Syndrome E

39

Lucie and Sharko were sitting at the kitchen table in the apartment in L’Haÿ-les-Roses. They had bought some pastries on the way. She was biting into a croissant, while he had gone for a pain au chocolat, which he dunked meticulously in his coffee. For the first time in several days, clouds of a perfect white fluffed in the sky outside the window. Sharko spoke between two mouthfuls:

“It all fits. Bodies no one can identify—probably foreigners who came to France by whatever means available. That’s often how it works with the Legion.”

Lucie picked up the thread: “The professional way they went about hiding the corpses and removing any identifying marks. The description we got from Luc Szpilman, the combat boots… Soldiers…”

“Not to mention the hair analysis, showing that three of them had quit taking drugs in the weeks before death. It fits perfectly with guys who want to start their lives over, guys you take charge of with an iron hand. Young legionnaires in training. Cadets.”

Sharko shoved in a mouthful of pastry. He seemed in good spirits, almost happy.

“What was that business about the missing ID card?” asked Lucie.

“Simple logic. Mohamed Abane was the classic deviant personality. With a background like his, he could never have gotten into the Legion. Recruiters in Aubagne will overlook practically any crime, except the really serious ones—murder, rape, sex crimes… Abane faked his identity so he could join.”

“By stealing his brother’s card?”

“Sure. All you need to show at the Foreign Legion recruiting station is a valid ID. That’s all. It’s the only link between your past and your future. Mohamed Abane just showed them his brother’s card. The two men looked a lot alike, so the recruiters were fooled and thought they were dealing with a clean record.”

Sharko was beaming. Lucie suddenly saw him as sure of himself, overflowing with vitality. A man who was regaining a taste for the hunt and the field. He drank his coffee, lost in thought.

“It almost all fits…”

“Almost?”

“Almost, yes. I was thinking about the five murdered cadets. There’s nothing worse than the selection process, and especially the ten weeks of drills that come after. Hell on earth. They put you through every kind of physical and psychological torture, until you’re ready to off yourself. It’s easy to imagine one or several recruits fighting back or popping a cork. If we push it a bit further, let’s suppose they run into a serious hitch. An instructor who has no choice but to shoot, because they’ve given these guys real guns. But then, why would they have removed the brains and eyes before burying them?”

He was moving so fast that Lucie had to think for a few moments before answering:

“Because they’re trying to hide much more than just a hitch? Because, behind all this, there’s that diabolical film and those children locked in a room, slaughtering animals?”

“And the girls who were brutally murdered in Africa. Egypt, France, Canada. It’s all related without being related. The real problem is that the Foreign Legion hasn’t set foot in Egypt for more than fifty years. Apart from a similarity in MO, apart from that hysterical phenomenon we suspect, we don’t have any link between the two series of crimes. As for the film, we’re still not sure what it has to do with all this.”

Lucie ran a hand over her face. Nervous exhaustion was weighing more and more heavily on her. Sharko continued to think aloud.

“They really are good. Notre-Dame-de-Gravenchon—there’s nothing there. Not even a military training camp. We should make sure, but I’m convinced the Legion has never set foot there. Maybe if we’d found the bodies around Aubagne, but there… they completely covered themselves.”

“So what are you saying, that we have no way of getting at the Legion?”

“Accusations are serious business, and you know how it works. Even if our reasoning holds water, we need actual proof. Witnesses, paperwork, traces of some kind. But all we’ve got is our conviction. Neither my department nor Criminal will launch an investigation based on simple deductions. Stolen ID or no, Mohamed Abane’s past works against us. The Legion will deny categorically that they’d ever recruit someone like that. No violent crimes with them—that’s a golden rule.”

A silence. Lucie wiped her hands on a napkin.

“And if someone decided to bring charges against the Legion even so, what would that be like?”

Sharko let his arm fall in front of him, in a sign of despair.

“We’d have to present our findings to the minister of defense. On the off chance it worked, we’d need a court order and a mountain of paperwork just to be allowed to question a few handpicked individuals. The whole thing would eat up a lot of time and come to the attention of the Legion top brass, who could easily spin it however they wished. Assuming it still went forward, we’d still run up against the Military Secrets Act. We’d certainly have to deal with some bigwig, a colonel or general, probably with top secret clearance or higher. I’ve run up against that kind of joker before, a few years back. You might as well be talking to an anchor at the bottom of the sea. The Legion is body, the Legion is mind. Even if some of them saw things, and even assuming they’re still on French soil, they won’t say a word.”

Lucie slowly slid her finger around her coffee cup.

“And what if we got around procedure?”

Sharko looked at her coolly.

“Out of the question.”

“Don’t tell me you haven’t thought of it.”

Sharko shrugged.

“You’re too young to go off the rails. You want some friendly advice? Stop inviting trouble. Your kids will never forgive you.”

“Can it with the sermons. We go in aboveboard. We show up and ask to talk to the commanding officer about a suspect we’re looking for, for instance. If he agrees to see us, we guide him toward our case nice and easy. If he’s really involved, he’s almost sure to react.”

“React how? You think he’s going to shout the truth from the rooftops?”

“No, but maybe he’ll get nervous, or make some phone calls. We can trace his line… or stake out his place. I don’t know… long-range mics, maybe?”

Sharko let out an unpleasant snicker.

“You’ve been watching too much Mission: Impossible. His house must be stuffed to the gills with high-frequency detectors. Little army toys, capable of picking up any wave emission for dozens of yards around. And you can bet his phone is on a dedicated encrypted line. Most of those guys are total paranoiacs—that’s why they get chosen for the job. What say we get real?”

“So just like that, we let them get away with it and keep our traps shut?”

Sharko didn’t answer; he stared at his open hands on the table. Lucie squeezed her napkin between her fingers.

“Well, I’m not going to keep my mouth shut. If you don’t feel like coming, I’ll go alone. When you step in it, you have to see it through to the bitter end.”

She disappeared quickly into the bathroom. Sharko sighed. She was capable of doing it—a real hothead. After thinking it over a while, he got up, walked down the hall, and stopped in front of the locked bathroom door.

“Do you need a visa or something like that to go to Canada?” he called in a loud voice.

Water from the shower splattered against the tiles.

“What?”

“Let’s explore the Canada lead first. The more I think about it, the more I believe we might pick up the trail of those little girls in the archives. And if nothing pans out, we’ll try going after the Legion. So—do you need a visa?”

“I have a passport. That’s usually enough, but sometimes not, from what I could make out online. But it would make things easier if we had an international letter rogatory.”

Sharko’s mouth was pressed against the locked door. From the other side, he could hear Lucie soaping herself up. He couldn’t stop himself from picturing her naked. It gave him an odd feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“Fine… We have good relations with the Canadians; they train our behavioral analysts. We also have all the contacts we need over there. I’ll take care of that for you at Violent Crimes. Do you know if there are any direct flights from Lille to Montreal?”

“Yes, but— Ow! I got soap in my eye. Wait a minute!”

Sharko smiled. Rustle of the shower curtain. Then the woman’s voice once again:

“Aren’t you coming with me?”

“No. You get the next TGV. I’ll take care of sending the info to your boss—don’t worry about that. We’ll get you e-tickets for Quebec.”

“What about you?”

“I’m going to see Leclerc about the list of humanitarian groups in Cairo at the time of the murders. It’s possible the killer is on that list of names.”

Suddenly the door opened. Lucie was wrapped in a large towel, her hair and ears covered in foam. She smelled of vanilla and coconut. Sharko jumped back a step; he felt strange.

“Why are you trying to keep me at a distance?” she asked in a hard voice.

Sharko clenched his jaws. He gently wiped away some foam from Lucie’s temples and abruptly turned around.

“Why, Inspector!”

He disappeared down the hall, without looking back.