First Blood (15 page)

“The old hag?” Leroy said. “She’s the one who decided to keep the baby?”

“That’s what it looks like. I was going to have her brought in for questioning. Had you not gone to her place, she wouldn’t have felt trapped, and we would have gotten all the answers to our questions.”

Eva gave a bitter smile. All the answers? She doubted that. She had seen what kind of person Amina Constantin was, the cold power she hid under her vulnerable old-lady persona. No, she did not think that anyone on her team could have gotten that mad woman to talk. The chief could think what he liked.

“What else did we learn from the piece of wood?” she asked.

Ô shrugged.

“For the time being, not much. It is only a fragment that belongs to a larger painting. Perhaps it’s some sort of religious object. It shows bodies impaled on a pitchfork and devil’s horns.

“It looks like something from the Last Judgment, doesn’t it?”

“Maybe.”

“He turned the bag over. The back of the object was gilded.

“There is also an inscription on the back. Unfortunately, it is not complete. It has the beginning of the word ‘saint.’”

“It must be part of a religious icon,” Eva said. “Probably a panel.”

Behind her, Inspector Bernard Forest interrupted. “It’s witchcraft bullshit. We know that Constantin was into black magic from his country.”

There was raunchy laughter.

Ô shot him a look that quieted everyone and set the evidence bag back on his desk.

“Bernard, spare us your wit, please. Let’s stick with the theory that the old lady was the one who decided to preserve the child in the freezer. And now, let’s work on Constantin’s killer or killers. I’m not going to go back over the autopsy results. Those were serious mutilations. It doesn’t fit with the shady characters he ran with. So we’re left with the personal vengeance theory.”

There were nods. Everyone agreed that no gang leader would commit that kind of atrocity.

“We need to identify the baby’s mother, whether or not she ordered the crime. We’re at a dead end until we find her.”

“We are not off to a good start,” Inspector Jean-Luc Deveraux said. “Nobody’s talking. We’ve got zilch.”

“So keep talking to the neighbors until we have something.”

“We keep running into closed doors, dammit.”

Deveraux played with his mustache before adding, “Seriously, we’re getting nowhere. It’s the same in the other buildings, and we’ve done a wide sweep. Even dead, that bastard is terrorizing everyone in the projects. Half of those lazy asses pretend not to speak our language.”

Eva sighed. She had never been able to put up with him—Deveraux was misogynist, racist, and filled with an incomprehensible male pride and a total inability to question himself.
No wonder he gets along so well with Forest.
But she was in no position to say anything right now.

“Keep at it anyway,” the chief said. “Look into Constantin’s life, his friends, his enemies, and look for leads. We’ll end up finding an angle we’ve missed.”

Detective Perrine Alazard, who was new to the team, raised her hand timidly.

“This might be stupid, but I think Bernard made an important point. Constantin had a demonic aura. There were rumors about black magic, and now we’ve found a religious object with the baby.”

“Where are you going with that, Perrine?”

“Well, maybe
that
is why he was killed.”

Everyone went quiet. Alazard was right out of school, too tall and too plump. She compensated for her extra pounds by wearing rather daring miniskirts. Still, being the center of attention made her blush.

“We’re listening,” Ô said.

“Well, you know, um, everyone has heard that Constantin flirted with the devil. These are stupid rumors and superstitions, but he always fed them to get respect. For the people living in the projects, this guy really did have dark powers. Like he always knew when we were going to raid the place. When we were canvassing, I even heard one woman call him the black sorcerer. It’s in my report.”

Eva shivered at the name. She pushed up her glasses. What had Amina Constantin said?
The black sorcerer’s punishment. The red flames of exorcism.

Alazard ran her hand through her short, raven-colored hair.

“What they did to Constantin is similar to the way those who were believed to be witches were tortured during the Middle Ages: their tongues were cut out, and their mouths were sewn up. I checked. I also reread the medical examiner’s report. The similarities are troubling.”

She looked at her colleagues, blushing even more. From their doubting looks, it seemed that none of them had heard these stories.

“Go on,” Ô said.

“I think that Constantin was treated the same way that heretics and witches were treated during the Inquisition,” Alazard said. “He was exorcised and then burned.”

In the back of the room, Deveraux whistled.

“Witches burned at the stake. Now we’ve heard it all.”

“But don’t you find it disturbing?” Alazard asked. “We’ve all seen how the tenants are reacting. They are terrified. They seem to be afraid for their souls. It jumps out at you, doesn’t it?”

Devereaux still looked skeptical.

Eva, however, kept remembering what Amina Constantin had said. The phrasing that she used did not seem to make sense at the time.
Afraid for her soul?
Amina had said that she was not afraid, that her soul was pure. She had also talked about the first blood spilled. She remembered that very well. But Eva had no idea of what she meant.

“So you think he was killed for that?” Ô asked. “He was play-acting some voodoo witch stuff, and some unbalanced person took him seriously?”

“Well, yeah, something like that.”

“And that is why they cut out his tongue, sewed his mouth shut, and ripped out his heart?”

Alazard shook her head. She fanned her round cheeks with a piece of paper.”

“No, not the ripped-out heart. I don’t think they did that to witches. The heart must have some other meaning to the killer.”

When she heard Deveraux snickering at the back of the room, she quickly added, “The salt, though, was used to exorcise witches. It was a symbol of purity and said to chase away evil spirits. You find it in some holy water. And it’s used to draw magic circles.”

“There was no circle,” Ô said. “The salt was stuffed into his chest where the heart was.”

“Maybe it was a way of saying that his heart was not pure? During the Inquisition, people would often throw handfuls of it at accused witches who were tied to the stake.”

“A crazed inquisitor cleans up a coke ring,” Deveraux said. “The press will love it. And we’re going to come off looking like idiots again.”

“Nothing gets out to the press,” the chief said. “That’s all we need,” he added, looking at Alazard. “Is that clear? I don’t want any mention of satanic practices, impure hearts, and I don’t know what. We have enough problems as it is.”

Deveraux crossed his arms and gave a satisfied smile.

“So, what do we do?” Eva asked. “Do we follow that lead or not? It sounds interesting to me. Amina Constantin was totally off the wall, and she had a ton of religious trinkets. She put a piece of something that might be a religious icon in with her grandson’s body. Maybe there is some cult behind this. This kind of thing has happened before.”

Chief Ô was silent for a few seconds. He looked from Perrine Alazard to Eva Svärta. Finally, he said, “Okay, the two of you follow that lead, but you have to work together. And I want to know exactly what you are doing, and what you plan to do next.”

“Wait,” Detective Leroy said. “What about me? I’m not with Eva on this?”

“You,” the chief said, “You’re not on anything.”

“But...”

“I’ve had enough of you taking things into your own hands. You dragged Eva to the projects because you didn’t want to let the case go, and you know what that led to. Why were you so obsessed with Constantin in the first place?”

Leroy did not know how to answer. He shrugged.

“I was just doing my job, chief.”

Eva did not say anything.

But she knew the reason. Leroy was not the only one who could read other people’s weaknesses. Six months before, his cousin had died from an overdose. They had been close, and his death had rattled Leroy. That was when he had starting hunting down Constantin as though it were his own personal exorcism. Eva was in no position to judge him.

Ô just sighed.

He waved everyone away.

He was not fooled.

When the meeting was over, and everyone had gone, Eva was alone with a smiling Perrine Alazard.

“I’m really happy to be working with you. We’ve never had a chance to talk before.”

“Yeah,” Eva said, hiding behind her sunglasses.

Eva was not as thrilled. She preferred to work alone. She examined Detective Alazard. No, clearly she would not quickly get used to the idea. With her short skirt, white blouse and enormous chest, Alazard reminded her more of a schoolgirl than a cop. But a strange schoolgirl, too tall, too fat.

You also judge people by their looks,
she realized, a little bitter. Whatever. She wanted to go back to her office and lock herself in.

“We should get to work, okay?”

“I’m going to reread my notes from my history classes,” Perrine said. “I have a lot on the witch trials, and I took thorough notes. I found it really interesting. And I love paranormal novels.”

“Oh,” Eva said. She thought for a moment and asked, “What have you heard about the black sorcerer?”

“Not a whole lot, really. One of Constantin’s neighbors mentioned it, and when I asked her for more information, her husband yanked her back inside and slammed the door. Do you think I drew my conclusions too quickly?”

“No, not really,” Eva said, still lost in her thoughts. “Does the expression ‘first blood’ mean anything to you? Or the ‘law of the first blood?’”

“The first blood spilled?”

Eva nodded. “I guess that’s it, yes.”

“Maybe it’s some reference to sword fighting. People used to settle their scores by fighting until the first blood was shed. Those fights were different from fights to the death. Where did you hear that?”

They know about you.

And the badness in your heart.

No, that did not fit.

“Where I heard it isn’t really important,” Eva said, “In any case, I think this expression may be important in our case. I can’t really tell you why, but I feel it. I’m sure of it. Does it remind you of anything other than those sword fights?”

“No, I’m coming up dry,” Perrine Alazard responded.

“Too bad. We’ll end up finding something. I’m going to see if Constantin crossed paths with any crazies before he died. There’ve been a number of religious zealots in the projects lately. Maybe some fervent believer decided to punish the heretics. Maybe the frozen baby’s mother was in some kind of sect. That would probably be too easy.”

“The ripped-out heart has to mean something,” Alazard said. “When we understand what it means, we’ll probably know where to look.”

“That’s true. Are you on it?”

“No problem. Should we touch base as soon as one of us has something new?”

“Fine by me,” Eva said.

She walked to her office and slammed the door without any further ado.

Perrine Alazard stood in the hallway, looking at the closed door.

She was new to the team, but she had heard what they said about the albino inspector—that she would lock herself in her office and study reports and look through databases about an old murder case that had never been solved and probably never would be.

She shrugged. It was just gossip and jealousy.

It was none of her business.

She had witchcraft to read about, and that excited her.

The wave of heat rises to her head, filling her with light. The world around her dilates and comes undone. It turns into a blinding sun. She cries out in pleasure. Again. Then she comes down again, panting in the sheets and lying on his ebony arm.

“Did you feel that?” Ismael asks. He sounds very serious. Madeleine is trying to catch her breath and wants to laugh.

“Are you kidding? I had three orgasms.”

They are snuggling naked on her bed in the apartment her parents are renting for her. His organ is still inside her. She squeezes her thighs to keep him there.

“I’m not talking about that,” he whispers in her ear.

“So what are you talking about then?”

“I’m sure you felt it. Think.”

Madeleine nibbles his neck, taking her fill of his spicy skin. Her temples are throbbing. She still feels blown away.

“Go on,” he says. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

She buries her face in his braids. Okay, it’s true. The feeling of heat and light. She had never felt anything like it before. It was like being stroked by the sun, but from the inside. As he had come in and out of her, with increasing force, the radiance had also intensified, along with her pleasure. Finally, as she was holding onto the sheets with all of her strength, the sensation had overpowered her. And then she had had the feeling of falling back into her body.

“What did you see?” she asks him, lifting her head.

“Your soul,” Ismael answers. His sincerity is touching.

She can’t hold back a smile of pure happiness.

“I love it when you talk like that.”

“It’s the truth. You are like me, Madeleine.”

“What do you mean, like you?”

The muscles in his neck bulge. He is so handsome, she loses herself in him.

“You have light in your heart,” he says. “You do not totally realize it yet, but that will come. You are a chosen one. Like me.”

“A chosen one?”

“We really have to talk,” he says very seriously.

Ismael props himself against a pillow. Madeleine curls against his powerful body. She likes it when he talks about gods and saints, about giants moving mountains and bending the gods to their will. She can listen to him for hours.

“Every man and every woman is a star,” he recites. “Do you know who wrote that?”