Free The 7th Woman by Frédérique Molay Page A

to his watch. The pale light on his desk lit up the entire room, creating a strange atmosphere that gave him the feeling of being somewhere between dreams and reality. He pressed his forehead against the cold glass window, and his eyes followed the Seine, an age-old witness to human history. But the images of the two murders occupied his mind, and the victims had transformed into ghosts that would relentlessly pursue him until the truth came out.
    So much had happened since they had discovered Chloé Bartes’ body just a few hours earlier. The message for the investigators proved that the murderer wanted to communicate with the police and manipulate them. This suggested that he had an overdeveloped sense of self and a strong desire for recognition. That was not a good sign, and this person had no intention of stopping. They had to catch him to put an end to the savagery.
    The murderer had announced a seven-day agenda. What leads did they have? Was there any connection between the victims? They needed to do a handwriting analysis. Only the killer could have written those bloody letters on the mirror. Nico immediately ordered a forensics specialist to examine the message. Marc Walberg was the best they had. He began by taking several pictures from various angles. He studied the scene for a long time, occasionally taking notes in a tiny notebook. A periodic frown caused his glasses to ride up his aquiline nose. Nico did not interrupt him, because you never interrupt an expert as highly regarded as Marc Walberg. It was not that he was pretentious. He just expected others to let him do his work. Finally, he turned to Nico.
    â€œFirst, the person who wrote this message knows precisely what he is doing,” he said, “and he is left-handed.”
    He dropped this piece of information as if it were obvious. Nico cleared his throat. Marc liked to be urged on.
    â€œExplain yourself.”
    â€œThe killer formed the words in a single stroke, which means that he did not have to stop and think. The use of lower-case letters is a convincing argument that he did not consciously try to disguise his writing. There’s no trembling, no lifting, no signs of stress.”
    â€œWhat can you tell from lifting?”
    â€œThe number of times the writer lifts his writing instrument reveals his level of sincerity and self-assurance or how much anxiety he has.”
    â€œAnd this person is left-handed?”
    â€œLeft-handed people don’t have to exaggerate the curve of their wrists and readjust their writing angle. One final point: It is difficult to determine if it is a man or a woman.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œWomen write rounder letters with less pressure, while men tend to have more angular writing. Here, we can’t really differentiate.”
    â€œOh. But it could still be a man?”
    â€œOf course. It could also be the unconscious imitation of a close relative’s writing style, which in that case would be a woman. You do understand that this particular writing surface does not help me go much further. A study of writing on something that can be picked up and examined from different angles is more useful.”
    â€œThank you, Marc.”
    â€œYou’re welcome. Just doing my job. As usual, keep me in the loop.”
    NICO had asked that the mirror be removed and taken to the police forensics lab. He had then met with Professor Vilars in the autopsy room around nine p.m. Neither was in the mood for the small talk that usually served to lighten the seriousness of an autopsy. They got to work immediately, showing determination tainted with a deep feeling of discomfort. In view of the victim’s physical state, they both had the sense that they were dealing with something very evil.
    â€œYour intuition was correct. The breasts belonged to the first victim,” Armelle said. “It will be easy to confirm, but you can already take it for a fact. The suturing is well done,