But what Cécile thought wasn’t nearly as important as what Claire would think. And feel. John didn’t want her to see him dating other women. Not unless he was sure it was serious. Not unless he could find someone to take care of Claire like her own daughter. He knew it was a demanding request but he wasn’t going to lower his expectations. It was his daughter first and above everything else.

Also, he didn’t want Claire to be confused about having more than one daddy and more than one mommy. He was convinced that it would confuse her and destabilize her emotionally. He had no degrees to prove it but he was pretty sure about it. Her mother didn’t seem to bother introducing her to her boyfriends, but it was her decision. Julie wasn’t his wife anymore. He couldn’t tell her how to raise their child. When he had divorced, he had renounced this right. He just didn’t know it at the time.

Reluctantly, he called Cécile and explained to her the situation. He apologized. A lot. Cécile said it was fine for her but John couldn’t tell if she was just being polite or if she really didn’t mind. He wanted to tell Cécile that he would introduce her to his daughter later, maybe after a month. But he decided against it. He realized he was a bit too optimistic. A lot could happen in a month. Four weeks. Thirty days. Thirty opportunities for things to go wrong.

We’ll see, he thought. If she’s still around after a month, things will happen naturally.

John parked his car, unbuckled Claire’s seatbelt and walked past the bakery.

“Want a strawberry cake?” he asked.

“Yaaay!” Claire said, raising her little fists in the air in victory.

Cécile had left the apartment immaculate. Everything was clean and tidy.

I should invite her for dinner, John thought. A nice place this time. When I get my paycheck at the end of the month.

John and Claire watched a movie together. Claire fell asleep before the end. Her mouth was opened and a bit of saliva was dripping from her lips.

John called Pierre Gentil again. It was Friday night already and they couldn’t afford to waste too much time. The Dark Stallion would strike within the next forty-eight hours. The database wasn’t easy to hack. The second list wasn’t ready at all. Even though John had expected it, he was still frustrated. Pissed. And they still had to compare both lists. He told Pierre to get in touch with Alex, the other IT guy, as soon as he was done. They were supposed to call him as soon as they had come up with a list of consultants who had worked for both Groupe Finaris and Crédit Parisien for the last six months.

“And remember, it’s urgent. Even more than a P1 ticket,” he reminded Pierre Gentil.

Then he called Sovann but his partner didn’t pick up. He left a message to tell him he had nothing new and asked him how things were progressing for him. And he was done for that day. No more work, he decided.

He lifted Claire from the sofa and took her in his bed. She rolled on to her side and curled up exactly where Cécile had been sleeping a few hours earlier. He could still smell her perfume in the room, mixed with her body odor. It gave him butterflies in his guts. He thought about her and wanted to call. He had been rude. He had basically kicked her out of his apartment.

“Were you sleeping?” he said when she picked up.

“No,” she said.

“Thank you,” he said in a low voice. “And sorry.”

“I know. I understand.”

“Are you upset? Mad at me?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Not really.”

“I’m really sorry.”

“I know.”

John felt that she wasn’t in the mood to talk and wished her good night. He took a shower and went to bed. It took him about an hour to fall asleep, trying to clear his mind.

Claire. Cécile. Julie.

Then he thought about the case.

Liliane. Charlotte. The Dark Stallion.

When he woke up, Claire was still sleeping. Snorting. He moved gently and checked his phone. Sovann had left a message. He was also waiting for an answer from other police stations in big cities. It could take a while.

Then he prepared breakfast and got dressed, when he received a call. Pierre Gentil.

“Yes?” John said hastily. “Do you have it?”

“Yes.”

“Complete?”

“Yes, phone numbers, addresses, everything.”

“Okay, send it to me,” John said.

Sending such sensitive information online, without any security, wasn’t the best practice. But John had very little time left. He gave Pierre his email address and turned on his laptop. His computer was old and it took nearly five minutes before John could access the Internet.

When he finally opened the file, he frowned. He called Pierre again.

“Are you sure this is the list I asked you?”

“Absolutely.”

“Sure?”

“Yes, sure! One hundred percent.”

“Shit…”

“Why? What’s the problem?”

John didn’t answer and hung up. There were still two hundred and fifteen names on the list. Two hundred and fifteen potential Dark Stallions.

16

John had lunch with Claire at home. He was silent. Absent-minded. Lost in the Dark Stallion case. More than two hundreds names, he thought. What the hell am I going to do with that?

He felt discouraged. Almost beaten. Something terrible was going to happen. He knew it. But when exactly? Where? Who?

He could already hear his phone ringing, announcing another victim. He could picture the scene. A naked woman, beautiful, lying on her stomach, her hands handcuffed behind her back. Dead. But how? The first two murders had been different. If the Dark Stallion was consistent, he would use another method to kill the next woman. This man needed to have control, to follow a ritual, some kind of routine. Yet he also needed variety, something new and different to spice things up.

The week-end will be glorious, John remembered. Meaning the third woman would probably die in a spectacular way. He checked the newspapers and shook his head. The front pages were all about the death of Charlotte Bois, the second victim of a killing spree in Paris by the dangerous and mysterious Dark Stallion, the headlines said.

There we go, John thought. Now he’s all over the news and he probably wants more attention.

He hated himself for thinking that way, but John realized there wasn’t much he could do. He was truly helpless. More Detectives and police officers had been assigned to the case, but the investigation was very tough. They weren’t left with many clues. Actually, they had nearly nothing.

John thought that on Monday, they would have more data. A new name. A new dot on the map. The name of another bank maybe. More connections to make. But unfortunately, it would also mean one more dead body. One more family to visit. John felt extremely guilty. He felt responsible for these women. He was so close, yet so far.

“Papa?” Claire said.

John snapped back to reality. “Yes,” he said.

“Why don’t you eat? You’re not hungry?”

“I’m… I’m a bit worried, sweetheart.”

“Why?”

“Because… my job gives me headaches.”

“So find another job!” she said.

John chuckled. It was a good remark. “That’s a damn good idea, you know,” he said, smiling at her.

Claire nodded. “Mom said that you should find something else.”

“And now, you agree with her, huh?”

Claire nodded. “You won’t have headaches anymore,” she said.

“But who’s going to catch the bad guys then?” John said.

Claire looked up, thinking. “I don’t know,” she said.

John laughed. “You see? People need me to protect them,” he said.

She nodded.

After lunch, John turned on the TV to check the news. According to the weather forecast, a storm was approaching the capital. All Parisians who had gone to the countryside for the long week-end were advised to come back later that day instead of waiting for Sunday.