Mind/Reader Page 12

  Rosetti rose from the small table, beckoning Claudine to follow. Offering her the magnifying glass, he said: ‘Look at the mouths. They’re split, at the corners.’

  Claudine examined each agonized, contorted expression. Some of the cuts were impossible to see without the magnification. ‘Gags, surely?’

  ‘If something hard had been used as a gag the marks would have been more frontally visible. These are virtually internal. I think the killers imagined they could jam the mouths open, probably when the victims were screaming from the pain of what was being done to them, to get their faces frozen into a hideous smile when rigor set in. Except that rigor isn’t permanent: it comes soon after death, then recedes. That’s why every expression is lopsided. But there again I can’t understand why it’s there at all. It shouldn’t be.’

  Part of what he said supported perhaps the most positive opinion in her intended profile. With that thought came Gérard Lanvin’s insistence in Lyon that leaving body parts in cathedrals was a mockery of normal religion. Which possibly linked with Rosetti’s cult suggestion. Claudine stopped her mental drift, unhappy with the conjecture, and at last pointed to the wired wrists of the severed hands and then to the ankles of the separated legs. ‘How would you define the bruising?’ she asked.

  ‘Something I would definitely need to examine personally,’ said Rosetti, going to the specific prints. ‘From the width of the wrist bruising visible in the pictures I’d say the victims were tied to a frame or a bed in a leg- and arm-spread position and jerked violently against the ropes in their agony. See …’ He pointed delicately with the tip of a narrow silver pencil he took from his pocket. ‘ … here and here the bruising is broken where briefly the rope wasn’t pulled violently against the skin …’

  ‘Rope?’ queried Claudine, who’d already decided the answer to her question but needed medical confirmation. ‘Not the wire shown in the photographs?’

  ‘Of course not,’ said Rosetti, almost impatiently. ‘Most of those amputations were carried out while these people were still alive. They would have contorted against their bindings with unbelievable strength. Wire wouldn’t have bruised. It would have cut.’

  Claudine became aware of Rosetti’s habit of twisting the thick gold wedding band around his finger as he talked. She didn’t interpret it as nervousness. ‘Helplessness again?’

  ‘But there’s a difference here,’ said Rosetti, moving on to the photographs of the two white girls and unwittingly confirming another of Claudine’s theories. ‘There’s no ante-death rope-bruising on the arms or legs here. It’s post-death lividity caused by the wire being tightened around the wrists, to hold the hands in place, after they died.’

  ‘How?’ demanded Claudine.

  Rosetti’s pencil moved to the mutilated white torsos. ‘The only murders where the breasts were removed. Does what’s available from the autopsies talk of stab wounds?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘The fuller reports will, if the examinations were properly carried out,’ predicted the Italian. ‘I believe they were both stabbed in the heart. Which means they didn’t go through the agony the others suffered.’

  ‘How long does it take a dead body to begin decomposing?’

  ‘That depends entirely on the conditions around it. In hot conditions, a day or two. In cold, it varies: refrigerated, soon after death, there isn’t any decomposition at all.’

  Claudine abruptly realized she needed the expertise of this soft-spoken, undemonstrative man who, from photographs alone, had provided enough to back most of her early impressions. And there had been no objection from Sanglier to her calling in a professional pathologist, Claudine remembered, as the idea hardened in her mind. She said: ‘What’s your feeling about becoming involved in this?’

  Rosetti shrugged. ‘Interesting. Although I’d hardly consider myself involved.’

  Claudine was curious at the qualifying response. She’d been very aware of the attitude towards her since her being part of the task force had become public knowledge throughout the building: universal there-but-for-the-grace-of-God relief at escaping from an impossibly difficult investigation. Until now she hadn’t imagined anyone simply calling their participation interesting. ‘Would you like to be more deeply involved?’

  Rosetti considered the question. ‘I’d certainly like to examine the bodies myself.’

  ‘Do you believe there’d be a lot more you could learn?’

  ‘That depends, obviously, on how complete the autopsy reports are when they eventually arrive. But I would hope so, yes.’

  ‘To carry out your own examinations would mean travelling to the countries concerned.’

  The man frowned, not appearing to understand the point she was making. ‘Obviously.’

  ‘We don’t have full reports because Europol’s participation is resented.’

  Rosetti’s face cleared. ‘I’m not concerned with politics, inside or out.’

  ‘Others are. Perhaps with you more than anyone else it would be seen as a professional challenge.’

  ‘Second opinions are quite common in medicine; even in pathology.’ Rosetti’s face relaxed when he said it and Claudine realized it was the first time the man had smiled. He hadn’t even given that automatic reaction at their moment of meeting.

  She smiled back. ‘I’ll complete all the necessary bureaucracy today. Welcome to the team.’

  ‘It will be an interesting experience,’ he said, using the word again. The smile had gone.

  Claudine dictated and signed the necessary memoranda to the forensic division, with copies to Sanglier, before she revised her profile from what she and Rosetti had discussed. Before she finished, the full police reports began arriving, the first from England. By the middle of the afternoon there had been five separate deliveries, and she decided against complaining to Sanglier about those still missing. Even without studying what had come Claudine recognized that the supplying police forces had gone from one ridiculous extreme to the other: having at first failed to provide enough they’d now tried to overwhelm with everything.

  Volker was printing out her revised profile when the internal telephone rang. Sanglier said: ‘We’re under media attack. Have you seen the newspapers?’

  ‘I saw something on television last night,’ said Claudine, guardedly. It had added to her concern about being away until late Sunday night and why she had expected a summons to be waiting for her when she’d arrived that morning.

  ‘I’d expected something from you by now.’

  ‘I’ll deliver it now. And personally,’ said Claudine, detecting the clearly implied rebuke.

  The moment she entered Sanglier’s walk-the-gauntlet office she recognized the other man with him. For the benefit of his recording, Sanglier said accusingly: ‘Poulard has been on several times from Paris, telling me it’s slow progress. And that he hasn’t heard from you.’

  The bastards were bypassing her, Claudine realized. And trying to undermine her. Sanglier had told her enough for her to know she had more to fight with than they had. ‘I’ve repeatedly called their hotel and left messages for them to call me back. Which they haven’t. And “slow progress” means they haven’t made any.’

  ‘Have you done any better?’ demanded Sanglier, unsettled by the strength of Claudine’s response.

  ‘Far better.’ Claudine smiled confidently. ‘I know, for instance, that we’re not dealing with one set of killers. There are several.’

  ‘What’s taking them so long!’ demanded Miriam Burrows. She’d let herself go since the transfer to The Hague but she was still an attractive woman. All she needed to do was drop one or two kilos.

  ‘You know what the Bureau’s like.’

  ‘You are sure it would be safe?’

  ‘Don’t you think it would be?’ There’d been no other conversation between them for weeks.

  ‘You make it sound like it would.’

  He decided against telling her of another idea he’d thought of putting up. ‘If I don�
�t hear anything in a couple of days I’ll have Joe send a reminder.’

  ‘You’re too important to be buried!’ protested the woman.

  ‘That’s what they think,’ agreed Burrows, twisting her remark.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Henri Sanglier was tight with fury, at himself, knowing he had misjudged and mishandled everything, and now couldn’t totally recover.

  The weekend media demands for results had by the Monday developed throughout France, England, Germany and Austria into a concerted attack against Europol on television and in newspapers, a large selection of which - together with transcripts of the television and radio accusations, some by government ministers - were being tidied by the secretary from the more comfortable low-tabled conference area to one side of Sanglier’s office when Claudine entered.

  It was there for the previous two hours - although at no time relaxed - that Sanglier had gone through all the condemnations with Franz Sobell, arguing against a panicked press announcement which, by its blatantly obvious lack of information, would increase the pressure on them. It had been a bad mistake telephoning Poulard while Sobell had been in the room, to be told he and Siemen hadn’t uncovered anything they didn’t already know, and an even worse one delaying for so long before contacting Claudine. He’d done that while Sobell was with him, too, anxious to shuffle failure responsibility downwards. Instead, disastrously, he had become stuck with an independent witness to what she was going to say: when the Austrian had realized Claudine might have something to get them out of their publicity crisis the damned man had insisted on staying for the meeting.

  If what she had was worthwhile - which from the confidence in her voice it certainly seemed to be - all credit would go to the woman. And that wasn’t the end of the personal disaster. Or the last of his mistakes. He’d kept his tape running throughout and now it would not be possible to edit it, as he’d intended, to Claudine’s disadvantage.

  Sanglier made the introductions reluctantly, concerned that Claudine might get the impression that he needed the support or authority of another commissioner at the moment of a possible breakthrough. He wasn’t helped by the enthusiasm of Sobell’s hopeful greeting.

  Claudine hadn’t imagined Sobell was there for support. She’d only seen the local television criticism the previous night but the pile of newspapers was sufficient for her to guess why the Austrian was present. She did, however, see it as a not-to-be-missed name-enhancing opportunity among the hierarchy, particularly after what Poulard had clearly - but so ineptly - attempted.

  ‘You have something positive?’ demanded Sanglier, setting out to restore as much as possible a balance in his favour.

  ‘I have some profile suggestions,’ qualified Claudine at once, refusing to over-commit herself. ‘Some I am quite sure about. Others I put forward as worth consideration …’

  ‘We want whatever you’ve got,’ interrupted Sobell, showing the anxiety Claudine had already discerned. From his sharp sideways look she also detected Sanglier’s annoyance at the other man’s obvious concern.

  Not expecting a third person at the meeting Claudine had only brought two copies of her initial assessment, one for Sanglier and the other to prompt her verbal presentation. It would have taken only minutes for Yvette Fey to bring a third copy from the incident room. Instead Claudine hesitated sufficiently to ensure both men realized the shortage and then confidently handed her copy to Sobell. Then, dramatically, she announced: ‘We are not dealing with a single killer. Or a single gang. There are three separate groups. One - the most important and most likely to kill again - murdered and dissected the three Asians in France, the girl in London and the girl in Vienna. The two white girls, in Brussels and Amsterdam, are unconnected victims. The Cologne killing is different again.’

  Sobell shook his head and said: ‘Dear God, what are we dealing with, then?’ and Sanglier gave the man another irritated look.

  Using the question, Claudine said: ‘Messages. And copycat murders. I don’t know to whom the messages are addressed or what they’re intended to convey, but I believe the first group are warnings. Which - because there haven’t been any more killings I identify with those five - I’d say were being read and understood. The others are messages, too. Different messages to different people, using the hysteria of the five I’ve itemized to achieve whatever their aim is …’

  Now it was Sanglier who interrupted, eager to isolate any weakness. ‘Is that opinion one you are sure about? Or merely advancing as a possibility for consideration?’

  ‘I have no doubt that I am right about the three quite separate groups,’ said Claudine, immediately conscious of Sobell’s impressed head movement, as if it was his opinion, as well.

  Sanglier was aware of it too, as he was aware of Claudine’s aggressive self-assurance: she wasn’t deferring to him or to Sobell. ‘And your certainty is based upon what?’

  ‘There are three quite distinct methods of killing and mutilation. Only in the French, English and Austrian killings - let’s use the media word and call them the Celeste group - were the bodies distributed over a wide area throughout the country: the other victims were dismembered but the parts were spread around the comparatively confined area of the cities in which, presumably, they died. And there is the date sequences of the murders. Those of the white girls and the possible Turkish youth followed the other five, date for date. I’ve had a computer comparison created of the descriptions published in newspapers and on television and radio in each case. Nowhere, because it would have been too disgusting, has the genital disfigurement been described in sufficient detail for it to be repeated absolutely. The fact that the hands were wired together in a praying position was published, every time. But not precisely how. In each of the copied cases the wire was secured in a different fashion …’

  ‘I want to understand better your message theory,’ protested Sobell. ‘I don’t follow your reasoning there.’

  ‘Why don’t we still have any names? Why haven’t the families of the linked five victims come forward to identify the bodies?’ demanded Claudine. ‘Because they can’t. I’m suggesting …’ she paused, looking directly to Sanglier ‘ … offering for consideration the idea that the victims were illegal immigrants. For any family to come forward would result in their being expelled to the country from which they came, possibly after a court prosecution.’ Claudine felt completely sure of herself, her breath coming easily.

  ‘So what’s the message?’ demanded Sobell.

  ‘I’ve said I don’t know, not yet. To conform, in some way. Maybe to pay money they owe.’

  ‘What about the killings you don’t think are connected to the five?’ demanded Sanglier.

  ‘Illegals again, I suspect,’ said Claudine. ‘It’s the most logical explanation.’

  ‘Are you suggesting three sets of killings by three separate groups, all of illegals: three different conspiracies?’ sneered Sanglier, imagining a flaw.

  ‘Only one positive conspiracy; the planning and the slaughter of the widely distributed Celeste five,’ said Claudine, recognizing the mockery and unable to understand the reason for it.

  Sanglier gave a disparaging head movement. ‘It’s becoming too confused to have any logic.’

  ‘I think it has every logic,’ disputed Claudine. ‘The killings will divide exactly as I have indicated. And most of the victims - if not all- will prove to be illegals.’

  ‘Police investigations need facts, not impressions,’ said Sanglier, regretting the words as he uttered them.

  ‘My function is to provide impressions that lead towards those facts,’ reminded Claudine. It was impossible for her to avoid appearing condescending, which she didn’t intend. Sanglier’s attitude - particularly after their initial encounter - bewildered her. It was positively antagonistic, which was ridiculous.

  ‘Illegal immigration could be part of the explanation,’ agreed the Austrian.

  ‘It’s the most obvious, at this moment,’ insisted Claudine. She pau
sed for another question, and when neither man spoke she went on: ‘Sex is a factor. But I do not believe these are sex crimes in a sense that any of us would normally understand …’

  ‘I certainly don’t understand that,’ persisted Sanglier, seizing a weakness and twisting Claudine’s words against her.

  ‘I don’t, either - as I’ve conceded,’ said Claudine. ‘These aren’t killings for sexual gratification committed by sexual deviants. Maybe someone is trying to make them appear to be such, but I’m fairly sure it isn’t the case.’

  ‘Why do it, then?’ pressed Sanglier.

  ‘To heighten the horror, perhaps. A very early pathological opinion is that in the Celeste cases the mutilation was carried out while the victims were alive. And that some attempt was made to fix the mouths so they would appear to have been smiling when they were tortured. Possibly the murderers expected that to be made public. Can you imagine a more frightening warning message?’

  Sobell visibly shuddered. ‘Is there any significance in one of your five being male? Is that still sexual?’

  ‘I don’t know. But I think so,’ said Claudine.

  ‘Are you sure the boy forms part of your grouping?’ said Sanglier.

  ‘Definitely. In every case the age is approximately the same. So are the sexual markings. The hands were fixed in the same way, the boy’s body was cleaned like the girls and there was substantial blood loss, more perhaps than would have occurred even with the amputations and disembowelling …’

  ‘Can you explain the body cleaning and the blood loss?’ demanded Sanglier.

  ‘Not yet,’ said Claudine, refusing to concede outright defeat. ‘There’s something else that links these five. All the body parts - essential for the messages I don’t yet understand - were left in public places over the course of a week: places where, because of their use by the public, we know they were deposited during the night of the twenty-four-hour period in which they were found …’

  ‘What’s your point?’ frowned Sanglier, genuinely confused.