The Last Precinct

Chapter 14

CHANDONNE GOES INTO GREAT DETAIL AT THIS point. He claims he left Lumi with Susan Pless. It was very cold, but they decided to walk because her apartment was only a few blocks from the restaurant. He describes the moon and the clouds in sensitive, almost poetic detail. The sky was streaked with great swipes of bluish-white chalk and the moon was partially obscured and full. A full moon has always excited him sexually, he says, because it reminds him of a pregnant belly, of buttocks, of breasts. Gusts of wind kicked up around tall apartment buildings and at one point, he took off his scarf and put it around Susan to keep her warm. He claims to have been wearing a long, dark cashmere coat, and I remember the chief medical examiner of France, Dr. Ruth Stvan, telling me about her encounter with the man we believe was Chandonne.

I visited Dr. Stvan at the Institut Medico-Legal not even two weeks ago because Interpol asked me to review the Paris cases with her, and during our conversation she recounted to me a night when a man came to her home, feigning car trouble. He asked to use her phone, and she recalled he was wearing a long dark coat and seemed very much a gentleman. But Dr. Stvan said something else when I was with her. It was her recollection that the man had a strange, most unpleasant body odor. He smelled like a dirty, wet animal. And he made her uneasy, very uneasy. She sensed evil. All the same, she might have let him in or, more likely, he would have forced his way in except for one miraculous happenstance.

Dr. Stvan's husband is a chef at a famous Paris restaurant called Le Dome. He happened to be home sick that night and called out from another room, wanting to know who was at the door. The stranger in the dark coat fled. The next day a note was delivered to Dr. Stvan. It was written in block printing on a bit of bloody, torn brown paper and signed Le Loup-Garou. I have yet to really face my denial of what should have been obvious. Dr. Stvan autopsied Chandonne's French victims and then he went after her. I autopsied his American victims and didn't take serious measures to prevent him from coming after me. A great common denominator underlies this denial, and it is this: People tend to believe that bad things happen only to others.

"Can you describe what the doorman looked like?" Berger asks Chandonne on the videotape.

"A thin mustache. In a uniform," Chandonne says. "She called him Juan."

"Wait a minute," I speak up.

Berger stops the tape again.

"Did he have a body odor?" I ask her. "When you sat in the room with him early this morning." I indicate the television. "When you interviewed him, did he have…"

"No kidding," she interrupts. "Smelled like a filthy dog. Kind of a strange mix of wet fur and bad body odor. It was all I could do not to gag. I guess the hospital didn't give him a bath."

It is a misconception that people are automatically bathed in the hospital. Usually, only the injuries are scrubbed unless the person is a long-term patient. "When Susan's murder was investigated two years ago, did anyone in Lumi mention a body odor? That the man she was with smelled bad?" I ask.

"No," Berger replies. "Not at all. Again, I just don't see how that person could have been Chandonne. But listen. It gets stranger."

For the next ten minutes I watch Chandonne suck down more Pepsi as he smokes and tells the incredible account of his alleged visit with Susan Pless in her apartment. He describes where she lived in amazing detail, from the rugs on the hardwood floor to the floral upholstered furniture to the faux Tiffany lamps. He says he was not impressed with her taste in art, that she had a lot of rather pedestrian museum exhibit posters and some prints of seascapes and horses. She liked horses, he said. She told him she grew up with horses and missed them terribly. Berger taps the table inside my conference room whenever she verifies what he is saying. Yes, his description of the inside of Susan's apartment certainly leads one to believe he was there at some point. Yes, Susan did grow up with horses. Yes, yes, to everything.

"Jesus." I shake my head as fear coils tightly in my gut. I am afraid of where this is going. I resist thinking about it. But a part of me can't stop thinking about it. Chandonne is going to say that I invited him into my house.

"And it's what time now?" Berger asks him on the tape. "You said Susan opened a bottle of white wine. What time was it when she did that?"

"Maybe ten or eleven. I don't remember. It was not good wine."

"How much had you had to drink at this point?"

"Oh, maybe half a bottle of wine at the restaurant. I didn't drink much of the wine she poured for me later. Cheap California wine."

"Then you weren't drunk."

"I am never drunk."

"You were thinking clearly."

"Of course."

"In your opinion, was Susan drunk?"

"Only maybe a little. I would say happy, she was happy. So we sat on the sofa in her living room. It has a very nice view, a southwest view. From the living room you can see the red sign for the Essex House hotel on the park."

"All true," Berger says to me as she taps the table again.

"And her blood alcohol was point-one-one. She'd had a few," she adds details from Susan Pless's postmortem examination.

"Then what happened?" she is asking Chandonne.

"We hold hands. She puts my fingers in her mouth, one after the other, very sexy. We started kissing."

"Do you know what time it was at this point?"

"I had no reason to be looking at my watch."

"You were wearing a watch?"

"Yes."

"Do you still have that watch?"

"No. My life got worse because of them'' He spits the word them. Saliva sprays through the air every time he says "them" with a loathing that seems genuine. "I no longer had money. I pawned the watch maybe a year ago."

"Them? These same people you keep referring to? Law enforcement agents?"

"American federal agents."

"Back to Susan," Berger directs him.

"I am a shy person. I don't know how much detail you will want me to go into at this point." He lifts his Pepsi and his lips curl around the straw like grayish worms.

I can't imagine anyone wanting to kiss those lips. I can't imagine anyone wanting to touch this man.

"I want you to tell me everything you remember," Berger says to him. "The truth, sir."

Chandonne sets down the Pepsi and I am slightly jarred when Talley's sleeved arm enters the picture again. He lights another Camel for Chandonne. I wonder if it occurs to Chandonne that Talley is a federal agent, that he is one of the very people who Chandonne says have been following him and ruining his life. "Yes then, I will tell you. I don't want to, but I'm trying to be cooperative." Chandonne blows out smoke.

"Please go on. In as much detail as you can remember."

"We kissed for a while and it quickly progressed." He says

nothing more.

"What do you mean, it quickly progressed!"

Ordinarily, it is enough for someone to say he had sex and leave it at that. Ordinarily, the officer or attorney conducting the interview or the direct or cross-examination doesn't find it relevant to ask for explicit details. But the sexual violence done to Susan and to all of the women we believe Chandonne murdered makes it important to know the details, all the details of what his idea of sex might be.

"I am reluctant," Chandonne says, playing with Berger again. He wants coaxing.

"Why?" Berger asks him.

"I don't talk about such things, certainly not with a woman present."

"It would be better for all of us if you would think of me as a prosecutor and not a woman," Berger tells him.

"I can't talk to you and not think woman," he says softly. He smiles a little. "You are very pretty."

"You can see me?"

"I can barely see, not really. But I can tell you are pretty. I've heard you are."

"Sir, I'll ask you to make no further personal references to me. Are we clear on that?"

He stares at her and nods.

"Sir, what exactly did you do after you began kissing Susan? What next? You touched her, fondled her, undressed her? Did she touch you, fondle you, undress you? What? Do you remember what she was wearing that night?"

"Brown leather pants. I would describe them as the color of Belgian chocolate. They were tight but not in a way that was cheap. She had on boots, brown leather half boots. She had on a black top, sort of a leotard. Long-sleeved." He looks up at the ceiling. "A scoop neck, rather low scooped neck. The kind of top that snaps between the legs." He makes a snapping motion. His fingers with their short, pale hair remind me of cacti, of bottle brushes.

"A bodysuit," Berger helps him out.

"Yes. I was a bit confused at first when I tried to touch her and couldn't pull out her top."

"You were trying to put your hands under her top but couldn't because it was a bodysuit that snapped between her legs?"

"Yes, that's it."

"And what was her response when you tried to untuck her top?"

"She laughed at my confusion and made fun of me."

"She made fun of you?"

"Oh, not in a mean way. She thought I was funny. She made a joke. She said something about Frenchmen. We are supposed to be such skilled lovers, you know."

"Then she knew you're from France."

"But of course," Chandonne blandly answers.

"Did she speak French?"

"No."

"She told you that or did you just assume it?"

"I asked her at dinner if she knew French."

"So she teased you, then, about her bodysuit."

"Yes. Teased. She slid my hand down her pants and helped me undo the snaps. I remember she was aroused and I was a little surprised that she had gotten aroused so quickly."

"And you know she was aroused because…?"

"Wet," Chandonne says. "She was very wet. I really don't like saying all this." His face is animated. He loves saying all this. "Is it really necessary for me to continue in such detail?"

"Please, sir. Everything you can remember." Berger is firm and unemotional. Chandonne may as well be telling her about a clock he took apart.

"I begin to touch her breasts and unhook her bra."

"Do you remember what her bra looked like?"

"It was black."

"Were the lights on?"

"No. But the bra was a dark color, I think black. I could be mistaken. But it wasn't a light color."

"How did you unhook it?"

Chandonne pauses, his dark glasses boring into the camera. "I just unhooked it in back." He makes an unhooking motion with his fingers.

"You didn't rip her bra off?"

"Of course not."

"Sir, her bra was ripped in front. Ripped off from the front. Literally torn in half."

"I didn't. Someone else must have done that after I left."

"All right, let's get back to your taking her bra off. Are her pants undone at this time?"

"Undone but still on. I pull up her top. I am very oral, you see. She liked that quite a bit. It was difficult to slow her down.'"

"Please explain what you mean by, 'It was difficult to slow her down.'"

"She began to grab for me. Between my legs, trying to get my pants off, and I wasn't ready. I still had much to do."

"Much to do? What else did you have to do, sir?"

"I wasn't ready for it to end."

"What do you mean by end? For sex to end? For what to end?"

For her life to end, I think.

"For making love to end," he replies.

I hate this. I can't stomach listening to his fantasies, especially when I consider that he might know I am listening to them, that he is subjecting me to them just as he is subjecting Berger to them, and that Talley is listening, sitting right there, watching. Talley isn't so different from Chandonne. Both of them secretly hate women, no matter how much they lust for them. I didn't realize the truth about Talley until it was too late, until he was in my bed in my hotel room in Paris. I imagine him close to Berger in the small interview room at the hospital. I can almost see what is in his mind as Chandonne gives us an account of an erotic night he has probably never lived even once in his entire existence.

"She had a very lovely body and I wanted to enjoy it for a while, but she was most insistent. She couldn't wait." Chan-donne relishes each Word. "So we went back to the bedroom. We got on her bed and took our clothes off and made love."

"Did she take her own clothes off or did you do all of it?

Beyond helping with the snaps?" she asks with a hint of her underlying and overwhelming disbelief of his veracity.

"I took all her clothes off. And she took mine off," he says.

"Did she make any comment about your body?" Berger asks. "Had you shaved your entire body?"

"Yes."

"And she didn't notice?"

"I was very smooth. She didn't notice. You must understand, a lot has happened to me since then, because of them?

"What has happened?"

"I have been pursued and persecuted and beaten. I was jumped by some men months after the night with Susan. They beat my face very badly. Split my lip, crushed bones in my face here." He touches his glasses, indicating his orbits. "I had many dental problems as a child because of my condition and had much work done as a result. Crowns on my front teeth so they would look more normal."

"This couple you say you stayed with paid for cosmetic dental work?"

"My family helped them with money."

"Did you shave before you went to the dentist?"

"I would shave those areas that would show. Such as my face. Always, if I was going out during the day. When I was beaten, my front teeth were broken, my crowns were broken, and eventually, well, you can see what my teeth look like now."

"Where did this beating occur?"

"I was still in New York."

"Did you receive medical treatment or report this assault to the police?" Berger asks him.

"Oh, that would have been impossible. The top law enforcement people are all in this together, of course. They are the ones who did it to me. I could report nothing. I received no medical treatment. I became a nomad, always hiding. Ruined."

"What about the name of your dentist?"

"Oh, that was very long ago. I doubt he's still alive. His

name was Corps. Maurice Corps. His office was on rue Caba-nis, I believe."

"Corps as in corpse?" I comment to Berger. "And is Caba-nis a play on cannabis, or marijuana?" I am shaking my head in disgust and amazement.

"So you and Susan had sex in her bedroom." Berger gets back to that on the tape. "Please continue. How long were the two of you in bed?"

"I would say until three o'clock in the morning. Then she told me I had to leave because she needed to get ready for work. So I got dressed and we made arrangements to see each other that night again. We said we would meet at seven at L'Absinthe, a nice French bistro in the neighborhood."

"You say you got dressed. What about her? Was she dressed when you left her?"

"She had a pair of black satin pajamas. She put those on and kissed me at the door."

"So you went downstairs? Did you see anyone?"

"Juan, the doorman. I went out and walked for a while. I found a cafe and had breakfast. I was very hungry." He pauses. "Neil's. That's the name. It is right across the street from Lumi."

"Do you remember what you ate?"

"Espresso."

"You were very hungry but all you had was espresso?" Berger lets him know she picks up on the word "hunger" and realizes he is mocking her, jerking her around, fucking with her. Chandonne's hunger wasn't for breakfast. He was enjoying the afterglow of violence, of destroying flesh and blood because he had just left behind a woman he had beaten to death and bitten. No matter what he says, that is what he did. The bastard. The goddamn lying bastard.

"Sir, when did you first learn that Susan was murdered?" Berger asks him.

"She didn't show up for dinner that night."

"Well, I guess not."

"Then the next day…"

"Would this be December fifth or the sixth?" Berger asks, and she is stepping up the tempo, indicating to him that she's had it with his games.

"The sixth," he says. "I read about her in the paper the morning after she was supposed to meet me at L'Absinthe." He now puts on the act of feeling sad about it. "I was shocked." He sniffs.

"Obviously, she didn't show up at L'Absinthe the night before. But you're saying you did?"

"I had a glass of wine in the bar and waited. Finally, I left."

"Did you mention to anyone in the restaurant that you were waiting for her?"

"Yes. I asked the maftre d' if she had been by and perhaps left a message for me. They knew who she was because of her being on TV."

Berger questions him closely about the maitre d', asking his name, what Chandonne was wearing that night, how much he had paid for the wine and was it in cash, and when he inquired after Susan, did he give his name. Of course not. She spends five minutes on all this. She mentions to me that the police had been contacted by the bistro and were told that a man had come in and said he was waiting for Susan Pless. All of it was painstakingly checked out back then. It is true. The description of the way the man was dressed is identical to Chandonne's description of how he was dressed that night. This man did order a glass of red wine at the bar and ask if Susan had been by or had left a message, and he did not give his name. This man also fit the description of the man who had been in Lumi with Susan the night before.

"And did you tell anyone you had been with her the night of her murder?" Berger says on tape.

"No. Once I knew what happened, I could say nothing."

"And what was it that you knew had happened?"

"They did it. They did that to her. To set me up again."

"Again?"

"I had women in Paris before all this. They did it to them, too."

"These women were before Susan's death?"

"Maybe one or two before. Then some afterwards, as well.

The same thing happened to all of them because I was followed. This is why I went more and more into hiding, and the stress and hardships made my condition so much worse. It has been a nightmare and I've said nothing. Who would believe me?"

"Good question," Berger says sharply. "Because you know what? I, for one, don't believe you, sir. You murdered Susan, didn't you, sir?"

"No."

"You raped her, didn't you, sir?"

"No."

"You beat her and bit her, didn't you, sir?"

"No. This is why I've told nothing to anybody. Who would believe me? Who would believe people are trying to destroy me all because they think my father is a criminal, a godfather?"

"You never told the police or anyone that you may have been the last person to see Susan alive because you murdered her, didn't you, sir?"

"I told no one. If I had, I would have been blamed for her death, just as you are blaming me. I returned to Paris. I wandered. I hoped they would forget me, but they haven't. You can see they haven't."

"Sir, are you aware that Susan was covered with bite marks and that your saliva was found on those bite marks and the DNA testing on them and on the seminal fluid found in her vagina matches your DNA?"

He just fixes those black glasses on Berger.

"You know what DNA is, don't you?"

"I would expect my DNA to come up."

"Because you bit her."

"I never bit her. But I am very oral. I…" He stops.

"You what? What did you do that might explain your saliva being on bite marks you say you didn't inflict?"

"I'm very oral" he says again. "I suck and lick. All over the body."

"Where specifically? Do you literally mean every inch of the body?"

"Yes. All of it. I love a woman's body. Every inch of it. Perhaps because I don't have… Perhaps because it is so beautiful, and beauty is something I can never have for myself, you see. So I worship them. My women. Their flesh."

"You lick and kiss their feet, for example?"

"Yes."

"The bottoms of their feet?"

"Everywhere."

"Have you ever bitten a woman's breasts?"

"No. She had very beautiful breasts."

"But you sucked them, licked them?"

"Obsessively."

"Are breasts important to you?"

"Oh yes. Very much_I am honest about it."

"You seek out big-breasted women?"

"I have a type I like."

"What exactly is your type?"

"Very full." He cups his hands at his chest and sexual tension shines in his face as he describes the type of woman who arouses him. Maybe it is my imagination, but his eyes gleam behind the black Solar Shields. "But not fat. I don't like fat women, no, no. Slender through the waist and hips, but very full." He cups his hands again, as if he is gripping volleyballs, and veins rope through his arms and his muscles flex.

"And Susan was your type?" Berger is completely unflappable.

"The instant I spotted her in the restaurant, I was attracted," he replies.

"In Lumi?"

"Yes."

"Hairs were also found on her body," Berger then says. "Are you aware that unusual long, baby-fine hair consistent with your unusual baby-fine hair was found on her body? How can that be if you'd shaved? Didn't you just tell me you shaved your entire body?"

"They plant things. I'm sure of it."

"These same people who are out to get you?"

"Yes."

"And where would they get your hair?"

'There was a period, in Paris some five years ago, when I started getting the sense someone was after me," he says. "I had a feeling I was being watched, being followed. I had no idea why. But when I was younger I didn't shave my body always. My back, you can imagine. It is very hard to reach, hard to shave my back, impossible really, so sometimes many, many months would go by, and you see, when I was younger, I was more shy with women and rarely approached them. So I didn't think about shaving as much, would just hide beneath long pants and sleeves and only shave my hands and neck and face." He touches his cheek. "One day I came home to the apartment where my foster parents lived…"

"Your foster parents are still alive at this point? The couple you've mentioned? Who lived near the prison?" she adds with a trace of irony.

"No. But I still was able to live there for a while. It was not expensive and I had work, odd jobs. I come home and I can tell someone has been inside. It was strange. Nothing was missing except the covers on my bed. I think, well, that's not so bad. At least whoever it was took only that. Then it happened again several more times. I realize now it was them. They wanted my hair. That's why they took my bedcovers. Because I lose a lot of hair, you see?" He touches tangles of hair on top of his head. "It is always falling out if I don't shave. It gets caught on things when it's so long." He holds out an arm to show her, and long hair wafts weightlessly on the air.

"Then you're saying you didn't have long hair when you met Susan? Not even on your back?"

"Not at all. If you found long hairs on her body, then they were put there, you see what I am saying? All the same, I accept that her murder is my fault."