Jean-Christophe Grangé - The Empire Of The Wolves

Schiffer remained standing. "It's about a young Turkish woman you examined on the morning of November 14, 2001. She had been brought in by Lieutenant Christophe Beauvanier."

"What about her?"

"It would seem that there were some procedural irregularities."

"What department are you from?"

The cop played double or nothing. "It's an internal inquiry. I'm from the Générale Inspection des Services."

"I warn you right from the start that I'll tell you nothing about Beauvanier. Ever heard of professional ethics?" The quack had misunderstood the point of the inquiry. Obviously he must have helped Mr. Universe get over one of his drug problems.

Schiffer got on his high horse. "My inquiry does not concern Christophe Beauvanier, even though you put him on a course of methadone."

The doctor raised an eyebrow-Schiffer had guessed right-then adopted a lighter tone: "So what do you want to know exactly?"

"What interests me about the Turkish girl are the policemen who took her in the next day"

The psychiatrist crossed his legs and smoothed down his trousers.

"They arrived about four hours after she had been admitted. They had a transfer order and an expulsion certificate. Everything was in order. Almost too much so, I'd say."

"Why?"

"The forms were stamped and signed. They had come directly from the Minister of the Interior. And this was only ten in the morning. It was the first time I'd seen so much red tape pulled over an anonymous asylum-seeker."

"Tell me about her."

Hirsch stared at the tips of his shoes. He was getting his thoughts together. "When she arrived, I thought she was suffering from hypothermia. She was trembling and breathless. But when I examined her, I found that her temperature was normal. Nor had her respiratory system been damaged. Her symptoms were caused by hysteria."

"What do you mean?"

He smiled in superiority "I mean that she had the physical symptoms, but none of the physiological causes. It all came from here." He pointed a finger at his temple. "The head. That woman had received a psychological shock. And her body was reacting as a result."

"What sort of shock do you think it was?"

"Terrible fear. She had all the signs of exogenic anxiety. A blood test confirmed it. We detected traces of a high discharge of hormones. There was also a particularly sharp rise of cortisol. But all this is getting a little technical for you…" The smile widened.

The man's superiority was starting to piss Schiffer off.

The doctor seemed to sense this, adding in a more neutral tone, "That woman had suffered enormous stress. So much so, you could say she had been traumatized. She reminded me of soldiers you sometimes see after battles, on the front. Inexplicable paralysis, sudden asphyxia, stuttering, that kind of-"

"I know Describe her to me. I mean physically."

"Brown hair. Very pale. Very thin, almost anorexic. With a Cleopatra haircut. A very harsh look, but it didn't detract from her beauty. On the contrary. In that respect, she was rather… impressive."

Schiffer was beginning to picture her. Instinctively, he sensed that she could not have been just a plain working girl.

`And you treated her?"

"I started by injecting a tranquilizer. Her muscles then relaxed. She began to laugh and chatter incoherently. It was a fit of delirium. What she said was meaningless."

"But she was speaking in Turkish, wasn't she?"

"No, in French, like you and me."

A completely crazy idea crossed Schiffer's mind. But he decided to push it into the distance so as to keep a cool head. "Did she tell you what she'd seen? What had happened at the Turkish baths?"

"No. She just came out with unfinished sentences, senseless words.”

“For example?"

"She said that the wolves had got it wrong. Yes, that's it… she talked about wolves. She kept saying that they'd taken away the wrong girl. It was incomprehensible."

The idea flashed back forcefully into his consciousness. How had that working girl known that the kidnappers were Grey Wolves? How did she know that they had hit the wrong target? There was only one answer. Their real prey was her.

Sema Gokalp was the woman to be hit.

Schiffer fitted the pieces of the puzzle together with ease. The killers had a lead: their target worked at night, in Talat Gurdilek's sweatshop. They had arrived in the laundry and taken away the first woman who looked like the photo in their possession: Zeynep Tütengil. But they had made a mistake. The real redhead had taken the precaution of dying her hair brown.

Another idea occurred to him. He took the Identikit portrait from his pocket.

"Did she look at all like this?"

The man leaned over. "No. Why the question?"

Schiffer pocketed the picture without answering.

A second flash. Another confirmation. Sema Gokalp-or the woman who was hiding behind that name-had taken her metamorphosis even further. She had altered her face. She had resorted to plastic surgery. A classic technique for those who burn their bridges thoroughly. Especially in the world of crime. Then she had adopted the identity of a simple working girl, in the steam of La Porte Bleue. But why had she stayed in Paris?

"It wasn't about racketeering."

"Oh no?"

"No, the Grey Wolves are back, Charlier. They were the ones who raided the baths. That night, they kidnapped a girl. The corpse that we discovered two days later."

Charlier's bushy eyebrows seemed to form two question marks. "Why would they bother slicing up a working girl like that?"

"They have a contract. They are looking for a woman in the Turkish quarter. You can trust me on that score. And they've got the wrong one three times now."

"What connection is there with Sema Gokalp?"

It was now time to lie a little.

"That night at the baths, she saw everything. She's a vital witness."

A twitch passed across Charlier's eyes. He had not been expecting that. Not at all. "So what do you think it's all about? What's at stake?"

Schiffer lied once more. "I don't know. But I'm looking for the killers, and Sema could put me on the right track."

Charlier leaned back into his chair. "Give me just one reason to help you."

The cop finally sat down. The negotiation had begun. "I'm feeling generous," he said, and smiled. "So I'll give you two. The first is that I could reveal to your superiors that you spirit away witnesses in a murder case. That's not bad for a start."

Charlier smiled back at him. "I've got all the paperwork. I can provide her expulsion order and her plane ticket. Everything's in order."

"Your arm is long, Charlier, but it doesn't stretch as far as Turkey. With just one phone call, I could prove that Sema Gokalp never arrived there."

The commissioner seemed to weigh less heavily on his chair. "Who'd believe a crooked cop? Ever since your days in the anti-gang, you've been collecting skeletons in your cupboard." He opened his hands, indicating the room. And I'm at the top of the pyramid."

"That's the advantage of my position. I have nothing to lose.”

“Give me the second reason."

Schiffer leaned his elbows on the desk. He now knew that he had won. "The stiffening of security measures in 1995. When you let yourself go on those North African suspects in the Louis-Blanc station."

"Are you blackmailing a commissioner?"

"Or else getting it off my conscience. I'm retired. I might feel like making a clean breast of it. Of my memories of Abdel Saraoui, whom you beat to death. If I open the way, the boys at Louis-Blanc will all follow. Believe me, they still haven't digested the howls that came from his ell that night."

Charlier was staring at the paper knife in his huge hands. When he next spoke, his voice had changed. "Sema Gokalp can't help you anymore."