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So it wasn't an area where there were many street cameras. They weren't going to get lucky with footage. Again, Juliette wondered if the killer had known this. Had he arrived in Paris and immediately set to scoping out the perfect destination? Or perhaps he'd been here before.
"His sites in New York were the same," she said. "No cameras nearby."
"We cannot place cameras on every street corner," Lucien said, sounding defensive.
"We need to find out how he knew to come here," Juliette said. "Was he deliberately avoiding the cameras or was it just a coincidence? Why this place?"
Paris was a big, complex city, confusing to the first time visitor and even to people who thought they knew it well. It seemed like he had intimate knowledge of each city. Enough to do what he needed to do.
Then, as she considered how the killer might have gained his victims’ trust, another thought occurred to her, sudden and shocking. It was a theory she wanted to take further.
“If we’re finished here, I want to go to the pathologist’s office,” she said quickly.
CHAPTER SIX
The pathologist's offices where Claudette's postmortem had been done were a half-hour drive away, through dense Paris traffic. Impatiently, Juliette stared through the windshield. She couldn't wait to see if her theory was correct.
The stop-and-go drive had included a lot of horn blowing from Lucien, who drove exactly as she had expected him to - impatiently, erratically, and poorly. They'd left the tourist areas behind. Those gracious buildings, with their history and streets, their glowing golden stone, were behind them and they were now weaving their way into a more industrial zone, outside central Paris, with a mishmash of buildings that looked both old and new. Lucien pulled up with a jolt outside a gloomy looking building with a concrete facade and no visible signage outside, other than a tiny and almost unreadable notice board. You'd need to be in the know to see that this was where the postmortems were done, Juliette thought.
They climbed out. It was just herself, Wyatt, and Lucien. Sierra had gone ahead to the police station with the other officers, to start doing some background work on the case and the location, and the available camera footage.
This wasn't Juliette's favorite part of the job. It was something to get through, something that had to be approached with a calm mind, and it was, of course, a step that could provide answers.
Lucien led the way inside. As soon as the door had swung shut, Juliette shivered. Pathology labs were the same the world over. Laced with a sickly strong disinfectant scent, cold, and institutional.
Lucien marched over to the front desk. In rapid French, he asked for Doctor Maxime. The receptionist pointed to the back of the room, and replied, in equally rapid French, “room three."
They stopped on the way to put on the necessary PPE and then headed down the frigid corridor. Lucien stalked ahead. Wyatt followed behind, strolling along in a casual way that told her he was no stranger to what lay ahead.
She always felt a pang when she stared down at the bodies. It was such a final moment, that their life was over. That their hopes, dreams, their feelings were all gone, and all that was left was the sadness and anguish of their loved ones.
Juliette shook her head slightly, and forced herself to focus on why they were here.
Lucien tapped on the door, and a moment later, Doctor Maxime opened it. He was a tall, slender man in his mid-fifties, with graying hair, glasses, and a solemn demeanor.
"We're here to discuss the victim in the Goldenface case," Lucien said.
Doctor Maxime nodded. "Yes, I've already done the postmortem. I can give you my findings."
He walked over to one of the steel tables and drew back the sheet. Feeling as if she was about to face down an unseen enemy all over again, Juliette stepped forward.
In the flesh, it was even more obvious that this work was identical to the New York crimes. The paintwork was just as detailed. The golden face paint had been smoothed over every inch of skin on the head and neck, even covering what she knew would be brutal, vivid strangulation marks on the neck.
"Strangulation. Very quick. She died from lack of oxygen. There's damage to her windpipe, but no evidence of a struggle, beyond one broken nail and a couple of black cotton fibers under her other nails. Also, some of that face paint is under the nail of her index finger. No other injury or damage. She was in good health at the time of her death," he said in accented English. Juliette felt grateful for the detailed report.
The woman herself looked young and pretty. Although gold paint covered her hair, Juliette could see that it was thick and shoulder length.
Glancing sideways, she saw that even Lucien was spellbound by the creepy sight of the artwork, which, of the group, only she had seen before.
It would have taken time. Without a doubt, they could all see this now.
Goldenface might have chosen these specific areas in both cities for their lack of surveillance cameras and their relative isolation, while being close to tourist hubs. He was a killer who had carefully planned out his killing spree. He had chosen these places for a reason, and it seemed to her that he had known the area well. He had knowledge of the streets, the alleys, and the locations where he could do his work undisturbed.
But was it aheat all? That was the question she now wanted to know.
"Could this killer have been a woman?" she asked the pathologist.
Lucien swung around, and even from behind his face mask she could see his disparaging stare.
