The First Fingerprint by Xavier-Marie Bonnot Page B

scuba–diving expedition, and that examination of the bodies revealed nothing to contradict this fact.
    Examination of the faces of Gérard SYLVAINand Christophe PIETRI showed that each of them was covered with saliva, mucus coming from their orifices, their eyes and mucous membranes swollen.
    â€œHey, Michel, do we have to read all this stuff? It happened ten years ago.”
    De Palma rapidly flicked through the pages.
    â€œYou never know, Le Gros. I do remember that at the time there was something which surprised me. That’s why I kept copies. Here, this is it. Listen, this is one of the coastguards talking:
    The cave’s entrance is approximately 1 meter wide by 1.50 meters high.
    We found one of the bodies about 13 meters down the tunnel of the cave. I must point out that inside the cave there is zero visibility.
    The body was floating about 50 cm above the bottom, its head turned toward the far end of the cave, its feet toward the entrance, facing the ground.
    The diver no longer had the mouthpiece of his regulator in his mouth. His lead belt had slipped down and was around his knees.
    He had no BC vest.
    I confirm that when I found the diver’s body, visibility was about 5 to 10 cm and there were no jutting rocks on which he might have become stuck.
    I found no torch on the body.
    â€œWhat do you find surprising in all that?” Maistre asked.
    â€œI don’t know. But it did make me wonder. Why didn’t he have a torch? Why was his lead belt around his knees?”
    â€œYou’re right, it is a bit odd. But still, nothing to get into a fix about. Maybe his belt was around his knees because one of his companions tried to pull him backward … And maybe he lost his torch earlier. The coastguard says you couldn’t see further than 10 cm. How could he find his torch in such a soup? So what are you trying to prove, Baron? That these diving accidents are linked to today’s murders. You’re losing the plot. It was all ten years ago.”
    â€œYou never know!”
    â€œThere’s one thing I do know. You need some rest and relaxation. Go and see your wife. Tell her you love her, and that’s all there is to it.”
    â€œA serial killer, Jean-Louis …”
    â€œIn that case, it’s a job for the gendarmerie. I know how you feel. You’re a hunter. A big-game hunter! An obsessive investigator. It’s all you have in your life. But Jesus, just for once, slow down a bit! You’re forty-seven, for crying out loud! In ten years’ time you’ll retire and it will all be over. So concentrate on your prehistory lecturer and tell the rest to fuck off.”
    Maistre leaped up like a wild cat and went over to his friend.
    â€œAs a matter of fact, I know why you want to join up all these cases!”
    â€œWhy’s that?” de Palma mumbled.
    â€œBecause you want to nobble some psychopath. You’ve often talked to me about good and evil and all that claptrap. I know your theory: the bad side of human nature; we’re all monsters deep down, and the only difference between the nutters and us is a padlock in our heads, locking the door on our impulses. I know you want to nail the loony, like you nailed Ferracci. And I know why! It’s personal business, let’s put it that way … What you’re thinking is: ‘At last, someone worthy of my abilities!’ But you’re barking up the wrong tree. I repeat, the
modus operandi
isn’t the same! He can’t have drowned those divers ten years back, killed your lady and massacred the other two, whose names now escape me. There are no recurring behavioral patterns. But youreckon that at last you’re on to the master of murder! You’re proud as hell and all you’re thinking about is finding someone who’s up to your own megalomania. Even if you have to bend the evidence!”
    Maistre fell silent for a while.
    â€œJust you watch it, Baron. I might not