The 7th Woman by Frédérique Molay Page A

Sirsky,” a deep, self-assured voice said.
    â€œIt’s me, Mom.”
    â€œIt’s about time! Would you be good enough to at least call me after your endoscopy tomorrow? Do I need to remind you that you are my son? I worry about you.”
    â€œThere’s nothing wrong with me, Mother.”
    â€œAre you totally sure about that? I know you’re in pain, even if you won’t admit it. A mother can feel things like that. You’re too tired these days. You can’t go on living like this. Tanya, Dimitri and I are not enough. You need to start thinking about get married again.”
    â€œYou can’t mail order a wife.”
    â€œDon’t joke about it. How’s Dimi doing?”
    â€œYou saw him on Sunday, Mom.”
    â€œYes, but do you have any news?”
    â€œHe slept at my place last night,” Nico admitted.
    â€œAgain? Clearly, Sylvie doesn’t know what to do with that kid.”
    â€œMother! I don’t want to hear comments like that. Dimitri splits his time between his two parents and will continue to do so.”
    â€œBut he adores you.”
    â€œHis mother adores him, too. Let’s not mix everything up. They both have to make an effort to get along so that they don’t regret things later. It will be important for Dimitri one day. I won’t choose sides, and you shouldn’t either. We’ve talked about this a hundred times, and I won’t change my mind. So don’t go putting any ideas into my son’s head.”
    â€œDon’t be silly, Nico. Am I going to see you this weekend?”
    â€œOf course. I’ve got to go. I’ve got more work than I know what to do with.”
    HER skin was covered with lacerations. She moaned in pain and couldn’t stop crying. He felt a slight erection. With the exception of this reaction to the pleasure he felt, he didn’t betray the slightest emotion, which terrified his prey even more. He removed the scalpel from his bag. He slowly slid the blade along her neck, between her breasts and down to her navel. He was enjoying every second spent in her company.
    â€œI am going to cut off your breasts. Let me warn you: You will suffer.”
    She found the energy to struggle. Horrified, she shook her head as a plea. He sat down on her, forcing her to be still. He caressed her nipples with the cold blade. Then he cut into the skin. Leaving the blade deep inside, he skillfully detached the breast from the rest of her body. She fainted. He had expected that. It was too bad they couldn’t hold out until the end, awake and lucid, conscious despite the atrocious pain he was inflicting. He did the same with the other breast. When he had finished, he placed the breasts in a jar he had brought for this purpose. He got up and prepared to stab his victim. One blow, quick and clean, right into that perverted woman’s abdomen. Finally, all he had to do was to cover up the crime, leaving a scene that would cause the cops to doubt. The thought was enough to make him gloat.
    THREE p.m. The staff in the reception area explained how to get to Mrs. Pasquier’s office. The illustrious dean of the Sorbonne was around fifty and inspired respect. Despite a rather slight build, she exuded energy and determination. She shook his hand firmly; she was probably used to doing battle with men. You could see in her eyes that she could judge a person in a glance. She invited him to sit down at a round table, where a young woman placed two cups of coffee and some cookies.
    â€œI prepared a list of professors at the university with their contact information,” she announced. “I underlined the ones Marie-Hélène was close to. In an institution like ours, many people don’t know each other. There is also a list of her students. I already questioned some of them to find out if Marie-Hélène had had any problems lately. She was always punctual, never missed a class and taught with passion.