The First Fingerprint (28 page)

“Was it Christine who decided to go and see the … I can't remember their name.”

“Yes, it was her. She was interested by the fact that the Asmat are cannibals. For them, natural death doesn't exist: you either die in combat or after a magic ritual. This is a basic concept in their civilization—the creation of a life implies its destruction. In some ways, death becomes the first condition of life. This requires some sort of fertility ritual, such as headhunting or cannibalism, whereby you absorb the vital essence of your victim. The Asmat were the first cannibals I ever met. And I must say that they made a very strange impression on me. I was quite terrified. I thought that such practices no longer existed, that the Protestant missionaries had driven them out, but they hadn't …”

“Did you witness any scenes of cannibalism?”

“Yes, but not with the Asmat. It was later, in the highlands, but still in New Guinea, with the Jale. They spend their lives fighting wars between villages … The fighting is incredibly violent; they use arrows and lances, if you can picture it. Fortunately, there are taboos limiting
the number of deaths … The severest form of vengeance is to eat the body of your conquered enemy.”

Caillol was breathing heavily. He crossed his hands, squeezing them hard, and in a feeble voice which seemed to come from his core, he slowly added: “And I witnessed that … after that, I must admit that I was no longer quite the same.”

“What about Christine?”

Caillol gestured vaguely, as though chasing away a painful vision. “I … among the Jale, the women bring up the boys; they're totally separated from the adult males. For a psychiatrist, it's interesting to see how the social apprenticeship of these terrible warriors takes place in a female environment. There they have no chiefs. Order comes out of their interminable conflicts.”

“Keep to the point. I asked you about Christine.”

“One day, she said something which shocked me deeply.”

“What was that?”

“I told her how disgusted I was by the practices of the Jale, and she replied: ‘There's nothing disgusting about it, I mean, you eat pigs and ducks! But here, they are inferior animals. The Jale eat men because they are the greatest, higher than all other imaginable forms of greatness.' She looked completely hysterical, or possessed. Then she added: ‘When you eat an inferior animal, like a chicken, you are debasing yourself.'”

“I don't see why that shocked you. You must have heard similar things in your consulting room! Anyway, why were you so interested in these practices?”

“Like many prehistorians, I believe that activities linked to magic are universal. Shamans enter into a trance, then paint what they see on the other side on to the wall of their cave. I saw that among the Aborigines, and that's why the subject interests me as a psychiatrist. I must also point out that I've studied neuropsychology in some depth. These visions often occur after a drug has been taken. In North America, mescaline is widely used, for example. It comes from a plant, a variety of hallucinogenic cactus. But in the caves, I think the hallucinations came naturally, after the shaman had shut himself inside, and fatigue and total darkness had begun to work on
his nervous system. I've tried it, and I can tell you it works. Just try spending three days without eating in a completely dark cave, and you'll see what I mean!”

De Palma lit a cigarette.

“Christine often experimented with these practices. She told me that on several occasions she had succeeded in transforming herself into an animal, while retaining some of her consciousness. In this way, she could explain exactly what she had seen.”

“And which animal did she transform herself into?”

“A stag. Strange as it might sound, she transformed into a stag … every time.”

“Why do you find that strange?”

“Because a stag is more of a masculine representation, an animal dominating a herd of females. It's true that we find many stags in decorated caves; almost all of them have several examples. In that respect, it was not very original.”

De Palma walked over to the window. In the south courtyard, some prisoners were playing boules. He recognized the face of the small fat man whose turn it was.

“Everything you've told me is extremely interesting, but I think we're a little bit off the point of my visit.”

The small fat man hit the jack.

“Monsieur Caillol, I'm going to show you some photos. Can you tell me if you recognize anyone?”

De Palma produced some photos of Christine Autran, Sylvie and Franck Luccioni. He had also included photos of several women who had nothing to do with the case.

The psychiatrist immediately picked out Sylvie. He smiled. Then an unknown. No reaction. Franck Luccioni. No reaction. He paused for a moment over the two portraits of Christine Autran.

“Try to imagine her with spectacles and short hair,” de Palma said. “I mean, a man with Christine's face.”

The psychiatrist took a deep breath and leaned back in his chair. He looked troubled.

“Do you know anyone who looks like that?”

“I have seen someone like that. But where? I couldn't tell you.”

Caillol's expression had just changed. His eyes were blank. His hands trembled.

“Try to remember. It's extremely important. Both for you, and for me.”

“I don't know, I …”

“Take time to think. A man of your intelligence must surely remember.”

The psychiatrist crossed his hands again and squeezed them even more tightly, as if he were trying to dive into the depths of his psyche, into the faintest traces of his memories, now weakened by solitary confinement. His breathing calmed.

“How stupid can you get! I remember now … I saw him with Christine. In Aix. I was coming out of my consultancy and I ran into them.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.”

“Do you remember where?”

“They were sitting outside a café, on place de l'Hôtel de Ville. I can't remember the name of it. I never go to bars.”

“When was that?”

“Not that long ago. But when? With all this business, my memory isn't what it was.”

“Was it before or after Christmas?”

“Before. I'm sure about that.”

“At the beginning of December?”

“Let me think.”

“Take your time.”

Silence descended on the room. Through the wall, they could still hear “Boom, boom … Boom, boom …” and the same voice: “Hey boss, come over here … boss, I've got something to tell you …”

“At the beginning of December. Maybe the first or second of the month. I can be sure because I'd just got back from a conference in the U.S.A. In fact, I got back on the second. I must have seen them on the third or the fourth.”

De Palma felt Caillol's words run straight through him. Autran had still been alive in early December. He thought about Palestro, who said
that he had followed her on November 30, which was possible. It also fitted with what Le Guen had told him. But it did not fit at all with Yvonne Barbier's statement. She must have been alive, but she had not gone home. His entire theory, put together over the past month, had just gone up in flames. He felt exasperated, but at the same time relieved.

“Judge Barbieri will be here soon. This is an opportunity for you.”

“Why?”

“I've managed to make him have doubts about your guilt.”

“Why did you do that?”

“Because I know you're innocent.”

“You're the only one!”

“Why are you interested in the funeral rituals of the first men?”

“Because I'm convinced that the first men were not that different from us. Let's take the example of cannibalism, which I've been accused of … did you know that it's still being practiced? And not just in New Guinea or elsewhere, but right here.”

“What do you mean?”

“Churchgoers eat the body of Christ. It's symbolic, of course. Not so long ago, people ate mummies for their therapeutic effect … It's what Freud called an instinctive desire; the desire which is constantly being forbidden, by education and so on … There are three instinctive desires: incest, murder and cannibalism. Three things which are absolutely forbidden, of which cannibalism is of course the most monstrous. The taboo placed on these three desires marks the boundary between civilization—I mean between our civilization—and the primitive state of barbarism … what we call barbarism or savagery.”

“What about the picture of the hand we found on the scene?”

“It's strange.”

“Everything about this case is strange!”

“I know. But it's not logical behavior. All murderers have a logic to the way they operate. But I suppose I'm not telling you anything new.”

The Baron shook his head.

“The particular point about prehistoric hands is that they are found only in decorated caves. In Gargas, there are 231 of them. Just imagine! But the point is, they are found only in caves.”

“Why?”

“Because they are not moveable objects. In museums, you can find Venuses, pendants, sculpted reindeer, necklaces, but never hands!”

“So?”

“So they must be connected with what went on in the caves. People went to caves to enter into contact with the spirit world, according to a male or female principle. For a long time, people talked a lot of nonsense about these hands, about disease, or ritual amputations … Now people tend to talk about shamanism … Are you following me?”

“Perfectly, so tell me about these shamans.”

“It would seem that Paleolithic man practiced shamanism. Shamans enter into contact with the supernatural so as to solve the problems of everyday life … everyone's routine difficulties … For them, going into the spirit world also means acting directly on the real world around us.”

Barbieri burst into the room.

“Do excuse me, Commandant. I see you've decided to make the most of the situation.”

The judge looked at Caillol. “Good afternoon, Doctor.”

“I showed some photos to Dr. Caillol,” de Palma said. “When I told him about the man with the spectacles, he remembered having seen him with Autran outside a café in Aix. He knew Christine Autran.”

“I see,” said Barbieri.

He was silent for a few moments.

“I suppose Commandant de Palma has explained the reason for this interview.”

“Yes.”

“He's here to ask you about Christine Autran, who was also murdered.”

“I haven't killed anyone.”

“How did you know her?”

“I've explained that to your colleague.”

“He isn't a colleague. He's a police officer. And I'm a magistrate.”

“I used to work with her. That's all.”

“Very well. I'll read Commandant de Palma's report. Now, tell me about this person you apparently know. The man with the spectacles, as we call him.”

“I knew Christine well. Seeing her with a man attracted my attention.”

“Did you speak to him?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I didn't want to disturb her.”

“That's a feeble excuse.”

The psychiatrist repeated word for word the statement he had made to the Baron. Barbieri listened to him calmly, and took a few notes.

“Did you have, so to speak …?”

“Sexual relations with Christine? Is that what interests you?” Caillol asked in a cool voice. “The answer's no. I've been together with the same woman for the past five years. The woman I was at the restaurant with on the night of the murder.”

“Franca…”

“Bernet.”

“Except that there's a problem. You went away for a while during the meal.”

“I went out to make a phone call.”

“O.K., but for quite a long time. Three quarters of an hour, according to your friends, which is, according to the gendarmes, enough time to have killed Hélène Weill.”

“I get lots of phone calls. Some of them are extremely long.”

“We checked. There was even one from Hélène Weill. Do you remember?”

“Yes, she said she wanted to see me.”

“What's more, we know that you weren't on the phone for three quarters of an hour. Can you confirm that?”

“Yes.”

“And you have stated that you bought cigarettes from a tobacconist's on cours Mirabeau, but the tobacconist doesn't remember you, can you confirm that too?”

“Yes, what more do you want me to tell you?”

“Never mind about Hélène Weill's fingerprints in your car … As for Saint-Julien … Listen, Doctor, I'm not keeping you here for my personal pleasure. As far as I'm concerned, you're still guilty. But if you're innocent, you should help us. This police officer is the best in the region. He needs you. So think about it. Tell him everything that might be used in your defense. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good. We'll leave you now.”

Barbieri stood up brusquely. Caillol looked sad. De Palma held out his hand to him, and he shook it hard.

The door opened. At the end of the corridor, there was the same old refrain: “Boom, boom … boom, boom … Hey boss, listen to me …”

Barbieri looked at de Palma.

“I arrived late so that you could do your business. Anything new?”

“Yes, maybe. I'll explain.”

“Just give me the main point!”

“I need to analyze all this, but I can tell you right now that our psychiatrist hasn't given us everything. He's definitely innocent, but he's holding something back. It would be no coincidence if he's been framed. He knows far more than he's letting on and he thinks that keeping quiet is his best defense. His lawyer has given him some bad advice. I'll make him talk, but another time, when I have more to go on. We'll leave him to stew for now.”