say and she didn't need to hear it.

'What's the drug again?'

'Pronoprazone.'

'And?'

'And it's extremely effective, shutting down the central nervous system in seconds. Even a small dose, say ten milligrams, would put you out for close to six hours. You'd be conscious, eyes open, but you couldn't defend yourself. According to the pathologist, about the only thing the victims can do is giggle. Even when they're drowning.'

'I think we'll keep that one back from the press, don't you?' Madame Bonnefoy gave him a look. 'Is it easy to get, this pronoprazone?'

Jacquot spread his hands. 'Easy enough if you know where to look. But it's not over-the-counter or prescription. Hospitals and medical centres only. And some of the larger surgeries. Or there's the pharmaceutical company, Wilzer, that makes it.'

'So you'll have checked . . . ?'

'. . . Their company records for firings, disgruntled workers, theft. You name it, all accounted for. As for hospitals and surgeries, it's staff access only. But like I said, if you know what you're looking for, and you're prepared to hang around until someone forgets to lock the dispensary door . . .' Jacquot shrugged. It could be anyone. What more could he do?

'What about the sex?'

Jacquot leant forward. 'Pretty brutal. With a lot of bruising.'

'Bruising?'

'Arms, shoulders, suggesting a struggle before the drug takes effect. The genital area. Plus bruising between the shoulder blades, consistent with a knee or hand pressed between them, most likely during the drowning itself. And he's strong. On one victim he dislocated a vertebra. Another, there's a clump of hair missing at the top of the forehead.'