“You okay?” Leroy asked, unbuckling his seat belt.
“Of course I’m fine,” Vauvert grumbled.
The cold wind hit them as soon as they stepped out of the SUV, and their breaths vaporized in the air. Despite the holiday decorations, this street, like those in all the villages they had driven through, was deserted. A motorcycle revved on a nearby street, and a traffic signal beeped at the corner, but otherwise everything was silent.
They hurried to the house across the street, tightening their coats against the cold. Looking up, Vauvert could see a golden light seeping through the second-floor windows. He pressed the bell under the brass plate that read “Dr. J. Fabre-Renault, Psychiatrist.”
A man in his fifties opened the door. He had a tired expression, gray hair, and a face covered with freckles. He was wearing huge yellow eyeglasses. They looked like novelty glasses, not something that someone would seriously wear. But then again, he was also wearing a thick red sweater and gray corduroys that looked a good thirty years out of date.
“Doctor Fabre-Renault? I’m Inspector Vauvert from Homicide, and this is Detective Leroy.”
“We called you earlier,” Leroy said. “We need to talk to you.”
“Yes,” the doctor said in a solemn voice. “I knew you people would show up sooner or later.”
He invited them inside.
“Come on in. We’ll be more comfortable in my office. I just made fresh coffee. You guys look like you could both use a cup.”
V
54
He led them up a stone staircase to the second floor. It was a big house with rooms crammed full of old mismatched furniture that seemed to have been scavenged from garage sales. The walls were covered with gaudy paper-yellow fleur-de-lis in one room crimson-and-black stripes in the next room, and green toile in still another room.
The office was at the back of the house. Fabre-Renault opened the door and asked them to have a seat.
Vauvert hesitated. He had to make sure his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him. The wallpaper in the doctor’s office was a pink floral. The traditional psychoanalyst’s couch was there, but it also was pink. Moreover, the desk, the leather chair behind the desk, and the carpet were pink. Old sepia photographs of men and women from a bygone era-family souvenirs maybe-hung on the walls. Vauvert wondered if this was the way you would see things if you were on a mind-altering drug.
“This is where I see my patients,” the doctor said. “I’ve tried to create an atmosphere.”
“Yeah,” Vauvert responded cautiously. “It’s quite an atmosphere.”
“Make yourselves comfortable. I’ll be right back.”
Leroy did not need to be told twice and hung his long leather jacket on the coat stand. Then he lay down on the pink couch, shutting his eyes. Vauvert was so tired, he was having trouble concentrating. The fatigue would soon be a serious problem.
The doctor returned with a tray holding an old porcelain coffee pot and three large mugs. He set the tray on the desk and poured Vauvert some coffee. It appeared that Leroy had fallen asleep.
“Sugar?”
“No, thank you,” the inspector said, finally taking a seat in an armchair.
He took a sip. The coffee was strong, the way he liked it. He welcomed the warm, mellow taste in his mouth
“We really are sorry to disturb you this late at night, doctor. We are investigating a series of murders, and we think you might be able to help us shed light on certain… facts.”
“Well, I figured as much. I recognize you, you know. You’re the one who arrested the Salaville brothers last year. You were in all the papers.”
“Not just me,” Vauvert said. “A colleague of mine actually solved the case.”
“That woman with the white hair? She’s an albino, isn’t she?”
“Yes, she is,” Vauvert said, uncomfortable. “But that’s beside the point.” He glared at the doctor. “Listen, we’re running out of time. The Salavilles committed atrocities, but it’s our belief that they weren’t the only ones involved. We have reason to believe that something happened in your former hospital that started them on their murder spree. It’s absolutely essential that we understand what it was.”
Fabre-Renault nodded. He dropped four cubes of brown sugar into his coffee. He stirred with the spoon, absorbed in his thoughts.
“There’s no question that a lot of odd things did happen at Raynal.”
“The apparitions,” Vauvert said.
“The hallucinations,” the doctor corrected. “When we told the administration what was happening, everybody thought we were out of our minds. And look what they did in the end. They got rid of the hospital, simple as that. The Regional Office claimed that we were not profitable enough. What complete bullshit, if you’ll pardon my language. They’d had enough of Raynal’s reputation, that’s all. They couldn’t blame me, though. So they sent me here, as the head of the loony bin. My bosses have a mean sense of humor, to say the least. They are the craziest of all.”
He took another sip of his coffee. A film of sweat had appeared on his forehead and temples.
“Let me tell you, you see the entire spectrum of weirdness in that kind of institution. We did all we could to settle everyone down. The nurses upped the sedatives at night. Injections in the ass for the younger ones to keep them quiet. It worked, at least for a while.” He took a deep breath. “What is done is done, isn’t it? What happened in that hospital, nobody could have done a thing about it. Not I, not anyone. It just happened. Even now, I can’t explain it. No one could. And for the record, all the strangeness started well before the Salavilles were admitted.”
“We know that already,” Leroy said.
He rose from the pink couch and poured himself some coffee. Then he sat in the armchair next to Vauvert’s.
“I read the files, doctor. What we’re talking about is much more than just hallucinations or strangeness, as you call it. It is four of your patients disappearing over the course of three months. Those disappearances are similar to the abductions carried out by the Salavilles.”
Fabre-Renault winced.
“You read the files, and so what? You think you’re an expert? You weren’t there. To be blunt, gentlemen, I doubt either of you could even begin to understand what is really happening.”
Fabre-Renault’s eyes looked weary behind his enormous yellow glasses, and a vein pulsed in his forehead.
“You can tell me now,” he whispered in a voice that made his exhaustion clear. “It has started again, right? The Salavilles are dead, and yet there have been more disappearances? Is that it?”
“Yes,” Vauvert said. “That’s it, exactly. Except we’re not just talking about disappearances. Two women are already dead, and a third one has been abducted. Her time is running out. Please understand that anything you can offer us will be extremely helpful. We know there’s a connection between the Salavilles’ stay at your hospital and what they did afterward. We need to understand what that connection is. It’s extremely important. We need to find out who we are dealing with, doctor.”
