Claudia was sucking up the last of the free olives when the display lit up. Hugo answered before the first ring, then hit the speakerphone button. They both leaned in to listen.
“What do you have?” Hugo asked.
For once, no jokes from Tom. “Same as before. The new name didn’t tell me anything new — still no record of the lady dying.”
Hugo swore. “How can someone—?”
“Hang on,” Tom said. “You were in too much of a hurry to get out of Castet. I called that old policeman you told me about. Dude, those guys are the best fucking resource on the planet when you want to know about someone. Better than any fancy database belonging to any fancy intelligence service. Except Mossad, they’re pretty fucking good.”
“Tom.”
“Oh, right. Anyway, I took what you got from that shitbag Villier and from the Moulin Rouge guy. Ran it all by the cop, asked about accidents, fires, anything possibly related to Villier himself, or his father. Turns out old man Villier had a barn high on a hill somewhere. It burned down.”
Hugo nodded. “And let me guess, he never saw Madam Villier ever again after that.”
“You should be a cop. You want the really exciting news?”
“Sure.”
“I had him look back over emergency service reports. All computerized now, even down there. The fire was noted but not attended.”
“Which means?”
“Which means some good citizen called it in, then some other diligent official wrote a report about it, but no one could be bothered to head up into the mountains to put out a barn fire.”
“How’s that the exciting news?”
“Listen up, dodo. If that fire means anything to our man, tonight is the thirteenth anniversary.”
Chapter Forty
Hugo and Claudia stared at each other over their half-finished drinks. Tom had signed off to check in with the French side of the investigation, to pass on the new information and see if they had come up with anything useful.
“To be sure tonight is the night,” Claudia said slowly, “we have to know that the number thirteen is significant, right?”
Hugo allowed himself a smile. “You learn fast.”
“Thanks, but that’s as far as I’ve gotten. The rest is up to you.”
“I don’t see how there’s any doubt,” Hugo said. “The guy has started a process that involves connecting dead tissues with, well, the newly dead.”
“The tattoos and the bones.” Claudia cocked her head. “You know, there are thirteen major joints in the body, if that means anything.”
“I didn’t know that,” Hugo said, “and it might. We know that, traditionally, thirteen is the most significant number there is, for either good or bad.” Hugo’s head snapped up. “It’s the circle that matters, not the number.”
“Circle?”
“Yes. He was thirteen when she left him. He waited thirteen years to do all this, waited for the thirteenth anniversary of her death.”
“Fine, but what exactly, is ‘all this’?”
“The circle of life. He’s recreating her, putting her back together using the bones of Jane Avril and La Goulue.”
“How can that be?”
Hugo thought back, plumbing his memory for a case he’d read about. “This happened in Florida, a century ago, or something a lot like it.”
“What do you mean? Collecting body parts?”
“Carl Tanzler was his name. He was doctor who fell in love with a patient. She died and two years later he dug her up and took her home on a toy wagon. He dressed her up, used silk cloth soaked in wax to replace the decomposed skin, even gave her a wig of human hair.”
“That’s … unbelievable.”
“Yeah. He also used wires to connect her bones and bought her dresses and jewelry, kept her in his bed.” Hugo shook his head. “He was recreating the love of his life, just like Villier is recreating the only woman who mattered to him.”
“Crazy, this is just … crazy. And what about the tattoos? They figure into his plan?”
“Yes. What Galvan said confirms that Villier’s mother had a tattoo just like the one he took from that poor girl.”
“Merde,” Claudia said. “Small comfort, but she was dead when he did that.”
Hugo said, “It only makes sense, too, when you look at what he’s doing and the fact that he all but said it was ending soon. Why cram those cemetery raids so close together if he didn’t have an impending endgame? And I know I’m right about his mother being at the center of everything. I’d bet good money she protected him from his father as best she could. But then she left, became a dancer. Somehow the old man found her and made her come back to Castet and, I guess, Claude Villier killed her.”
“You think he was angry at being abandoned?”
“Maybe. I still think there’s more to it, it doesn’t fit with me that he’s the one who killed her.”
“Why would he lie about that?”
“I don’t know. But I’m happy to work on the assumption that tonight is the culmination of his little scheme.”
“What will that culmination be?” Claudia asked.
Hugo ran his mind back over his conversation with Villier but he couldn’t find anything in the man’s words that might give away his final play. He pictured the hard, violent face, the unnaturally large hands holding …
“The scarab,” Hugo blurted.
Claudia looked up, surprised at his tone. “What about him?”
“Not him, it. The object.”
“It’s his signature, non? Like all serial killers have.”
“It is, but it’s more than that. I think—”
“Oh, God, Hugo, I am so stupid.” Claudia shook her head, as if disappointed with herself. “The scarab is Egyptian, right?”
“Yes, that’s what I was getting at.”
“Sorry, but I totally missed it. In ancient Egypt the number thirteen represented transformation, resurrection, and rebirth. A new life.”
“There you have it,” Hugo said. “And he plans to use the scarab.” He saw puzzlement in her eyes and continued. “The scarab was also a symbol of new life and resurrection. But it was an amulet they used in burials, it protected the heart.” Claudia picked up her phone, brought up the Internet, and typed in a couple of words.
“Listen to this.” Claudia began reading from her phone. “O my heart which I had from my mother! O my heart of my different ages! Do not stand up as a witness against me, do not be opposed to me in the tribunal, do not be hostile to me in the presence of the Keeper of the Balance, for you are my Ka which was in my body, the protector who made my members hale. Go forth to the happy place whereto we speed.”
“The happy place … What’s that from?”
“The Book of the Dead. And it would be inscribed on the back of those scarab amulets you just mentioned.”
“The reference to the mother and the place ‘whereto we speed,’ that’s exactly it,” Hugo said. “Thank heavens for the Internet, that confirms what his last move is.”
“Oh, no, Hugo. Surely not.” Claudia took his hand, her eyes reflecting her horror. “You think he’s going to take someone’s heart?”
“I saw the amulet,” Hugo said. “I think that’s exactly what he’s going to do.”
“But who? How can we possibly stop him?”
Hugo already had his wallet out. He jammed a twenty-euro note under the olive dish. “There’s only one heart he wants.” He held Claudia’s eye. “Only one person it could possibly be.”
Chapter Forty-one
When Tom didn’t pick up, Hugo left a message, calling details into the phone as they ran to Claudia’s car.
“What about the police?” she asked. “We have to call them.”