Giorgio Faletti - I Kill

Now they were hanging on his every word. If he noticed, he didn’t show it. He was probably too immersed himself in the story he was telling.

‘I’d like to outline a particularly delicate aspect of the story. Jean-Loup suffers from unconscious feelings of guilt for killing his brother, which he’ll probably never get rid of. He has always believed that the whole world was responsible for Lucien’s death and for all he suffered for his monstrous appearance. And that’s how Jean-Loup evolved into a serial killer: it’s part missionary complex, part desire for power. A complex induced by external forces, by his dysfunctional family and by his obsession with giving some fleeting sense of normality to his brother. The real reason that he killed all those people and used the mask of their faces on his brother’s corpse is that he thought he owed it to him. It was a way of repaying him for everything he suffered.’

Cluny was seated with his legs slightly apart. He lowered his eyes to the table and they were filled with pity when he raised them. ‘Whether we like it or not, everything he did was out of love. An abnormal, unconditional love for his brother.’

He got up from his chair almost immediately, as if finishing his presentation relieved him of a burden that he had no desire to carry alone. Now that he could share it with others, his presence was superfluous.

‘That’s all I have to say for the moment. I’ll have a report ready in a couple of days. Meanwhile, I’ll go on examining him, though we’ve learned almost all we can.’

Roncaille got up and came around his desk to thank the psychiatrist. He shook his hand and walked him to the door. When he passed Frank, Cluny lay his hand on his shoulder. ‘Congratulations,’ he said simply.

‘You, too. And thank you for everything.’

Cluny replied with a grimace that was either a smile or a declaration of modesty. He motioned to Durand who was sitting very still. Durand nodded back. Then Cluny left and Roncaille closed the door gently behind him.

The three men sat in silence, lost in thought. Finally, the attorney general stood up and went to look out of the window. He decided to break the silence from that observation point. He spoke with his back to them, as if ashamed to face them.

‘It seems that the whole business is finished. And it’s thanks to you, Frank. Chief Roncaille can confirm that the Prince himself has asked us to send his personal congratulations.’ Durand’s pause had far less dramatic impact than Cluny’s. He decided to turn around. ‘I’ll be as honest with you as you were with me. I know you don’t like me. You were quite open about it. I don’t like you either. I never did and never will. There are thousands of miles between us and neither of us has the slightest intention of building a bridge. But to be fair, there’s one thing I have to say -’ he took a couple of steps and stood right in front of Frank, putting out his hand – ‘I wish there were a lot more policemen like you.’

Frank stood up and shook Durand’s hand. For now and probably for ever, it was the most the two of them could do. Then Durand went back to being what he was, a distant, elegant political official with a slight claim to efficiency. ‘I’ll leave you now, if you don’t mind. Goodbye, chief. Congratulations to you as well.’

Roncaille waited for the door to close and then his face relaxed considerably. He became less formal, at least.

‘Where to now, Frank? Back to the States?’

Frank made a gesture that could mean anywhere or nowhere. ‘I don’t know. For now I’m just going to have a look around. We’ll see. I have time to decide.’

They said their goodbyes and Frank finally felt authorized to leave. As he put his hand on the doorknob, Roncaille’s voice stopped him.

‘One last thing, Frank.’

Frank didn’t move. ‘What is it?’

‘I just wanted to confirm that I’ve taken care of what you asked for in respect to Nicolas Hulot.’ Frank turned and bowed slightly, as one does to a gallant adversary who has proved himself a man of honour.

‘I never had any doubt that you would.’

He left the office, closing the door behind him. As Frank walked down the hallway, he wondered whether or not Roncaille knew that he had just lied through his teeth.

Frank walked out into the sun through the main entrance of the Sûreté Publique of the Principality of Monaco. He narrowed his eyes against the sudden brightness, after the dim lights of headquarters. The Frank Ottobre of the past would have been bothered by that total luminosity, that unmistakable sign of life. But not any more. Now all he needed was a pair of sunglasses, and he pulled his Ray-Bans out of his pocket. So much had happened, most of it awful and some of it horrendous. So many people had died. Now and in the past. Among them Nicolas Hulot, one of the few men he had ever known whom he could really call a friend.

Sergeant Morelli was waiting for him on Rue Notari, his hands thrust into his pockets. Frank walked calmly down the steps and joined him, taking off the sunglasses he had just put on. Claude deserved to be able to look him in the eye, without screens or barriers. Frank smiled and wondered if he still possessed a light-hearted tone somewhere.

‘Ciao, Claude. What are you waiting for? Someone stand you up?’

‘No, sir. I only wait for people I know will come. In this case, I was waiting for you. Did you think you could get away with leaving just like that? I’m holding you responsible for a return trip from Nice with a daredevil maniac.’

‘Xavier?’

‘Former Agent Xavier, you mean. At the moment, he’s looking through the classified ads. Landscaping in particular. You know, lawn mowers.’

Just then Agent Xavier Lacroix drove up Rue Suffren Raymond at the wheel of a police car. He smiled and waved as he passed them. He stopped a littler further on, to pick up a cop who was waiting for him. Then he sped off. Morelli blushed; he’d been caught in the act. Frank laughed. He was glad their mood was so much lighter than the one upstairs in Roncaille’s office.

‘Well, if you haven’t fired him yet, you now have good reason. He just made a complete ass out of you.’

‘Me? Come on. And what about you? Any plans for the near future?’

Frank assumed a noncommittal air. ‘I don’t know. Travel a little maybe. You know how it is.’

Alone?’

‘Sure! Who would want a washed-up former FBI agent?’

And then Morelli got his revenge. At that moment, a silver Laguna station wagon drove up and stopped in front of them. Helena Parker was at the wheel, smiling and looking like a different person. If one compared her eyes at that moment with a photograph of her taken just a week earlier, one would swear it wasn’t the same woman. Stuart was in the back, curiously observing their entrance into the Sûreté Publique. Morelli looked at Frank and laughed.

Alone, huh? There’s justice in the world. Lacroix can keep his job and you can drive away in this car.’

He held out his hand and Frank shook it happily. Morelli’s voice was different now. His tone was that of someone talking to a friend who had witnessed the same things. ‘Get out of here before this woman figures out you’re a washed-up former agent and leaves. Everything’s finished here.’

‘Yeah, finished. This one. There’ll be something else tomorrow. You’ll see.’

‘That’s how it works, Frank. In Monte Carlo like everywhere else. Things are just a little shinier here.’ Morelli didn’t want to shake Frank’s reserve and was unsure whether or not to continue. ‘Have you decided what you’ll do afterwards?’

‘You mean work?’

‘Yes.’

Frank shrugged. Morelli knew it wasn’t the whole truth but he couldn’t expect any more.