Of Fever and Blood

get to my car.”

Eva grinned.

“Hear that, Salaville?”

Outside, officers were kicking in doors, barking orders, and securing the perimeter.

“Hear that?” Eva asked again, her voice falsely soft. “That’s the Homicide Unit. They’ll be in here any second. You don’t surrender, you lose your life.”

“So you think.”

Eva aimed her gun.

“I can very well put a bullet in that degenerate brain of yours, and you’ll be dead before you can even think about slitting her throat. You want to take the risk?”

“What risk? We’ve got to face death if we want to defeat it, right?”

The guy had a cold smile, as though he had just made a private joke.

Eva did not say anything. With her left hand, she slowly removed her glasses.

The man shivered for the first time as he caught sight of her blood-red eyes. His hostage sobbed, not daring to move. The knife was still gnawing at her throat.

“You’re calling me a degenerate?” Claude Salaville croaked. “When’s the last time you took a fucking look at yourself?”

“To catch a monster, it sometimes takes a monster,” the investigator answered.

In the darkness, a flash of doubt crossed Salaville’s eyes. But he pulled himself together.

“You’re bluffing, lady cop. I tell you what we’re gonna do. You’re gonna let me go. I’m gonna get in my car and leave.”

Eva did not budge.

“You let go of the girl first.”

The man grinned again.

“Hey sweetie, what do you think? You think you can scare me with that zombie face of yours? You think you’re in a movie or something? You think that chicks like you shoot guys like me?”

Eva said nothing.

“Do you?”

“You’re right.”

The guy burst into laughter.

“You see!”

“Yes,” the inspector with red eyes said. “I see perfectly.”

She pulled the trigger.

The shot rang out. The bullet lodged in Salaville’s collarbone and knocked him backward. He let go of the girl, who threw herself to the ground with a shriek of terror. In disbelief, he looked at the inspector and raised the blade in her direction.

The woman fired a second time. That bullet pierced his hand, sending the knife into the air.

The third bullet found its way through his right eye, splattering the back of his head onto the wall.

The man fell to his knees. His blood arced and spurt onto the carpet and the girl, who lay curled up.

The inspector fired twice more before Claude Salaville collapsed and stopped moving for good.

11

In less than twenty minutes, two additional units had arrived, and some thirty homicide officers fanned across the farm. Floodlights were pointed at every nook and cranny as the officers secured one room after another. Even so, Eloise Lombard had not let go of Inspector Svarta. She clung to her, mute and motionless. The inspector had asked for some clothes, which the girl put on slowly, in a kind of altered state. Then both of them had walked out of the house, away from the swarming police, away from the horror and the stench, and they sat in the back of a van, nestled together, waiting for the psychologist to come.

Finally, she arrived. The psychologist was a chubby woman with a round face and big caring eyes. She crouched in front of Eloise and spoke in a gentle voice. It had little effect, though. The girl refused to let go of her savior. Eva had to walk her to the psychologist’s car. Eloise still had not uttered a word.

“It’s all over,” Eva whispered in her ear. “They’ll never come back to hurt you. Now everything will be fine, okay?”

Eloise shook her head and held tight.

“Your family is waiting for you. You won’t be alone. You won’t be left alone, ever.”

She hated herself for lying this way. But she knew that sometimes lying was a lesser evil that was needed to do a little good, even if it was illusory.

Finally, the girl, her eyes still vacant, let go of Eva. The inspector’s heart was sinking, but she remained stoic as she leaned toward Eloise and pressed her lips to the girl’s forehead.

“Everything’s going to be all right, honey. I promise.”

Another lie. For her own good, she repeated to herself. For her own good.

Eva Svarta watched the car drive off and disappear.

Then she leaned against a tree. There she was. This girl’s fate was no longer in her hands. From now on, little Eloise would be left to shrinks. To drugs. To sleep filled with nightmares.

Like you. So long ago. Or only yesterday. It was only yesterday, wasn’t it?

For a moment, Eva couldn’t help wondering what would happen to that kid. How she would manage to live again after experiencing such horror. Could Eloise Lombard live a normal life, get married, have a family. Could she even set eyes on a man without feeling threatened?

She forced herself to refocus.

That’s the reason you became what you are. That’s why you don’t have the right to crack up.

Eva surveyed the farm, which now looked like an army barracks full of men in uniform. Another vehicle had just pulled up, and more technicians, all of them dressed in white, were getting out. They were busy unloading video cameras and other equipment. A bit farther down the road, she saw no fewer than three forensic vans approaching.

Her mind was churning. She did not want to think of the past anymore. That was another life. It was behind her, where it had to stay. But reality seemed to be fissuring once again. Her private demons were lurking, lured by the smell of blood. All that glistening liquid life spilled.

Eva clenched her fists in an effort to get herself together, to come back to the present. Sometimes her mind switched off. Like this. Like it had right now. It was as though no sound were reaching her anymore. There were so many people whirling around her, coming and going like ants, latex-gloved hands setting down yellow markers for every trace of blood, every bit of human meat.

Get a hold of yourself, Eva.

At the far end of the farmyard, she saw a young officer dashing to a corner to vomit. His colleagues gave each other commiserating looks before putting masks over their mouths and noses and resuming their dance. For it was a dance, wasn’t it? Some sort of intricate ballet in which she had no role. She did not know the steps anymore. She watched men pushing gurneys out of the barn. Body bags with broken flesh inside.

Eva bit her lip. She wanted to scream. The real and the unreal blurred. They had been right when they said she was nuts. But she had more immediate concerns.

She heard footsteps on the gravel.

It was Alexandre Vauvert. He had taken his bulletproof vest off, and all he wore now was a gray T-shirt that hugged his muscular chest and revealed a tattoo weaving up his right bicep. His left shoulder had been bandaged. He was amazingly pale. His scarred boxer’s face had a formidable look, but his eyes were brooding.

“You okay?” Eva asked.

Vauvert gave a bitter laugh. He glanced at the woman.