Bred to Kill by Franck Thilliez Page A

reevaluation, because his patient’s behavior had so many earmarks of mental defect.”
    He saw Lucie react; she was on the verge of a breakdown. He grabbed her wrist and held it against the table.
    â€œBetween you and me, it’s a good thing that piece of shit is dead. It’s a good thing, Lucie.”
    Lucie shook her head. She jerked her hand away from the captain’s grasp.
    â€œMental defect? What do you mean, mental defect? What kind?”
    Kashmareck reached into the inner pocket of his light jacket, taking out a packet of photos that he set on the table.
    â€œThis kind.”
    Lucie picked up the photos and studied them. She squinted.
    â€œWhat is this nonsense?”
    â€œIt’s something he drew on a wall of his cell, with colored markers he borrowed from the prison art room.”
    The photo showed a magnificent landscape: sun setting in the water, radiant boulders, birds in the sky, sailboats.
    But the drawing, which began about a yard off the floor, had been done upside down.
    Lucie turned the photo in all directions. The police captain took a large swallow of coffee. The taste stuck in his throat.
    â€œWeird, isn’t it? It’s as if Carnot had hung himself from the ceiling like a bat and started to draw. Apparently he’d begun making drawings like this since shortly before he landed in jail.”
    â€œWhy did he draw upside down?”
    â€œHe didn’t just draw upside down. He also said he saw the world upside down, more and more often. According to him, it lasted for a few minutes, sometimes more, as if he’d put on special glasses that flopped images from the real world. When that happened, he’d lose his balance and often keel over.”
    â€œPure ravings . . .”
    â€œYou said it. His psychiatrist naturally thought they might be hallucinations. Perhaps even . . .”
    â€œSchizophrenia?”
    The captain nodded.
    â€œCarnot was twenty-three. It’s not uncommon for psychiatric illnesses to become manifest or be developed in prison, especially around that age.”
    Lucie let the photos fall from her hands. They scattered over the tabletop.
    â€œAre you telling me he might have had a mental disease?”
    She squeezed her lips tight, clenched her fists. Her entire body felt like screaming.
    â€œI refuse to let the cause of my child’s death be pushed off on some miserable shrink’s suppositions. Carnot was responsible for his actions. He knew what he was doing.”
    Kashmareck nodded without conviction.
    â€œI agree. That’s why he was judged guilty and ended his life in prison.”
    He could tell she was stunned, overwhelmed, even though she was trying her best to dominate her feelings.
    â€œIt’s over, Lucie. Crazy or not, it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t go any farther than this. Tomorrow Carnot will be buried.”
    â€œIt doesn’t matter? Is that what you think? On the contrary, Captain, nothing could matter more.”
    Lucie stood up again and began pacing across the room.
    â€œGrégory Carnot ripped the life from my little girl. If . . . if even the slightest hint of hidden madness had anything to do with that, I want to know.”
    â€œIt’s too late.”
    â€œThat psychiatrist—what is his name?”
    The police captain looked at his watch, finished his coffee in one gulp, and stood up.
    â€œI won’t keep you any longer. And besides, I have to get to work.”
    â€œHis name, Captain!”
    The cop heaved a sigh. Shouldn’t he have expected this? During the several years they had worked together, Lucie had never backed away from anything. Deep down inside, buried somewhere in her brain, she must still have retained the purest predatory instincts.
    â€œDr. Duvette.”
    â€œGet me a visitor’s pass there. For tomorrow.”
    Kashmareck clenched his jaws, then nodded limply.
    â€œI’ll do my best, if