Chapter 59 - Interrogation beginning

"To begin with, do you agree to a recording on tape?"

A second officer in a blue uniform stood next to the door. Alexandre still didn't know why he was here. He had thought he might have to bail one of his friends out. At the previous evening they had popped many corks. The alcohol was streaming. Their behavior went down the hill.

"Yes." Confirmed Alexandre hesitantly before Bichot reached for a black voice recorder and pressed a white button.

"It's the 04.11.XX" The gendarme briefly peered at his wristwatch. "09.30 o'clock. You are Duke Alexandre de Valoise?"

"Alexandre, Maximilian, Raphaël, Illias de Valois, Count of Charolais. My father is still a holder of the title of the Duke of Brabant." He arrogantly corrected the commissioner. Nevertheless, a dull feeling spread in him.

" You are single, engaged to Danielle Eliecieux and still childless."

"Yes." What was going on? Why was he interrogated? Alexandre's fingertips tapped nervously on the tabletop. With every further question his uncertainty rose.

" Your parents are Octave de Valois and Isabelle de Valois. Am I right to assume?"

"Correct."

"Are you a citizen of Bourgogne? Your reason for stay and duration of stay in France are?" Bichot's voice sounded serene and cool. Nothing revealed his motives.

"I am a citizen of Bourgogne. I came to visit the family of my fiancée and to organize some marriage arrangements as well as to celebrate my bachelor party with friends."

"You are resident in Dijon, Bourgogne?"

"Correct."

"You're able to be interrogated. You're neither drunk nor under anesthesia?"

"I am completely sane."

"According to § 136, section 1, I inform you of your rights." Commissioner Bichot read out the interrogation rights before him. His voice was hotter and raspy. Alexandre still didn't know why he was here. But with every minute his tension increased.

"You are a witness in the investigation of a murder case. The policeman grumbled incomprehensibly before throwing a brown folder on the table. With his rough hands he clumsily opened the folder and laid out pictures in front of Alexandre. "A routine coloring!" He explained barely.

There were photos. Cruel pictures. An ice-cold shiver ran over his back. He could hardly keep his eyes on the photos. The scenery was too cruel, and yet he saw enough.

A naked corpse. Mutilated. Was buried under leaves. The white skin shone under the brown leaves and dirt that surrounded it. The blonde hair was red. The face was made unrecognizable with stab wounds. Lips and nose were cut off, teeth missing. A horrible sight. Again and again bruises shimmered on the naked skin. Red stripes stretched along her knuckles and ankles.

Her breasts were cut off, as were her fingertips and toes. Stab wounds around the intimate area. In some places the skin of the corpse was reddish, black, as if someone had burned it. It was a grotesque scene.

"We're going to consider that this woman..." Bichot pointed with the ballpoint pen to one of the pictures. "...is your fiancée Danielle Eliecieux, who has been reported missing since yesterday evening at 5 p.m.. She could be identified by her father Albert Eliecieux by means of a tattoo and moles." The policeman's dry voice whispered.

It struck him like a lightning.

His words tightened Alexandre's throat. Only one word was echoing in his head, Danielle. Again and again.

Suddenly he felt nauseous. He felt miserable. Everything around him seemed blurred.

Alexandre jumped up, could hardly hold himself on his feet, everything around him swung as he sank to his knees in front of a silver trash can standing in the corner of the room.

He choked and choked until all his stomach contents poured into the trash. Again and again he was seized by a choking reflex that shook his whole body. Never before had he felt so pathetic. But these images were too cruel for his eyes. While his chest was about to burst. But over and over again a nightmare happened in front of his closed eyes.

He wanted to leave here. Didn't want to hear anything anymore, didn't want to see anything. The tightness in his chest threatened to crush him. To squeeze every breath of air out of his lungs. He gasped, struggled for breath.

He didn't know how long he was chewing over the trash can. He was dizzy. His stomach was empty. Nothing but acid burned his tube when it finally stopped.

In the silence his wheezing breaths sounded far too loud. A disgustingly sour smell was in the air.

It tasted only sour, corroded, in his mouth when he finally rose. His throat was rough.

The commissar had stepped next to him, holding a glass of water towards him. With trembling fingers Alexandre grabbed it and emptied it with one gulp.

He could barely stand on his feet as the sturdy policeman grabbed him under his arms, helping him to stand up. His legs swayed as he lifted up and stumbled awkwardly to the chair and let himself fall back on it. It creaked.

And there was always this feeling. Dark and heavy. It whispered through his head. This insecurity. These nasties.

As if frozen, he looked at the inspector, who had not changed his facial expression, while he looked at him and then at the pictures again.

Again Alexandre wheezed, high and helpless. He didn't want to see the pictures anymore. Pain burned in his veins.