All the Devils Are Here(113)

“I might’ve been away at university,” said Armand. “Let me know what you find out.”

“Any news your end?”

“Seems neodymium, while a rare earth element, isn’t exactly rare. It’s a powerful magnet, but that’s about it. We’re looking into the telecommunications connection. Still, it’s puzzling why GHS kept the find a secret.”

“Maybe that’s just the culture,” said Jean-Guy. “They don’t exactly like broadcasting their business.”

“That’s probably it.”

Both men knew Jean-Guy’s statement was for the benefit of whoever might be listening. The truth was, this wasn’t extreme secrecy. It was a cover-up.

“Is Reine-Marie there? Can I have a word?”

“Armand?” he heard her say. “Jean-Guy told you what we found?”

“Yes, much more than we’ve found. Have you heard from Daniel?”

“Not yet. Do you want me to call him?”

“No, I’ll do that. Let me know what Mrs. McGillicuddy says about Stephen and Monsieur Pinot.”

“Absolutely. Armand?”

“Oui?”

“Everything all right?”

“Yes. We’re moving forward. Getting closer and closer.” He chose not to tell her where they were getting closer to.

If GHS was good at keeping secrets, they were amateurs compared to the head of homicide.

Though the key was knowing what information to let slip, and what to hold on to.

He called Daniel. Heard it ring. And ring. And then Daniel’s recorded voice, deep, cheerful, warm, inviting him to leave a message.

“Daniel? It’s Dad. Call me when you can.”

Up ahead he could see their apartment. And in it what he’d dashed across Paris to find.

Since silence was already broken, Jean-Guy decided to make one more call.

As soon as he heard Annie’s voice, he relaxed. Until that moment, he had no idea how tense he’d become.

“Everything all right?” he asked.

“Just fine. Honoré and the girls have had their dinner and baths, and we’re just tucking them in. Did you know Great-Aunt Ruth has taught him a song?”

“Oh, God, what now?”

Their son’s very first word hadn’t been “Mama” or “Papa,” or “milk,” or “please.”

Thanks to Great-Aunt Ruth and her duck Rosa, Honoré’s first word had been “fuck.” Which he’d screamed, loud and clear. In the middle of a party. Repeatedly.

Annie and Jean-Guy had tried to explain that he was actually saying “duck,” but his enunciation was so perfect no one believed that.

Honoré adored Great-Aunt Ruth and her duck Rosa and absorbed anything they chose to imprint.

“Here, listen,” said Annie and held the phone out.

In a clear, high voice, their son was singing, “What do you do with a drunken sailor?”

“A sea shanty? Jesus,” sighed Jean-Guy. “Still, he can hold a tune.”

“Yes, that’s the thing to focus on.”

“You’re all right?” he repeated.

“Yes.”

A few minutes earlier she’d felt a twinge. It was, she told herself, indigestion. Though in her heart, and slightly further down, she knew it wasn’t that.

She could feel panic rising, but she wouldn’t say anything to him. Not yet. Not until she was sure.

“I’ll tell you more when I see you,” Jean-Guy was saying.

“Come home when you can,” she said. Soon. Soon.

As he said goodbye he heard, in the background, “Way, hey, and up she rises …”

“No need to take off your coat,” said Armand, as they entered the apartment. “We aren’t staying long.”

“Long enough for me to use the facilities?” Madame Arbour asked, her voice brusque. Clearly not used to being lugged all over the city like a sack of occasionally intelligent potatoes.

“Oui. Certainement,” he said. “It’s just off the bedroom.”

When she left, he went over to the box from the hospital. It was still where they’d left it the night before, sitting beside the armchair in the living room. Taking the top off, he looked in.

And jerked back in surprise.

Something had been added. Even covered in a cloth he knew what it was.

He unwrapped the gun, careful not to get his prints on it. Was this the weapon that had killed Alexander Plessner? Was he being set up now?

He smelled the muzzle. It had not been fired recently, but that meant nothing.

Using a handkerchief, he released the magazine.

It was fully loaded. But …

He ejected one of the bullets. It was not standard issue.

Hollow point? Illegal, brutal. Effective, if the effect you wanted was to blow a hole clean through another human being.

No. This was something else entirely.

He stared at the bullet for a moment, his mind whirring.

Replacing it, he looked around. Someone had broken into their apartment between the time he and Reine-Marie had stopped there that afternoon on their way to the Louvre, and now. Was anything else changed? Added? Taken? Without a thorough search, he couldn’t tell. And he didn’t have time for that.