Skin Deep E-Book

Antonia Lassa

• Herausgeber: Corylus Books
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 180

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

When police arrest eccentric loner Émile Gassiat for the murder of a wealthy woman in a shabby seaside apartment in Biarritz, Inspector Canonne is certain he has put the killer behind bars. Now he just needs to prove it. But he hasn't reckoned with the young man's friends, who bring in lawyer-turned-investigator Larten to head for the desolate out-of-season south-west of France to dig deep into what really happened. Larten's hunt for the truth takes him back to the bustle of Paris as he seeks to demonstrate that the man in prison is innocent, despite all the evidence – and to uncover the true killer behind a series of bizarre murders.

Leseprobe

Skin Deep

Antonia Lassa

Translated by Jacky Collins

1

Written on the Body

Inspector Canonne was not having a good day. Dental implants that worked for everyone else were just not working for him. After waiting for several months to have it put in, two weeks later it had to be taken out, because the pain it caused him was unbearable.

‘It’s unusual, but sometimes it does happen,’ his dentist told him brusquely. ‘There are some bodies that are unable to accept them. We’ll have to explore other options.’

Just as in a police investigation that’s going nowhere; giving up on other options… the worst prognosis.

‘Yes, I understand. A false tooth with its plastic base to fit on the gum.’

‘It’s not plastic, Inspector. It’s resin,’ the dentist retorted. ‘And it looks fine.’

But it’s got to be noticeable when you’re kissing, thought Canonne, although he didn’t say so. His dentist didn’t seem like an expert in kissing.

He hadn’t kissed Laure much during the days they’d finally been able to spend together. How was it possible to kiss with a mouth that was hurting so much before the extraction and bleeding at the slightest touch after?  But that wasn’t the real reason, and Cannone knew it only too well. And she’d left that very same morning, very early, to go back to her house, her world. Of course, Laure didn’t say ‘her’ but ‘my’ – my house and my world.

Summer for couples was like having dental implants: for the majority it all went well, they filled in the gaps, tightened anything that was slack, wobbly, about to fall. But once again, that hadn’t worked for him, and Laure had gone back much earlier than planned, without any breakfast.

‘I’ll get something on the way. I’ve a long journey ahead.’

And the Inspector thought she wasn’t thinking about the road back home, but rather the removal of the implant that he represented, and that Laure’s body had rejected.

He felt around the wound with his tongue and felt a stabbing pain and the rusty taste of blood. In any case it was turning out to be an awful summer; a detestable combination of cold, wind and rain that meant no going to the beach, so angry people, frustrated at having their holidays spoiled, filled the streets, bars and shops in the centre and forced the police to be called out constantly, most of the time for the slightest nonsense.

So the Inspector was in a foul mood when Deputy Inspector Frier, who had no dental problems and presumably no relationship troubles either, came into his office and informed him of the discovery.

‘We’ve just had a call. They’ve found the body of an elderly woman in a holiday apartment in Biarritz. It would seem she’s been murdered in quite macabre circumstances. We’ve notified the Forensics Team.’

The body had been discovered by the owner of the property when she went to pick up the keys the client should have left on the hallway table before twelve o’clock, as they’d agreed.

*

‘I’m Inspector Canonne of the Bayonne Criminal Investigation Team and this is Deputy Inspector Frier. So, Mrs…’

‘Moulier.’

‘You’re the one who found the body.’

‘That’s correct.’

‘I hope you haven’t touched anything.’

‘Of course not. Well actually, yes, there was something.’

‘So, did you, or didn’t you?’

‘As soon as I went into the apartment, I switched off the air conditioning right here, look, right next to the door. They had put it on full blast and the weather was freezing. And don’t get me started on the bill. You have no idea what these renters can get up to…’

‘Can we continue?’

‘Thank goodness we asked them for a deposit.’

The Inspector got the impression, from the owner’s reaction, that she regretted having mentioned the deposit straightaway, knowing she would probably have to pay it back. He stuck his tongue again in the empty socket, his upper first premolar, so visible at the front of his mouth.

‘Apart from the aircon, have you touched anything else?’

‘Nothing, I swear. I didn’t even go into the bedroom. The door was open and from the doorway I could see the woman lying on the bed in a terrible state. Then I left the apartment straight away. I’ve watched crime dramas and I know what to do, and more importantly, what not to do. So, without wasting any more time, right away, I called you.’

Canonne put on latex gloves, went in the bedroom and approached the bed where a naked elderly woman lay, her body badly marked.

‘Where’s the pathologist?’

‘We’ve already contacted him, don’t think he’ll be long getting here,’ replied DI Frier.

The Inspector was deeply disturbed. Perhaps because what he was seeing on the bed in front of him wasn’t just a dead body, but an elderly body, in all its stark, naked reality. He searched around in his mouth for the stitches. He hadn’t been bothered about going bald, or seeing lines appear on his face, but this tooth thing he just couldn’t stand. Because the hole in his mouth seemed like an entrance door; and he could see himself on the threshold of old age, just like he was now stood before the corpse of the disfigured old woman.

‘Where is the pathologist?’

‘He’s on his way.’

Canonne shivered. It was still cold in the flat. Outside as well. The end of summer brought with it an urgency that caused the beaches to empty out and the streets to fill with disappointed holidaymakers looking for something to make their stay feel worthwhile. This murder was going be the highlight of the season. All the elements for a spectacular end of season party were right there, laid out on that ordinary bed fitted with cheap sheets.

The pathologist was a young man that Inspector Canonne had never worked with before. He took this fact as bad omen. It only took a simple glance at the body to realise that this was no case for a beginner.

‘Doctor Ferran, François Ferran.’

‘Inspector Canonne.’

While the doctor examined the body, Canonne went out on to the landing and called the Public Prosecutor’s office.

‘This looks bad,’ he said. ‘A murder that as well as being gruesome is “sophisticated”; we’re really going to get it in the neck from the press if the details of this get out… Yes, the pathologist is here, a young man, Ferran, he’s new to me… Well, I hope he’s extremely competent, as you say, because this is complicated… Yes, the forensic team is here… OK, we’ll wait for you to get here.’

The Inspector didn’t tell the prosecutor that he hadn’t liked Ferran as soon as he’d laid eyes on him, the reason being he’d turned up dressed like he was going to a cocktail party and not a crime scene. What galled him most was that Ferran seemed to have a disgustingly perfect set of teeth.

‘The fact that the body has been lying in a room where the temperature is so low makes it difficult to assess time of death,’ said the pathologist in a ridiculously stiff medical way, ‘but after the nominal analysis that I’ve just carried out and pending the verdict of the autopsy…’

Inspector Canonne offered an ironic smile, the kind given through closed lips. Just what we need right now, he thought, another bored summer visitor in search of a show.

‘She’s been dead around ten hours, which means that the murder took place between three and five early this morning.’

A particularly gruesome murder. The victim was totally naked, lying face up, her face, neck, arms and stomach covered in bizarre burn marks. These had been produced, according to the forensics officer’s first impression by a potent, highly corrosive acid.

‘Most probably sulphuric, given the corrosion caused to the body and the vapour still hanging in the air. But we’ll have to wait…’

‘For the autopsy,’ said the Inspector.

The pathologist didn’t seem to capture the irony in Cannone’s words, in fact on the contrary he seemed to take it as a compliment because he quickly qualified what he’d said by adding, ‘In that case let me just say ‘confirmation’ of the autopsy. The more I look at the wounds, the more convinced I am that it was sulphuric acid. And the acid has been applied with great “care”, if you’ll allow me to put it like that, and of course after death.’

‘How can you be so certain that she was already dead?’

‘Inspector, please, you don’t seem new to this kind of situation, a rookie, as it’s normally called.’

Where had this arrogant pup come from, all dressed up like a fashion advert, talking like an old pedant and who felt it was all right to treat him like a novice? He’d more than twenty years’ experience behind him. Yet the pathologist was totally wrong; suddenly Cannone felt like an absolute beginner with no experience and more than anything with no control, with an urge to grab the doctor by the lapels of his preppy jacket and to put him in his place without further ado. And all because of that damn tooth; because he’d always been the kind who was quick to open his mouth but now he did it with the same precautions as someone opening a prison door. His first upper premolar, so upfront, so visible. The caution was driving him mad. So he searched Frier’s face for a sign of solidarity and caught his breath.

Then he returned to look at the body, a scenario that the medical officer knew how to interpret much better that he did.

‘Doctor Ferran, let’s get things straight,’ he said. ‘The rookie in this context is you.’

‘If you say so.’

‘Let me explain, so that you can get used to the way we do things round here. How it normally works is that you answer my questions clearly, no frills, no fuss, so that Inspector Frier, who’s over there by the door, not bothering anyone – she is so discreet in every way to the extent that I bet you haven’t even noticed her – so that she can take notes and, thus contribute to solving this terrible matter as soon as possible. So, I ask you once more, can we confirm that this woman was dead when she was burned with acid?’

Ferran’s response sounded conciliatory, almost submissive.

‘Without a doubt, Inspector. Not only is there no blood on the bed…’

Did acid burns usually bleed if the victim was alive? The Inspector didn’t know, he’d never come across a case like this before. Yet, this type of injury was on the increase everywhere, also in Europe. And the victims were always women, as was the case here.

‘But what really helps me draw that conclusion is the look on her face.’

‘Well, what remains of it.’

‘There’s enough, Inspector. The eyes, nose, mouth are all intact… More than enough to understand that she didn’t seem to have suffered from contact with the acid. Her features reflect a calmness. When the murderer poured the acid, this woman was sleeping soundly, dying or already dead, killed with a generous dose of poison. A benign substance, which neither hurts nor causes the body to convulse. A massive dose of morphine, for example. It’s normally found around the elderly.’

‘Could she have been dressed at the time of death?’ Frier asked, coming close to the bed.

When he heard her deep voice, more typical of a big burly man than such a fragile looking woman, the doctor jumped and blushed straight away, as if they had suddenly applied a salmon-coloured mask over his face from chin to forehead.

Inspector Canonne didn’t smile, he was thinking about Laure, but he said to himself, by way of comfort, that Ferran was too impressionable to have chosen the profession of forensic pathologist for himself. Rather, someone, somewhere was pulling his strings.

‘What would you say, Detective?’

‘If the murderer had undressed her after death, if they had moved and tampered with the body, would they have been able to leave that expression of peace, of assurance I would say, that is so evident on her face?’

Deputy Inspector Frier was right, as was usually the case. The key to the case probably lay in the fact that the body was naked, along with the peaceful look of the face. If the woman had undressed herself and willingly lain down on the bed, the nature of the relationship she had with the murderer seemed clear – a loving or sexual relationship. Although the age of the victim might suggest that this hypothesis be ruled out immediately. But if the murderer had undressed her after she was dead, then the range of possible suspects could be infinite.

‘Is there anything that might suggest sexual relations before or after death?’ the Inspector asked.

‘I would need to examine the body more carefully to be able to answer you on that. But from what I have seen so far, I would say not.’

‘Well doctor, carry on with the examination. The crime scene investigator is here to assist you. The prosecutor should be here soon. We’ll ask for an autopsy of course and we’ll need your report as soon as possible.’

‘It will take two days at least.’

‘You’ll need to work faster than that. This isn’t just any old case, as you can see. Or maybe ask some of your more experienced colleagues for assistance.’

Inspector Cannone had forced this last phrase out, like someone forcing a lock, to curb the forensic pathologist’s arrogance. But he didn’t achieve the desired effect.

‘As far as I can see, Inspector, we’re all going to need help.’

A positively unbearable individual. Canonne was about to reply, but Frier, who had left the room called to him from outside and showed him her mobile as if to let him know that this was a call he had to take.

‘As soon as possible, Doctor. I don’t have to keep going on about this, because it’s easy to see that we are not dealing with a typical case here.’

The two detectives went out on the landing.

‘Who called me, Frier, the prosecutor?’

‘No, no-one, but I was getting bored watching you two competing to see whose was the longest.’

‘Says you with that gravelly voice of yours.’

‘Well, you know me.’

In other circumstances the Inspector would have smiled.

*

The autopsy report confirmed that wealthy octogenarian Elisabeth Audiard, resident in Paris, had been murdered on 28th August at approximately four AM with a lethal intravenous dose of morphine. Her killer had burned her with sulphuric acid after she was dead. They had poured the liquid slowly and carefully over the body, drop by drop, presumably by means of a glass pipette.

‘Is it easy to get hold of those glass droppers, doctor?’

‘Yes, Inspector, quite easily. They can be obtained from anywhere selling laboratory equipment.’

‘How slow was the administering of the acid?’

‘The killer would have needed thirty minutes,’ replied the forensic pathologist.

‘How careful would they have needed to be?’

‘Rather than being a liquid, as laymen tend to think, sulphuric acid is more viscous. It can be applied so that it comes out slowly, drop by drop, as is the case here, in my opinion.’

‘Drop by drop, and we might say following a previously devised path.’

‘Exactly, Inspector, following a well-devised plan. You are up against a patient, calculating individual. And if I may suggest, we’re looking at someone who is, or who thinks they are, an artist.’

‘Are you a psychologist in your free time, Dr Ferran?’

‘I’m studying to be one. And I’m convinced by the idea I’ve just put forward. Someone who thinks they’re an artist. What they have done on the victim’s body is drawing.’

What Ferrran was saying wasn’t that crazy. The acid hadn’t been thrown in some haphazard way across the victim’s body, rather it had been poured carefully, as if to stick to the outline of a pattern, a design the meaning of which was still impossible to establish, consisting of a centimetre-wide strip that circled the woman’s face like an old-fashioned photo frame. The strip followed the contours of the face perfectly, starting on the forehead along the hairline and coming down on either side just in front of the ears. In the bottom half of the face, it followed the jaw line, covering the chin completely. Two more strips of a similar width could also be seen on either side of the neck. And two strips, a little wider, went from top to bottom on the inside of the arms. Lastly, a more important strip, around three centimetres wide, crossed the old woman’s stomach, from one side to the other, just above the pubis.

‘If you’ll allow me, and it helps your investigation in some way, I’d suggest you look for someone with artistic aspirations,’ repeated the pathologist.

‘And the strip they have traced across her pubic region is, without a doubt, their signature. Just like someone signing a painting. A broad, bold signature as well. Their personality speaks of someone meticulous and narcissistic, without a doubt.’

This elderly millionairess had checked in, as every year, to the best hotel in Biarritz to spend most of the summer. So, what was she doing in that ordinary, low-end apartment that she’d reserved herself quite openly?

The owner had confirmed that point.

‘Yes, yes, Inspector, she made the reservation herself by telephone and paid in advance by credit card, as I asked her to do.’

‘How long did she make the reservation for?’

‘Just for the one night. I handed her the keys myself on 27th August around four in the afternoon. She was to leave them on the table in the entrance hall the following day before noon, as I’ve told you. We don’t normally accept such short stays at this time of the year, but with the terrible summer we’re having and all the cancellations…’

‘Did she seem anxious or worried when you saw her?’

‘No, she was very pleasant and seemed perfectly calm.’

‘How many copies of the key to the apartment did you let her have?’

‘Just one.’

The one the police had found in the woman’s handbag, along with her purse, which was untouched. The rest of the contents in the bag were all in order too. They could rule out theft as motive for the murder. Nor were there any signs of forced entry. The murderer had been let into the apartment willingly by the victim.

‘I don’t suppose there are any security cameras or similar surveillance devices in this building?’

‘No, Inspector. What for? It’s never been necessary. It’s a peaceful property, as you can see. And respectable. It’s the first time… What’s going to happen now?’

‘We’ll seal the apartment off for now until we have finished the searches.’

‘Will it take long?’

‘As long as necessary. But afterwards you can claim compensation.’

The woman hesitated for a moment and then asked, ‘And our reputation?’

Cannone was about to reply – it’ll probably be good for business – but he refrained. Irony required the kind of energy that he just did not have at that moment. He looked around; this apartment was deemed a ‘tourist let’, but from the window there was no view of the sea, no patch of the garden, nor anything like it. All you could see were some old, ugly buildings… no, worse than that… sad, old, ugly buildings. The flip side of this elegant city. And yet, it was in this place where that rich woman, a frequent guest at the Hôtel du Palais, had died slowly and meticulously at the hands of an artistic assassin. And to top it all off, he was painstaking to the extreme. The pathologist confirmed straight away that the killer had left no traces whatsoever, no DNA evidence of having been at the scene of the crime. This investigation was going to be like climbing a wall without any toe or fingerholds, thought Canonne.

‘Doctor, is it difficult to get hold of sulphuric acid?’

‘No, Inspector.’

‘Is it difficult to transport?’

‘Not too difficult, no.’

‘And to use it?’

’No, it’s enough to take a few basic precautions – use some ordinary gloves, latex for example, a mask, glasses to protect the eyes and a simple glass dropper.’

‘Is that sufficient to carry out something like this?’

‘Yes. And you need a steady hand.’

The killer hadn’t trembled at all. This investigation was going to be particularly difficult for the police. They had no clues and what’s more they were going to be working under pressure. They had received the order to give this case the utmost priority.

‘I have informed the investigating judge that this is a particularly repugnant and macabre crime,’ said the public prosecutor. ‘But there’s something else, Inspector.’

And he repeated multiple times that the victim belonged to a family of ‘considerable importance’.

‘Giants in the agri-food industry, Canonne, with friends in very high places, as you can probably imagine.’

‘I understand.’

‘In France and beyond.’

Nevertheless, that “remarkable” woman made and received very few calls. No more than five names appeared in the contacts list on her mobile: her son, two friends, her hairdresser and the woman who worked as her secretary and housekeeper. In any case, apart from the last two, the others hadn’t been used in the last few months. The police eliminated these five straight away from the list of possible suspects. They all had watertight alibis for the day of the murder.

Also saved in Madame Audiard’s mobile were several numbers of different commercial businesses and firms: hotels – all prestigious, which reinforced even more the inconsistency of the apartment in Biarritz; taxi companies, restaurants, and luxury caterers.