"If the killer had been torturing Rémy Caillois just for sadistic pleasure, then he would have tortured him to death. But, as I have told you, he finished him off in a different way, with a metal wire."
"Any trace of sexual violence?"
"No. Nothing at all of that sort. It is clearly not his department."
Niéman paced along beside the workbench. He was trying to imagine the monster capable of inflicting such torments. He visualised the scene from the outside. He saw nothing. No face, no figure. He then thought of what the tortured man would have seen, when in the throes of suffering and death. He saw savage movements, brown, ochre and red tints. An unbearable storm of blows, fire and blood. What could Caillois's last thoughts have been? He said aloud:
"Tell us about his eyes."
"His eyes?"
The question came from Barnes. His voice had shot up a tone in astonishment. Niémans was good enough to reply:
"Yes, his eyes. Earlier, in the hospital, I noticed that the killer had stolen his victim's eyes. The sockets even seemed to be full of water…"
"Precisely," Costes intervened.
"Tell us everything from the beginning," Niémans ordered.
"The killer operated beneath the eyelids. He slipped a cutting instrument under them, severed the oculomotor muscles and the optical nerve. He then extracted the eyes. After that, he then carefully scratched clean the interior of the two sockets."
"Was the victim dead by then?"
"Impossible to say. But I did notice evidence of hemorrhaging in that region, which could indicate that Caillois was still very much alive."
Silence closed over his words. Barnes was ghostly white; Joisneau as though crystallised by terror.
And then?" Niémans asked to break that feeling of panic, which was rising ever higher.
"Later, when the victim was dead, the killer filled up the sockets with water. From the river, I suppose. Then he carefully closed the eyelids again. Which explains why the eyes were shut and protruding, as though they had not been mutilated in any way."
"Let's get back to the excision. In your opinion, does the killer know about surgery?"
"No. Or, at best, only vaguely. I would say that, as for the torturing, he knows how to apply himself."
"What instruments did he use? The same as for the lacerations?"
"The same sort, in any case."
"What sort?"
"Industrial tools. Carpet cutters."
Niémans stood in front of the doctor.
"Is that all you can tell us? No clues? No obvious lead that arises from your report?"
"No, unfortunately not. The body was thoroughly washed before being wedged into the cliff. It can tell us nothing about the scene of the crime. And even less about the identity of the killer. All we can suppose is that he is strong and dexterous. That is all."
"Which isn't much," Niémans grumbled.
Costes paused for a moment, then went back to his report. "There is just a further detail which hasn't been discussed yet…A detail which has no direct bearing on the crime itself."
The superintendent's ears pricked up.
"Which is?"
"Rémy Caillois had no fingerprints."
"Meaning?"
"That his hands were corroded, worn away to such a point that not a trace of a print was left on his fingertips. Maybe he was burnt in an accident. But the accident must have occurred a long time ago."
Niémans looked questioningly at Barnes, who raised his eyebrows in ignorance.
"We'll check that out," the superintendent said gruffly.
Then he went over to the doctor, so close to him that he brushed against his parka.
"And what is your personal opinion about this murder? What's your feeling? What's your intuition as a medic as regards the torture?"
Costes took off his glasses and rubbed his eyelids. When he put his spectacles back on, his gaze seemed clearer, as though polished bright.
"The murderer carried out some obscure ritual. A ritual which had to finish up with this fetal position in a hollow in a rock. The whole thing seems to have been well worked out, perfectly planned. And so the mutilation of the eyes must be an integral part of it. Then there is the water. The water replacing the eyes under the lids. As though the killer wanted to cleanse and purify the sockets. I am having tests made on that water. Who knows? They might provide us with a clue…some chemical lead."
Niémans brushed these words away with a vague gesture. Costes had spoken of a rite of purification. Since visiting that little lake, the superintendent, too, had had an act of catharsis in mind. They were both thinking along the same lines. Above that lake, the killer had tried to purify that defilement – or perhaps wash away his crime?
Several minutes ticked by. Nobody dared to move. In the end, Niémans opened the door of the room and murmured:
"Back to work. We don't have much time. I don't know what Rémy Caillois was forced to admit. I only hope that it won't lead to any more murders."
CHAPTER 12
Niémans and Joisneau went back to the library. Before going in, the superintendent glanced at the lieutenant. His face was haggard. So, blowing out like an athlete, he slapped him on the back. Young Eric replied with an unconvincing smile.
The two of them entered the main room. An unexpected sight was in store for them. Two regional crime squad officers, as well as a horde of uniformed men in shirt sleeves, had invaded the library and were giving it a thorough search. Hundreds of books were piled up in front of them in columns. Joisneau asked, in astonishment:
"What the hell's going on here?"
One of the officers replied:
"We're only following orders…We're looking out all the books about evil and religious rituals and…"
Joisneau looked across at Niémans. He seemed horrified by this disorderly operation. He yelled at the crime squad:
"But I told you to go through the computer! Not get all the books down from the shelves!"
"We did a computer search, according to title and subject matter. And now we're going through the books looking for clues, or points of similarity with the murder…"
Niémans butted in:
"Did you ask the boarders for advice?"
The officer pulled a face.
"They're all philosophers. They just started bullshitting. The first one told us that the notion of evil was a bourgeois concept, and that we'd have to adopt a more social, or even Marxist approach. So we dropped him. The second one went on about frontiers and transgression. But according to him, the frontier was inside us…our consciences were in constant negotiation with a higher censor and…Well, anyway, it didn't mean much to me. The third one got us going with the Absolute and the quest for the impossible…He told us about mystical experiences, which could take place with either good or evil as the goal. So…I…Well, in fact, we're a bit up to our ears in it, lieutenant."
Niémans burst out laughing.
"Told you so," he whispered to Joisneau. "Never trust an intellectual."
He turned to the confused cop:
"Keep looking. To the key words `evil, `violence, `torture' and `ritual' you can now add `water, `eyes' and `purity. Go through the computer. Above all, dig out the names of the students who consulted this sort of book, or who were working on this sort of subject matter, for their PhDs for example. Who's working on the main computer?"
A broad-backed young man, who was shifting his shoulders about inside his jacket replied:
"I am, superintendent."
"What have you found in Caillois's files?"
"There are lists of damaged books, books to be ordered etc. Then lists of students who use the library and the places where they sit."
"Where they sit?"
"Yup. Caillois's job was to place them all…" He nodded toward the glass carrels. "…in those little boxes over there. He put each seat into his computer's memory."
"You haven't found the thesis he was working on?"