All the Devils Are Here(140)

Armand stood up, still holding Stephen’s hand, and said, “It’s time. Let him go.”

Then he sat back down, his legs weak.

If this was the right thing to do, why did it feel so wrong?

But no, it didn’t feel wrong. It felt wretched. Horrific. A nightmare.

But sometimes “right” felt like that.

When the ventilator was removed, and all the IVs and tubing and equipment taken away, the room grew very quiet.

What remained was Stephen.

Jean-Guy bent down and placed the child in the crook of Stephen’s arm.

“Her name’s Idola,” Armand whispered. “Named after Idola Saint-Jean, who fought for equal rights. She never gave up. She never gave in.”

“Her name means ‘inner truth,’” said Jean-Guy.

He looked into the irregular eyes and the flat facial features of their daughter with Down syndrome.

They’d known since early in the pregnancy. And had made a choice. For life. Just as Armand had just made a choice. To end a life.

There was, at that moment across Paris, a chorus of pings as, one after the other, board members received urgent messages.

Daniel looked at Claude Dussault, who nodded.

It was done.

The buy order Daniel had discovered at the bank had gone through.

The pings were the sound of a torpedo rapidly approaching the great conglomerate.

Armand brought out Stephen’s favorite book of poetry and began reading.

I just sit where I’m put, composed

of stone and wishful thinking …



In order to save their skins, if not their souls, the board members voted to kill GHS Engineering themselves.

They had to be seen to be on the side of right. The side of the angels.

It would have to be made clear, to the regulators, to the public, that as soon as they found out what GHS Engineering had been doing— the murders, the cover-up, the thousands of people killed in accidents that could have been prevented—the board members had themselves acted swiftly and decisively.

They voted to contact the authorities and regulators.

To shut down the nuclear power plants.

To ground affected aircraft and stop affected trains.

To inspect bridges and elevators.

While the CEO, Eugénie Roquebrune, was led away, they voted to set up a genuine compensation fund for the victims and their families.

And to make Carole Gossette the acting head of GHS, to oversee its demise.

“That in the midst of your nightmare,” Armand read, softly. “The final one, a kind lion will come with bandages in her mouth—”

Outside the boardroom, Xavier Loiselle approached Daniel.

“That was incredibly brave of you, to come out of hiding for your father.”

“Brave? I was scared shitless.”

“But you did it.”

“I can’t believe my father let me think he was dead.”

“He wasn’t playing dead. Being hit at close range, even by cartridges, is no joke. He was knocked out. I know the difference between someone pretending and someone who’s actually out cold. And just so you know, he couldn’t have known Girard had picked up his gun. When he jumped in to save you, he had no idea the bullets were the fake ones. He expected to die.”

Loiselle shifted his gaze to the Prefect, supervising the arrests, before returning to Daniel. “Don’t shy away from the truth. It’s an amazing thing, to be willing to die for each other.”

Claude Dussault came over and, patting Loiselle on his arm, said, “Come see me later in the week. We can discuss your future.”

“Oui, patron.”

“—And lick you clean of fever,” said Armand. No longer reading. He’d memorized the poem, by their neighbor Ruth, long ago. One of his favorites, too.

Stephen was still and silent.

Armand leaned close to his godfather, reciting so softly no one else heard, “And pick your soul up gently by the nape of the neck, and caress you into darkness and paradise.”

He kissed him on the forehead and whispered, “Thank you. Safe travels, dear man. I love you.”

“Excusez-moi,” said the doctor and, bending over Stephen, he used his stethoscope to listen for a heartbeat.

Then he straightened up.





CHAPTER 44




It did seem appropriate that a garden named for a man who hid Jews in the war should itself be almost hidden.

But the Gamaches knew how to find it, just off rue des Rosiers.

The jardin Joseph-Migneret was quiet this Thursday morning in mid-October, and they had it almost all to themselves.

The girls ate crêpes, bought from Omar, and now ran like dervishes between the trees and benches, chasing each other and shrieking with laughter.

Annie rocked Idola in her arms, while Honoré tugged at his father’s hand, trying to break free. Eventually, Jean-Guy let go and watched him race into the walled garden, to play with his cousins.

The adults had paused in the passageway, between the busy street and the garden. Standing in a semicircle before the plaque, they read each name. Noting the ages of those Monsieur Migneret had not managed to save.

The children of the Marais, sent away. Who never came home.

Then the Gamaches joined their children.

Armand and Reine-Marie stopped, by habit, at the exact spot where he’d proposed, and she’d accepted, more than thirty years earlier. And watched their grandchildren play.