All the Devils Are Here(21)

She was about to close the bag when she remembered the things she’d picked up from the street the night before. Reaching into her handbag, Reine-Marie placed Stephen’s broken glasses and keys into the bag.

Then, pausing, she took a closer look at the keys.

Last night, in the dark and panic, they hadn’t struck her as odd. Now, in daylight and relative calm, they did.

In fact, far more than just odd.





CHAPTER 7




I’m sorry, Madame. I can’t let you in.”

Reine-Marie stared at the young man guarding Stephen’s room.

“Please.” She gave him her most matronly smile. “I just need to speak with my husband.”

These are not the droids you’re looking for, she thought and almost shook her head. Jean-Guy had clearly rubbed off on her.

The young flic examined the woman standing in front of him. Her tone said, I’m your mother’ s age and harmless.

But her eyes were far too intelligent to fool the agent. Besides, his mother had much the same eyes, and she was a judge on the French assize court.

She’d taught him never to underestimate anyone, especially a smart woman.

He smiled back and made a decision, recognizing that sometimes common sense needed to prevail. He’d also learned that from his mother.

For common sense, he opened the door. For his training, he went in with her.

Reine-Marie paused. Unable, for a moment, to go beyond the threshold.

Stephen was breathing with the aid of a machine. There were monitors and drips. His body seemed to be wrapped from head to toe in bandages, including over his eyes.

How could this man still be alive, she thought.

But it also brought flooding back, catching her up and tumbling her around, memories of seeing Armand in much the same condition.

She took a sharp breath in and recovered herself.

Armand sat beside the bed, his reading glasses on. With one hand he held Stephen’s hand. In the other he held a copy of that morning’s Le Figaro.

“Energie Stat is down three points, to 134.9. Produits Cassini is up half a point, to 87.6.”

He was reading the report from the Bourse de Paris to Stephen, as though it was a fairy tale for his grandchildren. Giving each an inflection, a drama.

The young gendarme stopped just inside the door, and stared. It was a tableau so intimate he felt as though he’d violated these people by his presence.

“Armand?” Reine-Marie approached the bed.

He looked up, clearly surprised to see her. “I’ve found something,” she said quietly.

Getting up, Armand kissed Stephen on the forehead and said quietly, “I’ll be back soon. Don’t go anywhere. I love you.”

The box with Stephen’s belongings was placed on the table by the window in the hospital room.

Armand went through the contents as Reine-Marie watched. Interested to see if the same thing struck her husband.

Armand went first to Stephen’s suit jacket, stiff with blood, and did something unexpected. Turning it inside out, he searched and, with a smile, withdrew a Canadian passport.

“Stephen had his passport stolen many years ago,” Armand explained, holding it up. “Since then he’s had his tailor put in the hidden pocket. He keeps his important things in there.”

Armand brought out one more thing. A slender agenda.

He then went through the things in the box. All predictable.

Except. His brow furrowed.

There, lying amid the other items, was a key. Not an apartment key, but a room key.

“Hotel George V,” he read.

“Yes,” said Reine-Marie. “That’s what I wanted to show you. It was on the pavement. I picked it up last night along with his glasses and put them into my purse. I forgot they were there until just now. Why would he have that? He’s staying in his apartment, isn’t he?”

“Yes. I walked him there yesterday afternoon. And here’s the key to his apartment.”

Armand held it up, then went back to the hotel key.

“Do you think someone else is staying at the hotel?” she suggested. “Could it be …”

“A lover?” asked Armand.

“Ruth?” said Reine-Marie.

Armand felt a frisson. That might explain the “here, here.” The devil was in the George V.

He smiled at the thought. Ruth Zardo, Stephen’s friend, was also their close friend and neighbor in their Québec village of Three Pines.

An elderly poet, she was embittered, often drunk. Definitely nuts. And brilliant.

You were a moth

brushing against my cheek

in the dark

I killed you

not knowing you were only a moth,

with no sting.



She and Stephen had proven a good match and fast friends. And while often angry, she was no devil. Perhaps, he’d often thought, just the opposite.

Armand could still see her, waving goodbye with one raised finger.

So who was in room 815 at the George V?

“I guess it’s possible the key was already there,” said Reine-Marie. “That someone dropped it and I picked it up by mistake.”

“Possible.” Armand pocketed the key and put the rest back in the box. With the exception of Stephen’s agenda, which he also slipped into his pocket. “Let’s find out.”