The 7th Woman by Frédérique Molay Page B

She was pleasant to be around and cordial. Her colleagues and students admired her, as did I, for that matter.”
    â€œThank you for this information. My men will start calling and making appointments with the various people. We shouldn’t neglect any lead.”
    â€œWas her murder that atrocious? Her companion talked to me about it yesterday night.”
    Nico did not sense any unhealthy curiosity, but rather a feeling of responsibility and a determination to know the truth in order to face it. He chose to be frank.
    â€œYes. She was whipped, mutilated and stabbed. She must have suffered terribly. I ask that you not say a word about the circumstances of the murder.”
    Mrs. Pasquier did not betray any emotion, but Nico’s professional eye noted that she blinked several times.
    â€œThank you for your trust. Do you think it was someone she knew?”
    â€œIt is too early to tell. Could she have gotten on a student’s bad side, over an exam, for example?”
    â€œI was expecting that question. Here are the names of the students who received the worst grades in Marie-Hélène’s class, and in the other classes, as well.”
    â€œCould any of them have felt amorous toward her?”
    â€œThere are always students in love with their professors. You might remember a teacher for her perfume or legs that you admired. It’s common. Everyone knows it and sets boundaries. That is part of the job. Dealing with young adults just barely out of adolescence isn’t always easy. But I had not heard of anything related to Marie-Hélène, or at least nothing out of the ordinary.”
    â€œOK. So you have nothing to tell me.”
    â€œPerhaps because the murder has no connection to the university. Believe me, if I had the slightest doubt, I would be turning things upside down.”
    â€œI’m sure that is true. Thank you for seeing me. The coffee was excellent. That’s rare in a public institution.”
    â€œI buy it myself. That’s the secret. Don’t hesitate to let me know if you need anything else. I’ll give you my personal number.”
    Nico was almost sorry to leave. He liked this strong woman.
    ANNE was worried. She kept calling and calling, but nobody answered. They had agreed to meet at three-thirty in front of Victor Hugo’s house at the corner of the Place des Vosges. She felt a strange solitude in this setting that was so truly theatrical. She couldn’t explain it, but she had a bad feeling. A dull anxiety dried her throat. It was four p.m. She decided to go to her friend’s house. She walked quickly, nearly running to the building on Rue de Turenne. She knew the code. She took the elevator to the fourth floor. She rushed to knock on the door. Nobody came. What should she do? She would contact Greg. A secretary answered. Greg couldn’t be reached at the moment. She nearly screamed that it was an emergency, scaring the secretary. A silence. Then Greg’s tense voice.
    â€œAnne? What’s going on?”
    â€œI don’t know. Your wife and I were going to meet, and she never showed up. It’s been forty-five minutes. I’m in front of your door, but she’s not answering. Something’s not right.”
    â€œWhat do you mean something’s not right?”
    â€œYou have to come and open the door, Greg.”
    â€œI’m in the middle of a meeting with one of my biggest customers. I can’t …”
    She hung up on him. He would come. She had scared him. She put her hand on the heavy door and closed her eyes. She said her friend’s name over and over, like a prayer. Chloé, Chloé, Chloé. A ball of anxiety spread from the middle of her belly through her entire body. She was guessing and began to cry softly.

6
Seven Days, Seven Women
    N ICO WAS STARING AT the crime scene photos spread across his large desk. The layout of the living room, a close-up of the tied wrists, the