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floor was the suitcase from the wardrobe (top of the range, cream leather with protective metal corners like those on flight cases), which the forensics officers had not yet taken away. It contained a suit, a shoehorn, an electric razor, a wallet, a sports watch and a portable photocopier.
    One of the technicians now reappeared and said: “It’s not your day, Camille … there’s a T.V. crew pulling up outside.” He glanced around the room at the blood on the walls and ceiling. “And this is going to be all over the ‘Nine O’Clock News’ from now until doomsday.”

10
    “This was premeditated, it took a lot of careful planning,” said Louis.
    “I think it’s more complicated than that. In fact, there’s something about the whole thing that doesn’t add up.”
    “It doesn’t add up?”
    “No,” said Camille. “Almost everything here is brand new – the bed, the carpets, everything. It’s hard to imagine someone shelling out all that money just to shoot a porn movie. You’d rent a furnished apartment. Actually, usually they don’t rent at all, they find a place they can use for free.”
    “A snuff movie?”
    “The thought had crossed my mind,” said Camille. “It’s possible …”
    But they both knew that the vogue for such films had long passed. Besides, the expensive, carefully arranged décor did not quite fit with that kind of hypothesis.
    Camille went on pacing the room.
    “The fingerprint on the wall over there was too perfect to have been accidental.”
    “Nobody would have been able to see anything from outside,” Louis followed his train of thought. “The door was closed, the windows covered. No-one stumbled upon the crime. Logically,the killer was sending a message to us. He not only premeditated the murders, he claimed them. But I find it difficult to imagine one man creating all this carnage …”
    “We’ll see,” said Camille. “But what I find most fascinating is the fact that there’s a message on the answering machine.”
    Louis stared at him for a moment, surprised to find that he had lost the thread.
    “Why?”
    “What bothers me is that you’ve got all the equipment – the phone, the answering machine – except for the most important thing: there’s no phone line …”
    “What?” Louis rushed over, tugged on the phone and pulled the low table away from the wall. There was only an electrical socket; the phone was not connected.
    “The premeditation is obvious. No-one’s even tried to hide the fact. It’s like everything is right there in plain sight … That’s a bit much.”
    Hands in his pockets Camille walked around the room some more and stopped in front of the human genome.
    “Yeah,” he said finally. “That really is too much.”

11
    Louis was the first to arrive, followed by Armand. Once they were joined by Maleval, who had been taking a call on his mobile,Camille’s team, which some officers referred to deferentially or derisively as the “Verhœven Brigade”, were all present and correct. Camille quickly read through his notes, then looked up at his colleagues.
    “Any thoughts?
    The three men looked at each other.
    “The first thing we need to know is how many perpetrators there are,” ventured Armand. “The more there are, the better the chance we can track them down.”
    “One guy can’t have pulled off a thing like this on his own,” Maleval said. “It’s not possible.”
    “We won’t know for sure until we’ve had the results back from forensics and the autopsy. Louis, bring us up to speed on the rental.”
    Louis gave a brief account of their visit to S.O.G.E.F.I. Camille took the time to study Armand and Maleval’s reactions.
    The two men were polar opposites: one profligate, the other miserly. At twenty-six, Jean-Claude Maleval had a charm which he abused as he abused everything – late nights, pretty girls, his own body. He was the sort of man who is incapable of thrift. The seasons might change, but still his face was