Free Bred to Kill by Franck Thilliez Page B

what’s your hurry? For two days we’ve been drawing blanks on this case. No witnesses, no apparent motive. Hurault wasn’t big on whores—he couldn’t even get it up anymore with all the meds they’d shot into him at the psych hospital. So what was it, a date? A sudden impulse? But why there, in such a secluded spot? So you see, we’ve hit a dead end for the moment.”
    â€œYou fired me from your team, and now you want my help?”
    â€œI did you a favor by letting you go, didn’t I? It was . . . how shall I put it, one good turn for another. Listen, this killer isn’t exactly your average moron. We’re only asking questions that will help us make headway. You’re the one who hunted down Hurault, back when. You’re the one who put him away. You know the guy—who he is, who he hangs out with.”
    â€œThere are files full of that stuff.”
    â€œFiles are heavy and dusty. Nothing beats a good face-to-face. We’d appreciate it if
you
gave us the pertinent info. Soon all my men might be on that monkey thing, and I have to show results on this case no one gives a shit about, you understand?”
    Sharko regained his calm.
    â€œNot much to say that you don’t already know. It was the early 2000s. Hurault had recently divorced after about a dozen years of marriage, at his wife’s instigation. The divorce was messy—Hurault didn’t appreciate being left. He was about thirty, a worker at Firestone. Lived in a small apartment in Bourg-la-Reine. The day of the incident, he had custody of his daughters for the weekend.”
    The cop swallowed, took a breath, tried to keep his voice neutral, emotionless. Still, he had never forgotten the horrors he’d seen that day, on the fourth floor of that nondescript apartment building.
    â€œThe little girls were found by their mother on Sunday evening. They were in their pajamas, drowned in the bathtub. You want me to describe the scene for you?”
    â€œNo need.”
    â€œThrough his bank records, we traced Hurault two weeks later to Madrid, in some fleabag hotel. He claimed he’d gone temporarily insane when he committed the crime, and that he didn’t remember killing the kids. The psychiatric expert testified that he’d suffered a psychotic episode brought about by the strain of his divorce. When he saw the bodies drowned in the tub, he panicked and fled. His lawyers cited Article 122.1 of the Penal Code, the clauses about not being responsible. After a long, drawn-out trial, they got their way. Sainte-Anne psychiatric hospital, for an indeterminate amount of time. After that the mother made several suicide attempts. She’s never gotten over it.”
    Manien fiddled with a ballpoint pen, not once taking his eyes off Sharko. His movements were nervous, staccato.
    â€œAnd what did you think? Did you feel he was responsible?”
    â€œWhat I felt didn’t count for much. I’d done my job. The rest wasn’t my business.”
    â€œNot your business? And yet you were seen at the trial. A trial you followed closely, as if you were personally involved.”
    â€œI’ve often sat in on the trials for my larger cases. And I was on vacation.”
    â€œWhen I’m on vacation, I go fishing or to the mountains.”
    He turned to Leblond.
    â€œWhat about you?”
    The reptile just stretched his lips in a grimace, without answering. Manien turned back toward Sharko, looking a bit more relaxed, even a bit mocking.
    â€œAnd you prefer to go watch trials. Whatever gets you off, I suppose. Did you know of any enemies Hurault might have had?”
    â€œYou mean aside from every parent in France?”
    Silence. Eyes gauging each other. Manien dropped his pen and leaned forward, fist under his chin.
    â€œDid you know he was out?”
    Sharko’s reply, frank and without hesitation:
    â€œSure. A few years ago he’d been transferred to La