‘Just as with the sentry.’
Margont quickly climbed the steps. When he saw the victim, the face twisted with pain and the body slashed all over, it reminded him of Maria Dorlovna in her coffin. It was the same murderer. There were two new victims and part of his theory had just collapsed.
The countess’s naked body was lying on the bed, in the middle of a large bloodstain. The wounds seemed even more numerous and horrible than on the first victim. Part of the muscles of the forearm had even been sliced through to the bone. To stifle his victim’s screams the killer had done the same as with Maria: the pillowcase had been bitten and torn and was soaked with saliva and blood. Other details seemed to have no apparent significance. The killer had laid opened oysters upon the victim’s slashed breasts. He had heaped nuts on her genitals and smeared mulberries over her face, staining it black with the crushed fruit. Lumps of fat had been left on her stomach. A book had been placed in her left hand, open at a map of Africa. The cover torn from another book with a Russian title had been placed on the left thigh while the pages lay scattered across the floor. Finally, tea leaves had been strewn around her feet.
Captain Dalero had not gone beyond the door frame. Unable to go back because of his sense of duty and unable to go in because of his revulsion, he was literally trapped between cowardice and madness.
Margont guessed what he was thinking and declared: ‘Captain, could you find a servant to translate the titles of these works?’
Dalero could then beat an honourable retreat, which he hastened to do. Margont gathered the books and picked up a few torn-out pages. He studied the bloody footmarks that led from the bed to the bowl of water standing on a table. An old man arrived a few moments later.
‘I translate,’ he declared, with a strong foreign accent.
He examined the book covers that Margont handed to him.
‘Book of maps and military book of war against Turks by Colonel Uchekin. The count liked very much.’
‘Where were they kept?’
‘Drawing room below.’
‘What about the oysters and the fat?’ ‘Kitchen or larder.’
‘Good. So no one must be allowed to go into those rooms until I’ve inspected them. No one, is that clear?’
The servant seemed relatively unperturbed at finding his mistress in such a state. Margont asked him why.
The servant shrugged. ‘Me always say she finish like that. Now she burn in hell and she enjoy that.’
‘Nobody deserves such a death.’
Margont stood there without moving for a considerable time, observing these details. All this had a meaning, of that he was sure. It was a new mystery but even more difficult to solve, given the almost unbearable sight of this mutilated body defiled by food.
When Lefine arrived, he found Margont in the corridor in the act of smelling a bunch of dahlias and assorted roses displayed on a pedestal table. Lefine prepared to enter the bedroom but Margont suddenly raised his arm.
‘I strongly advise you not to.’
Lefine obeyed. Margont asked the servant to leave and waited until he was far enough away before continuing, ‘Are you sure that your men were keeping a careful eye on our suspects?’
‘They are perfectly trustworthy. If one of our colonels had gone out during the night, they would have seen him, would have informed us immediately and would have followed him. In my opinion we’ve made a mistake: none of the four is the killer.’
Margont sighed. ‘Unless this man realised that he was being spied on. Perhaps he eventually noticed that the same soldier was often glancing at him or perhaps one of the people we’ve questioned to build up a picture of him went and told him about our investigation.’
‘But my men and I have been very careful when trying to worm things out of people to play it casual, as if we were just passing the time of day.’
‘If the person we’re after has discovered he’s being watched, he must have left his quarters in secret. Have you seen the size of the palace we’ve been billeted in? And the colonels are even better provided for. If you know you’re being spied on, nothing would be easier than to slip out of one of the many windows on the ground floor.’
Lefine was staring down at his boots like a naughty boy who’d been found out.
‘It would take a whole company to watch all the possible exits. Obviously, my men were only keeping an eye on the doors.’
‘He sneaked out and went in search of his prey, laughing at how stupid we’d feel the next day.’
‘I’m very sorry …’
Margont patted him on the arm. ‘It’s not your fault. The worst thing is that even though he knew he was being watched, he still managed to get out to commit another crime. It’s something he can’t control; he has to give himself over to this butchery. So if we don’t arrest him, he’ll strike again. And this time there’s no comparison with the considerable risks he took in murdering Élisa Lasquenet – if he really was the culprit – and Maria Dorlovna. He’s greatly improved his technique: no haste, no more escaping across the rooftops, he didn’t attract attention …’
‘Are we going to call in Jean-Quenin to examine the body?’
‘What would you expect from an examination?’
‘Well … nothing.’
‘I too would like something to cling on to, to be able to say to myself: “This is what I must do and when I’ve done it, everything will become clear.” I don’t think Jean-Quenin would be able to teach us anything and I don’t have the heart to ask him to devote two hours of his time to us when he’s rushing around tending the wounded. Fernand, my theory of the Prince Charming doesn’t stand up: this victim only liked rough soldiers.’
The killer seemed to have a very sharp mind and a talent for acting. He had quickly surmised that Maria Dorlovna wanted a man able to show tenderness and refinement … so he had become that man. And he had had no difficulty in becoming the military tough liking a good screw for Countess Sperzof. Margont was no longer looking for a Prince Charming but for a chameleon.
Dalero joined him again. Margont was surprised to see that he had shaved. He must have used his knife or a servant’s razor. He had also had his coat pressed. He seemed restored, using his image as a crutch to lean on. Without saying a word, he went into the bedroom to examine the body. Lefine forced himself to do likewise so as not to be the only one to avoid that painful experience, but he came out again almost immediately.
On his way out, Dalero said to Margont: ‘Good. I shall write a report at once about this new crime and about the progress of your investigation. The prince will have it within the hour. Take care in the fighting. Don’t expose yourself to too much danger.’
‘Why so much concern for me?’
‘Because if you get yourself killed, I’m the one the prince will appoint to replace you.’
CHAPTER 21
THE man was slumped in an armchair, in one of the drawing rooms of his quarters in Smolensk. Nothing in this wonderful room could hold his attention, not the height of the ceiling – quite out of proportion – nor the furniture with its embroidered upholstery, nor the chest of drawers inlaid with panels of Chinese or Japanese lacquer … His mind was occupied by images of other things. He was recalling the feelings that had overwhelmed him while he was torturing that woman, especially when he had disfigured her face. The mutilations had rendered that body anonymous and his imagination had seen the reflection of other faces in this mirror of blood: the shy wife of one of his officers; a former lady-friend to whom he had been very close; women he had come across in the street … On the other hand, he had killed the servant on the spur of the moment because he had been frightened. That giant with arms and legs like the branches of an oak tree could have broken his neck with one swipe, like a bear. He regretted the hastiness of it. He would have liked to tie the beast to his straw mattress and cut him up bit by bit. But the exquisite taste of pleasure was mingled with a feeling of anxiety.