Chapter 15

Valentin stumbled into the street, roving his eyes for his car. The pain in his hand had dulled, but fatigue was pulsing over him. In his non-bloody hand, he had Renard’s card clutched in his palm, and with his fingers he could feel raised dots of braille on the rust-colored paper that had the blind man’s name in silver ink. There was a number on the other side, that Renard had told Valentin to call if any “problems” came up. Whether that was in regards to his health or potential unemployment after the previous night’s events, he wasn’t sure. Renard had said that he didn’t have to worry about the museum, that all of that had been taken care of. But he wouldn’t provide any details.

Valentin finally located his car and once inside, smelled the earthiness of the deer that lingered on the fabric of the back seat, like fresh soil with an organic musk. There was also a sickening and sweet scent of death, that he remembered from when he had had a flat tire and stopped at the side of the road, where there was a decomposing cat in the ditch that must have been maimed by traffic then stumbled off the concrete to die. The smell had stayed with him as much as the cat’s open and empty eyes.

With the windows rolled down, he left the Deyrolle storefront and drove in the direction of his apartment, the memory of clattering skeleton hooves returning with each metallic jarring noise of the car.

He intended to drive all the way to his home in the 15th arrondissement, but suddenly an urge burst through his exhaustion that made it clear he would get no rest there. He turned down a street in the direction of the museum, hoping to find proof of the man who had died in the grassy garden outside the museum.

Traffic was light and he parked and walked into the Jardin des Plantes. People were already milling around the long tree avenues and visiting the collection of museums. The carousel of extinct animals turned with a couple of children riding its obscure creatures. Closer to the Grande Galerie de l’Evolution, he saw a gardener putting new sod down on a square of the perfect grass. The perfect size to cover up a blood stain. But there were no police or people to indicate that anything sinister had taken place, that someone had died on that green space.

He used his ID to get into the museum, fearful that at each turn he would run into another guard or supervisor who would be furious about the destruction in the extinct and endangered animals room, where the deer had crashed through the antique glass case and left shards all over the floor.

He took the stairs, slowly climbing, reluctant and impatient at the same time. Not many people were yet in the museum, and he glanced down at the parade of taxidermy animals in the center of the museum’s atrium. Only stretched and tanned skin, he reminded himself.

He opened the door of the room where the deer had been displayed, the cool air and darkness passing over him like a shadow. No one was there, and the animal faces he had memorized with the hours alone in the museum were unchanged. He walked to the back of the room where he’d stared at the deer’s beautiful antlers many nights.

A shiver went up his spine and dizziness gripped his heart, because there was still a deer in that display case. But it wasn’t the extinct deer he’d seen brought back to life. It was the skin of the poor deer whose organs had been transplanted just that morning. Drops of fresh blood were still drying on its dull fur.

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