The Parisian Codex

16 - The Sewers

I crossed the basement of the neighboring building, the bundle of clothes clutched in one hand, dragging a dead man behind me. At the end of the corridor was another door, barricaded like the first. It revealed a short passageway cut into the Parisian limestone and supported by 19th-century wooden posts. The air smelled of mildew and dustbin bottoms. We were now under the narrow street that ran alongside the building next to mine.

The passageway sloped gently upwards for just a few yards. The third door was also made of wood, dark and swollen with humidity. Smaller than a 21st-century door, it had no hinges and could be removed like the lid of a barrel. Rats had gnawed a corner, clearing a passageway as wide as a cat flap. I leaned it against the tunnel wall and poked my head through the opening. The smell of detritus hit me in the face like a punch.

There are sewers under every street in Paris. The main drains running under the boulevards are huge. Under the streets, they're smaller. The primary sewer into which I had just stumbled was oval in cross-section, with a maximum width of one and a half yards. At a time when Prefect Haussmann was calibrating Parisian avenues and building facades, Eugène Belgrand was calibrating the underground network.

The tunnel was deserted, with rainwater running through it from the street barely a yard above. I stepped back into the previous passage and replaced the door. Retracing my steps, I picked up the second corpse and carried it close to the first. The slowness of the process frustrated me. Bel could arrive with the cops at any moment, and a meticulous search would eventually reveal my clandestine escape route. I had to get rid of these corpses as soon as possible. At least, at this late hour, I wouldn't run into a team of sewage workers.

I jumped with both feet into the dirty water that covered the bottom of the sewer. It was a charming mixture of rain, gasoline and sanitary sewage. I did my best not to think about it and let the bundle of clothes fall into the current, which immediately carried it away. Then I pulled stiff number one towards me, led him through the opening and laid him at my feet. The tunnel was so narrow at the bottom that the guy's body blocked the flow of water. I left stiff number 2 in the clandestine passage and replaced the old door. On this side, the wood had been whitewashed and blended in almost perfectly with the sewer wall.

The tunnel was high enough for me to walk upright, but again too narrow for me to enter with the dead man on my shoulder. So I continued to drag him along, walking backward. The dirty current wasn't powerful enough to lift the corpse, but strong enough to splash me in its haste to overcome Stiffy and I. At regular intervals, we passed under a manhole, which let in the light from the street and spilled its dubious water.

A few yards further on, our narrow tunnel emptied into a wider sewer. We were now under the Rue du Louvre. Here, the dimensions of the passage allowed me to carry the corpse on my shoulder. But it had soaked in dirty water, and I didn't want it dripping on me...

"Chin up," I murmured. "I'll take a shower when I get home.

And get rid of my clothes."

In the meantime, I slung the dead man over my shoulder and turned left, heading for the Seine.

There's a sewer under the quay between the Seine and the Louvre. It's a modern tunnel, with high catwalks so you don't have to walk in the water. Pipes of all kinds snake up the walls. Families of grey rats have lived there for generations, eyeing intruders with suspicion.

I reached a fork in the tunnel. A plaque on the wall told me I was at the corner of the Place de la Concorde. The huge underground torrent roaring past me was apparently the "collecteur d'Asnières." I imagined it carried dirty water to a sewage treatment plant several kilometers to the north. Wastewater management has come a long way since my youth.

I decided that the Asnières sewer would do for me. If the current carried the corpse to the northern suburbs, no one would blame me.

Dead guy number one joined the sewage with a "splash" muffled by the roar of the current. The body disappeared beneath the dirty eddies.

One more corpse to go.

I made my way in the opposite direction and nearly lost myself in the maze of tunnels. Fortunately, there were signs indicating the names of the surface streets, and I knew Paris well enough to find my way around. Dead guy number two was waiting for me, and I began my journey again. Disposing of a body is messy and tiring, and that's why I preferred to eat blood out of a pocket, despite the headache it gave me. I'm a lazy vampire, and I'm okay with that.

I got rid of the second corpse, then gladly found my clandestine tunnel, the corridor under the neighboring building, and finally, my cellar door.

On the threshold, I switched off my headlamp, stood still and listened. I heard nothing. I crouched down and poked my head through the floor-level doorway. The room was dark—I'd turned off the neon when I left—and in the same state of disarray as when I'd left it. No movement, no breathing. I straightened up and was about to enter the room when the idea struck me. I'd forgotten to hide Bel's gun.

I didn't have the courage to go back into the sewers in search of a hiding place. In any case, the risk of a sewer worker finding the weapon was too great. I felt the wall above the door. It was bare brick, and the mortar was crumbling under my fingers.

I had a letter opener somewhere on my desk.

I placed the pistol and magazine on the floor of the corridor and cautiously entered my room. I pushed the back door open gently, but it still creaked. I put the shelves back in place, removed my boots and my shirt, irreparably soiled by my underground journey. I tiptoed across my bedroom towards the study. With my ear pressed to the door, I heard rapid but light breathing. Kitten, I assumed. Further away, the sound of the building door. Nothing else. I pulled out the chair and opened the door.

My office was even messier than when I'd left. Kitten had torn the papers to shreds and decorated my desk with a puddle of urine and a series of droppings. Then he returned to perch atop the metal cupboard, from where he now looked down on me.

"You think you can impress me with a few droppings? If you only knew where I spent my early evening..."

I rummaged under the soiled papers on the desk, looking for my letter opener.

It took me only a few minutes to dislodge three bricks from the wall of the secret passageway, stash the weapon in the cavity, and replace two bricks to conceal the hole. I placed the third brick on the corridor floor like an old forgotten thing.

Back in my room, I barricaded the door and replaced the shelves.

My night was just beginning.