Heart Collector Read online

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Text copyright © 2013 Jacques Vandroux

  Translation copyright © 2014 Wendeline A. Hardenberg

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Previously published as Au Coeur du Solstice by the author through the Kindle Direct Publishing platform in France in 2013. Translated from the French by Wendeline A. Hardenberg.

  Published by AmazonCrossing, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and AmazonCrossing are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  ISBN-13: 9781477826829

  ISBN-10: 1477826823

  Cover design by Edward Bettison, LTD

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2014911233

  To my wife

  Contents

  Foreword

  Prologue: The Past

  Chapter 1: The Present

  Chapter 2: Ready for Action

  Chapter 3: Police Intervention

  Chapter 4: The Woman in the Baptistery

  Chapter 5: A Summer Night’s Dream

  Chapter 6: The Autopsy

  Chapter 7: Adieu, Magali!

  Chapter 8: A Cozy Restaurant

  Chapter 9: Initial Briefing

  Chapter 10: The Shock

  Chapter 11: Relaxation

  Chapter 12: Magali

  Chapter 13: Monica

  Chapter 14: Father de Valjoney

  Chapter 15: Second Vision

  Chapter 16: The Lead

  Chapter 17: The Abduction

  Chapter 18: More Details

  Chapter 19: No Doubt

  Chapter 20: Escape

  Chapter 21: Nightmare

  Chapter 22: The Stakeout

  Chapter 23: Harassment

  Chapter 24: Rude Awakening

  Chapter 25: The Déramaux Case

  Chapter 26: Key Witness

  Chapter 27: The Blues

  Chapter 28: New Team

  Chapter 29: Arsène

  Chapter 30: Worries

  Chapter 31: Meeting with the Priest

  Chapter 32: Four Seasons Pizza

  Chapter 33: Julien’s Testimony

  Chapter 34: Raid

  Chapter 35: The Specialist

  Chapter 36: The Psychic

  Chapter 37: Julien’s Mother

  Chapter 38: Girls’ Night

  Chapter 39: Monsieur Ibrahim

  Chapter 40: The Attack

  Chapter 41: Rain Man

  Chapter 42: Gruesome Discovery

  Chapter 43: The Final Hour

  Chapter 44: Why Grenoble?

  Chapter 45: Sanctuary

  Chapter 46: Pierre Dupré

  Chapter 47: The Manor

  Chapter 48: The Cabrade Lead

  Chapter 49: Genetics

  Chapter 50: Witnesses

  Chapter 51: Hélène

  Chapter 52: Flashback

  Chapter 53: Time Off

  Chapter 54: The Meeting

  Chapter 55: Aurélien

  Chapter 56: Forbidden Dissection

  Chapter 57: Boisregard

  Chapter 58: Excitement at the Museum

  Chapter 59: The Manuscript

  Chapter 60: Meeting at the Church

  Chapter 61: Antoine Dupas

  Chapter 62: Search

  Chapter 63: Géraldine Borteau

  Chapter 64: Kill Count

  Chapter 65: At the Diocese

  Chapter 66: The Jail

  Chapter 67: The Book of the Sun

  Chapter 68: Origins

  Chapter 69: The Revolt

  Chapter 70: Nothing to Report

  Chapter 71: René Pelloux

  Chapter 72: Contact

  Chapter 73: Action

  Chapter 74: Introductions

  Chapter 75: In Nomine Patris

  Chapter 76: Let the Games Begin

  Chapter 77: End in Sight

  Chapter 78: Revelations

  Chapter 79: On the Scene

  Chapter 80: Sacrifices

  Chapter 81: Funeral

  Epilogue

  Afterword

  About the Author

  About the Translator

  Foreword

  Although it takes place in real locations and venues, this book is a work of fiction. Character names and events came from the imagination of the author. The only intention in depicting real places is to lend the fiction an air of authenticity. Therefore, any resemblance or similarity to names, people, or facts currently or formerly in existence, particularly with regard to the characters who hold real positions, is pure coincidence and under no circumstances renders the author liable.

  The historic sites and museums described in this book actually exist, and the author strongly encourages you to visit them should you one day find yourself in Grenoble.

  Prologue: The Past

  Sweat ran down her face, plastering her bedraggled hair to her forehead. She could no longer tell whether it was the heat or the fear—both, undoubtedly. She turned around once more, nearly stumbling over a root poking up through the soil. She couldn’t see him, but she knew he wasn’t far, that he would catch her. She didn’t care anymore. Only one thing mattered to her and pushed her to continue fleeing. He mustn’t have the baby. Never!

  She felt her belly contract yet again. Pausing in the shelter of a tree, she waited for the pain to subside. Another contraction doubled her over. All of a sudden she felt warm liquid running down her thighs. She panicked—her water had just broken. She looked around. Lights everywhere were gradually going out. She was alone in the Jardin de Ville. She spotted a thicket of shrubs. A hiding place! From there, he wouldn’t see her, even if he walked right by.

  Her lower abdomen was now hurting her terribly. She’d never have imagined that the pain could be so intense. The baby would come soon, she knew it. She took off her dress and laid it on the ground. She was going to give birth here. The contractions were coming one after the other now without stopping. She removed her panties and crouched down over her dress. She felt like screaming, but she couldn’t. He wasn’t far away, and he would hear her. She bit her lips until they bled and pushed with each new contraction. Tears welled in her eyes, but not a sound passed her tortured lips. She felt contractions, but despite the pain, for her son, for his freedom, she mustn’t cry out.

  Several minutes later, the baby came, and an immense fatigue descended on her. But she couldn’t rest, not now. She looked at the infant. An innate reflex made her pick him up and pat his back. He gave a little squeal, then started crying.

  “Easy, baby, easy,” she murmured, pressing him to her bare skin. The infant’s heat gave her the strength to keep fighting. As if he understood, the baby fell silent.

  She tore off the bottom of her dress and swaddled the baby, then slipped the rest of it back on. She was in a sorry state but couldn’t care less. She had just brought life into the world, and there was no way he was going to steal it from her. Shouts suddenly fractured her ephemeral happiness.

  “I know you’re there! We’ll find you!”

  She got up slowly and saw who was en
tering at the other side of the park. Two men were with him. They were looking for her, and they would find her soon.

  She clasped her son against her and kissed his forehead. It seemed as though the baby gave her a questioning look. She placed him on the ground, in the shelter of a bush.

  “Someone will find you, baby. Any life is better than what he has planned for you.”

  She leaned down, kissed him one last time. Now she knew where her tears were coming from. She carefully put some distance between them, then started to run again. She prayed her son wouldn’t start to cry. She prayed he would be welcomed by people who would take care of him. Above all she prayed that the man chasing her would never lay a hand on her son. But she no longer prayed for herself.

  Chapter 1: The Present

  The young woman had a graceful walk. Her white dress swayed with the rhythm of her steps, and the sun drenching the city lent her a luminous aura. She paused at the edge of the sidewalk, waiting for the traffic light to change. The young man hesitated for a moment. What was happening to him? He enjoyed looking at a pretty girl when he saw one on the street, but those were no more than glances, moments that vanished as quickly as they came. Never before had he followed someone!

  Yet now it had been more than fifteen minutes since he had seen her on the Isère riverfront. Moved by an impulse he couldn’t explain, he had veered from his own path to follow in her footsteps. He had always kept a reasonable distance between himself and the young woman, and she hadn’t noticed anything. In late afternoon, the streets were full of gawking badauds making the most of the first intense heat of summer.

  The light turned red, and the woman resumed her moderate pace. Julien continued on, not knowing where he would end up. Because really, what was his intention? He concentrated on the details of the silhouette moving ahead of him. She was tall, with slightly curly brown hair that bounced atop her shoulders. Her loose white dress fell airily to just above her knees. Julien could see the outlines of her body beneath the clothing. He’d never been very good at guessing ages, but he observed that she had young-looking features that nevertheless showed an air of maturity. It was that sense of maturity that had attracted him.

  She had just ducked under the portico of the Notre-Dame de Grenoble Cathedral and entered the building. Julien stopped and sat down on a stone bench nearby, trying to gather his thoughts. Why was he following this girl? Why was he gripped by such an overwhelming desire to follow her into the church? It was almost frightening.

  Fine. Let’s think about this logically, however little logic may apply to the situation. This girl is pretty, but not sexy enough to trail for a mile. She doesn’t look like anybody I know, and yet I feel like she’s calling to me like she needs me. It’s completely ridiculous. In fact, I’m ridiculous.

  Despite feeling ridiculous, Julien continued to monitor the cathedral portico. At that time of day, it was the only way in, and therefore the only way out. Julien decided to wait a few more minutes. He thought back to her face. Though he’d caught only a glimpse, it was her face that had struck him. Both sweet and serious—very serious. It radiated serenity, but also an indescribable need for protection.

  Julien scoffed at himself again. Psychoanalysis for dummies! You poor sap, you’re pathetic. He glanced at his watch. It was seven in the evening. What if she was just attending mass? Almost in spite of himself, he stood up and entered the church.

  The cool interior contrasted with the summer heat outside. He shivered. Speakers hidden among the pillars created a background of Gregorian chants, inviting calm and meditation. He looked around slowly to take in the scene. Few people were there at that hour, and no mass was being conducted. He couldn’t see her. She was doubtless in one of the side chapels or in the adjoining Saint-Hugues Church. He walked slowly, reverentially, discreetly inspecting the chapels while regularly glancing at the exit.

  The church gave off a scent of burned-out candles and centuries-old stone. He’d always loved old churches, with their protective arches, mysteriously timeless and at the center of things.

  Five minutes later, he’d made his way all the way around the cathedral. She had to be in the adjacent church then, which could be accessed via a side door. He exited the Gothic cathedral to enter, one yard farther, the little neighboring church. No one! He came back out immediately. Noticing that an old woman was staring at him insistently, he left the church and found himself once more in the open square outside, blinded by the June sun. He returned to his observation post. Perhaps she had escaped his notice in the church, but he was absolutely certain that she hadn’t come out. He was intrigued. He didn’t know when the church closed, but if he stayed long enough, he couldn’t miss her.

  “You okay, dude?” Julien felt a hand on his shoulder. “Everything all right? You haven’t moved in ten minutes, just staring into space.”

  “I’m fine, thank you, just a little tired.”

  “Well, when you’re tired, dude, you gotta lie down. By the way, d’you happen to have a li’l spare change for the guy who woke you up?”

  Julien looked at the man who had accosted him. He recognized him as a bum he’d passed under the portico earlier and had an idea.

  “I’ve got a whole bill if you answer my question.”

  “Ah, I’m not the police, dude,” the man said, but lured by the prospect of easy money, he asked, “Whaddya wanna know?”

  “Since you’ve been here, have you seen a young woman come out? Pretty, tall, wearing a white dress?”

  The bum burst out laughing. “If it’s about your heart or her ass, I can answer you. But let’s see the dough first.”

  Julien took a twenty-euro bill out of his wallet and handed it over. The bum whistled as though he hadn’t been expecting that much.

  “Well, aren’t you feeling generous! For that much you can have two questions. But to answer your first one, no. I saw a couple old ladies, but they were all bent over, and if they were ever pretty, it was back when they built Notre-Dame in the first place.” Pleased with his joke, he burst into laughter punctuated by coughing. “But I can also tell you, for the same price, that I’ve been here for over two hours and I didn’t see your fair maiden.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding, she just went in around seven o’clock!”

  “In your dreams, dude, in your dreams. Look, I gotta go. I gotta take advantage of my new wealth.”

  The bum departed via a little street across from the square, leaving Julien in a daze. The man must have been drunk or looking elsewhere. Still, he seemed quite sure of himself. Julien had watched the mysterious woman go in, though, and he was certain of it. Besides, even if he had been daydreaming, he’d still kept an eye on the door, though he was less certain of that.

  The whole thing confused him, and he was wasting his time. He decided, however, to take one last look around the church.

  The cathedral was now nearly deserted. The old woman who had noticed him a few minutes earlier was still there. Maybe she could help him after all. He approached her slowly. “Good evening, madame, I’m looking for a friend and was wondering if maybe you could help me?”

  She eyed him mistrustfully and replied, “And what does that have to do with me?”

  He responded even more gently. “I arranged to meet her here half an hour ago, but I can’t find her.”

  The parishioner stared at him for a long while. He remained impassive. After many long seconds, she seemed to relax.

  “And what does your friend look like?”

  “Very pretty, dark haired, and she was going to wear a white dress today.”

  “Sorry, young man, but I’ve been right here since midafternoon and I haven’t seen such a beauty.” A slight smile lit her dour face when she uttered that last phrase.

  Julien was stunned. Before she could leave, he asked, “Is there another door she could have used to enter or exit?”

  �
�No, only the portico is open to the faithful.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Don’t look so down in the mouth. Women are often unpredictable at your age . . . and at mine, too, for that matter,” she added, her eyes twinkling.

  He smiled at her. “You’re probably right. Have a good evening.”

  He returned to the open air and decided to take a walk through the city to clear his head. Why did this episode leave him with such a strange feeling?

  Chapter 2: Ready for Action

  The man’s hand groped at the wall, catching on the rough plaster. He swore and stuck his fingertips in his mouth to ease the mild sting. Then, after a few seconds of feeling around, he found the light switch.

  He pressed it, and bright light flooded the room. He blinked for a few moments as his eyes adjusted, then approached the table in the center of the room. With a lover’s touch, he caressed the woman slowly. He stepped back to encompass her with his gaze. The dark black tabletop complemented the stainless steel support, reflecting the neon light particularly well.

  He had not chosen machinery that would allow her to orient herself. A simple table was sufficient for his purposes. But he had taken much care in selecting the lamp, which was cleverly mounted on an articulated arm. He was quite proud of this high-end equipment; he’d had to engage in a great deal of subterfuge to order it and have it delivered without attracting attention.

  He moved to the sideboard on which several closed pouches lay. He opened them and pulled out several implements, laying them side by side with maniacal precision. He had been so successful in his profession because he left nothing to chance—when the task at hand required all of an individual’s concentration, even the smallest discrepancy could lead to disaster. And he had known only a single failure in over thirty years. He admired his work and then, satisfied, headed toward a large metal cabinet set against one wall. He opened the door. Three green smocks, impeccably ironed, dangled from hangers. He took one of them, put it on, and looked at himself in a small mirror resting on one of the shelves. Everything was perfect. He was ready.