Taste of Fear

“Yeah. He left a note this time.”

“He’s getting confident. He knows we don’t have any serious leads, he wants to tell us something.”

“Did you have breakfast yet?” Sova

“What? Just coffee, why?”

“Good. You might want to wait until you eat anything. This time it’s pretty gross.”

“Where’s Dupont?” John asked, afraid to hear the answer. “Do we know where he’s been?”

“He’s clean, John,” Sova

Fuck! John took his head in his palm and ran his hand through his hair. Cécile came to sit behind him and wrapped her arms around his neck. He was tense. She kissed him on the cheek.

“Alright, I’m coming,” he said. “Where?”

“Montparnasse,” Sova

John stood up and rushed to the bathroom.

“Another murder?” Cécile asked.

“Unfortunately.”

“It’s not Daniel, is it?”

John shook his head. “Dupont was at work. Still is. Now we know it’s not him. But we have no idea who this killer is. The bastard calls himself the Dark Stallion.”

Cécile looked worried. “Do you want me to leave right now?”

“It’s okay,” he said while getting dressed. “You can stay if you want.”

“You’ll catch him, John.”

“I hope so.”

He kissed Cécile, grabbed a croissant and was about to take a bite when he remembered his friend’s warning. He hesitated. His stomach was screaming, the caffeine burning inside. The hell with it, he thought. He brought the croissant to his mouth and swallowed it in five seconds.

Then he went out and called the elevator.

Armistice Day my ass, he thought. We’re still at war!

11

Montparnasse. It took John fifteen minutes to get there. The streets were empty. People were either home or gone to the countryside for the long week-end. Parking was usually a hassle, but he found a spot almost immediately. Once again, police cars and an ambulance were blocking the street. But there was no crowd. No cell phones taking pictures of the scene to upload on the Internet. Thank God, John thought. He wasn’t in the mood.

Sova

The apartment of the victim was spacious. Not big but very decent and comfortable. The coppery smell of blood assaulted John’s nostrils as soon as he stepped into the bedroom. The woman was facing down, her back covered with candle wax and her hands handcuffed behind her. But this time, the cause of her death was different. Much more dramatic. She was soaking in her own blood. The bed sheets and the carpet were red and had started to dry. He walked to the side of the bed and looked at her face. She was covered with dried blood and had a disturbing expression of fear mixed with shock and surprise.

“He cut her throat,” Sova

John nodded. He immediately noticed a pattern. The victims were upper middle class. White women. Attractive. The killer was definitely someone with some sort of status. A good job, maybe well co

“Seems like he’s taking things to the next level,” John said, looking away from the dead body.

“And he wants to take the credit,” Sova

“This guy is nuts,” John said. “Where did he pick up that name?”

“He thinks highly of himself. At least sexually. The stallion thing probably refers to his anatomy,” Sova

“Yeah, probably. He’s nuts,” John said again. “He saw the news and now he wants to be called by this stupid name. And he wants to make sure the media talks about him. That’s why he cut her throat instead of strangling this time.”

John flipped the sheet of paper. There was something else written.

“The week-end will be glorious?” John read out loud. “Jesus, he’s telling us he’s going to do it again this week end. And we don’t have a fucking clue who he is!”

Sova

“Another bank,” John muttered to himself. He squinted at his partner, thinking hard. “This guy must be a banker or something. He chooses his victims at work, that’s why they trust him. They think they know what to expect. It feels familiar. Safe. He must have a good situation. These women can’t picture him as a killer; he has everything to become successful. Maybe he’s already successful, actually. Maybe he’s very good and that’s why he’s worked for several of these banks. That’s how he selects his targets.”

Sova

“I’d like to do that,” John said. “At least, the killer would feel the pressure or encounter more resistance from his female coworkers. But here’s the problem: we’re just speculating. We can’t conclude anything with only two victims. Our sample is too small. That’s not… what’s the phrase again? Statistically significant.”

“Christ, John!” Sova

“I didn’t say we’d cross our arms and do nothing. But we can’t go public and make a statement based on our gut feeling either,” John said. “What’s that?” He nodded at the pile of documents on her desk.

“Bills mostly,” Sova

“Did you check her phone?”

“It’s locked. We sent our guys to try to unlock it.”

“OK, good,” John said.

He covered his mouth with his hand and closed his eyes. The smell in the room was becoming hard to handle. He felt his chest and his heart burning. He took a few deep breaths, controlling his nausea, and walked around.

He paced in the living room and found her purse. He looked inside. Nothing unusual. Her keys, her badge for work, make-up, tissue, a pocket-sized umbrella and credit cards. There was a small piece of paper as well. It was folded and kept along with the credit cards. John took it out. It was a receipt. It indicated November 10th and 10:47p.m. John looked at the header and recognized the name of a restaurant nearby. Bingo.

“Sova

“Yeah?” Sova

“Check this out.”

Sova

“Yeah. Look at the amount.”

“Almost two hundred euros,” Sova

John nodded, a smile on his face. “Exactly,” he said. “They had di

“Nice. Want to go there now?” Sova

“There’s a café-bar across the street from the restaurant. We can sit there and wait for the staff to come,” John said.

John and Sova