Central Park by Guillaume Musso (ebook reader macos .TXT) 📕

fact has led to a rethinking of the judicial treatment of the three crimes. They are now under the authority of a single investigating judge. Questioned yesterday on the France 2 television news, the minister of the interior assured viewers that “all human and material resources are and will be mobilized to find the person or people responsible for these crimes.”

Murders in the West of Paris:

A Suspect in Custody(Le Parisien, August 21, 2011)

A taxi driver considered to be a serious suspect in the series of murders committed since November in the west of Paris was questioned and placed in custody on Friday evening. A search of his home led to the discovery of the cell phone belonging to the killer’s latest victim, Maud Morel.

Taxi Driver Released!(Le Parisien, August 21, 2011)

…The man has an alibi for all three murders.

Questioned by police, he stated that Maud Morel was a passenger in his taxi a few days earlier, and that the young woman simply left her phone in his taxi.

Another Woman Murdered:

Western Paris Traumatized(Le Parisien, October 9, 2011)

Virginie André, a divorced bank employee and the mother of a little boy, was found this morning strangled in her apartment on Avenue de Wagram. Her body was discovered by her ex-husband as he was dropping off the three-year-old son, whose custody they shared.

Fear in the City: Hundreds of Police

Track the West Paris Killer(Le Parisien, October 10, 2011)

This extraordinary investigation has now mobilized hundreds of police on the trail of a murderer who remains nameless and faceless, but who has been terrorizing single women in the 16th and 17th arrondissements for the better part of a year.

What connects Clara Maturin, schoolteacher, strangled on November 12, 2010; Nathalie Roussel, flight attendant, killed on May 10, 2011; Maud Morel, nurse, found dead on August 19; and Virginie André, bank employee, murdered last Sunday? These young women were all single or divorced, and their pasts and personal relations have been investigated by police, but so far no significant clues have been discovered.

Four homicides conforming to the same modus operandi. Four victims without any apparent connection, but all of whom seem to have been sufficiently intimate with their killer to have invited him into their apartments.

This series of murders has caused disbelief and terror among inhabitants of these two arrondissements. To reassure the populace, the prefecture has vastly increased the number of police on patrol and asked citizens to report any suspicious behavior.

Paris

November 21, 2011

Solferino Métro station

I struggle breathlessly up the station steps. At the top of the stairs, rain blows into my face. I open my umbrella facing the wind to keep it from turning inside out. I am seven and a half months pregnant and I have an appointment with Rose-May, the midwife who is supposed to be with me when I give birth.

November has been one long, dark, rainy tunnel, and today is no exception. I do not rush. The white façades of Rue de Bellechasse shine in the downpour.

My feet are swollen, my back is killing me, and my joints ache. I am having a hard time adapting to the weight gain caused by my pregnancy. I have grown so fat that I need Paul to help me tie my shoes! Pants tend to cut into my crotch, so I am condemned to wear only dresses. My nights are short, and whenever I want to get out of bed, I have to roll over to the side before I can put my feet on the floor. And just to add to my misery, I’ve had nausea for the last few days, as well as sudden waves of exhaustion that wipe me out.

Thankfully, the distance between the Métro exit and Rue Las Cases is only about two hundred yards. I reach the clinic in less than five minutes. I walk in, sign in at the reception desk, and—under the disapproving glare of the other patients—grab a coffee from the vending machine in the waiting room.

I am worn out. My belly jumps as if huge bubbles are moving under the skin, as if there is an ocean inside it. Paul finds it very funny when this happens at home.

My own feelings are more complicated. Pregnancy is an amazing, magical state, but I find it hard to surrender to it. My excitement is always tempered by a vague worry, a bad feeling, a series of painful questions without answers: Will I be a good mother? Will my son be healthy? Will I know how to look after him?

I have, theoretically, been on maternity leave for the past week. Paul has done his part by decorating the baby’s room and fitting the car seat in my car. I have made plans to do lots of things—buy clothes, a stroller, a baby bathtub, toiletry products—but I keep putting them off.

The truth is that I have never really stopped working on the investigation—my investigation—into those four women strangled in the west of Paris. My team was put in charge of solving the first murder, but we failed. After that, the case became too big and we lost it. I was sidelined, but I can’t stop seeing those faces frozen in horror. This obsession is polluting my pregnancy, preventing me from thinking about the future. The same images keep appearing in my mind, the same theories circling in my head. I lose myself in conjectures, trying to find the missing thread.

The thread…

I must find the invisible thread that connects Clara Maturin, Nathalie Roussel, Maud Morel, and Virginie André. Even if no one has spotted it yet, there has to be a link. Those four women have something in common that is eluding the investigators.

Even me.

Especially me.

I just know that some crucial piece of evidence is right under my nose, unseen, and this certainty is ruining my life. If we don’t stop him, this man will continue killing women. One woman, two women, ten women…he is careful, invisible, uncatchable. He leaves no trace, no fingerprints or DNA.