Gentil took a breath and nodded. “Okay, I’ll help you,” he said. “But it won’t be easy. We have to hack the human resources department’s database to get a complete list. As much as I want to help, I can’t promise you that it will be fast.”

“How long?” John asked. “A couple hours? I can wait.”

Gentil shook his head. “More like twenty-four hours. At least…”

13

The Dark Stallion was admiring his chest in the mirrors just behind the row of treadmills and suspended TV screens. He was wearing a tight tank top and sweatpants. His shoulders and his pecs were huge, filled with blood. The Pump.

He checked his watch. Ten seconds more. He took a deep breath, flexed his muscles in front of the mirror one more time and went back to the bench press. He grabbed the Olympic bar, at shoulders’ width. Threw his shoulders back. Planted his feet firmly on the floor. Unracked the bar and dropped it to his sternum, in a controlled way.

Phew! He pushed the bar. An explosive move. One! Then he dropped it slowly. Pheeew… He pushed again. Two!

He repeated for ten reps, completing his fourth set of bench presses for the day. Again, he posed in front of the mirror. His veins were popping out of his forearms, upper arms, shoulders and neck. He pulled up his shirt, flexing his abs. Two, four, six, eight packs. Lean. He smiled and walked back to the locker room.

He took a hot shower, feeling his muscles contracting as he was scrubbing his body with shower cream. He thought about Charlotte Bois and felt his penis getting bigger. She was such a nice piece of ass. But nothing compared with the next woman he had in mind. That one had been a bit more difficult to seduce. She wasn’t willing to get involved with someone at work. She had offered a bit of resistance, but not that much. The Dark Stallion actually loved it when there was a bit of resistance. It was more exciting.

She seemed to be less open than the other ones. Therefore, harder to get. More attractive. Despite her attitude, the Dark Stallion had managed to make her talk about her personal life. Just a little. The bare minimum. He had done it as a friendly coworker first. Then as a friend. And then as a confidante. There was a process to this. And he was about to reach the next step: lover.

She had been married once and wasn’t ready to do it again, she had told him. Perfect, he’d said. The Dark Stallion wasn’t into long-term relationships either. She wanted to move on. She’d been married too young and felt like she had missed several opportunities to discover herself, her body, her sexuality. No problem, the Dark Stallion had thought. He was pleased to help. He stroked himself thinking about her, eyes closed, swallowing the hot water from the shower. Oh yeah, she was delicious. She deserved something better than the previous ones. But what? He looked down at his penis. Big, he thought. Huge.

When he was a teen, a girl had refused to sleep with him as soon as he’d removed his underwear. Too big! It’s going to hurt, she’d said. That day, for the first time in his life, he saw fear, clearly visible on a woman’s face. He fell in love with the sensation. It was so exciting. That’s when he realized he loved watching women being scared by his size. He loved to be in control, to have power and decide to hurt them or not. Pain and pleasure. Everything was linked together. The distinction between the two was hard to identify. But it was better than anything. Better than making six figures a month in consulting fees. Better than feeling the pump at the gym. Better than cocaine and ecstasy. Even better than sex itself.

The Dark Stallion got out of the shower, towel around his waist, and walked to the washbasins, where he looked at himself in the mirrors. Again. Not bad, he thought. Not bad at all actually. He deserved to be famous. He had the looks, the money, the women. Everything. The press hadn’t talked about Charlotte Bois yet. What were they waiting for? He should have tipped them, he thought. Leaving a note wasn’t enough. It was too subtle for these stupid cops. They didn’t know how to work properly. Incompetent. The police were probably scratching their heads, wondering what to do. Ridiculous.

This time, he wouldn’t make the same mistake. In this day and age, who needs to rely on the press to publish something? he thought. He could do it himself. The Internet. Social media. But he wasn’t an online celebrity. He had no audience. So how to get attention?

He was applying moisturizing cream to his face when it became obvious. A viral video. Yes! That’s what he would do to his next victim. He would record the whole thing, the sex and the murder. Then he would just upload the video online and voilà! Everybody would talk about him. Everybody would know who he was. The Dark Stallion felt calm and confident. He had a new plan of action. He loved to have plans. It was the best way to succeed in this world. And he was definitely a successful person.

He removed his towel and tossed it on the floor. He was naked in front of the mirror. Proud. Beautiful. Like a Greek statue. He raised his arms and flexed his muscles. A man walked by him and looked at him like he was a freak. The Dark Stallion ignored him.

He didn’t care. He was invincible.

The Pump.

14

John left Crédit Parisien and headed to Groupe Finaris. This time, he knew what he wanted. What he needed was a list of all the IT consultants who had worked in close collaboration with Liliane Genet. His plan was to have two lists from both banks. Then he would compare them and, hopefully, find the same name twice – the Dark Stallion or whatever his real name was.

John talked to an IT guy again. This time, the man didn’t protest, and agreed to provide him with a list of freelance contractors who had worked with Liliane. Even better, he promised to deliver the same day, later in the evening.

Things were finally going somewhere, and John relaxed a little. He drove home, with the satisfaction of a man who’d had a productive day. On the way back, he called Sovann to keep him up to date.

“Did you see the families?” John asked.

“Yeah,” Sovann said, a bit discouraged. “I really hate it. Makes me depressed, really. Every time, it feels the same. Like I’m shooting them with my mouth. My words are the bullets, crushing their hearts, their souls. This man kills those women, and I feel like I’m killing the families.”

“I know,” John said. He knew how it felt. “Thanks for dealing with it, man.”

“Someone has to do it,” Sovann said, resignation in his voice. “I just hope I won’t have to do it again. Not before, I don’t know. Ten years at least.”

“We might have a break,” John said. “The man we’re looking for, I think he’s not a banker. He’s a consultant. An IT guy with a lot of knowledge in the banking industry. And he might offer his expertise to several banks at the same time, depending on what they’re working on.”

“Okay,” Sovann said. “So how do we find him now?”

“I’ve got help from two IT guys from the two banks. One of them promised to give me a list of all the consultants who worked with Liliane Genet by the end of the day. The other one said it could take up to twenty-four hours to get those who worked with Charlotte Bois.”

“Really? Why so much difference?”

“I don’t know. Different levels of skills maybe. Anyway, once we have everything, we’ll look for people who appear on both lists. And we’ll go from there,” John said.

“Okay. I’m doing some research now,” Sovann said.

“About?”

“Similar murders elsewhere in the country. I don’t think our guy is a total beginner. We could find other clues.”

“Great.”

“Keep in touch, man.”

“Yeah. I’ll call you back tonight.”

John hung up and parked his car in the street. When he got home, Cécile was still there, wearing an apron, cooking dinner for two. He kicked off his shoes, kissed her and collapsed on the couch. He closed his eyes for ten minutes and tried to clear his mind. It was time to disconnect.