All the Devils Are Here(49)

And Gamache could see why. He’d been essentially on the scene of both attacks. While not there for the murder of Alexander Plessner, he had discovered the body. And come away unharmed from a confrontation with an intruder no one else saw.

It would have been amusing, these two men in late middle age suspecting each other of commando-style murders. If one of them wasn’t, possibly, right.

At the door Dussault spoke quietly and gravely. Holding Armand’s eyes.

“I’m happy for your insights into Monsieur Horowitz, but please, Armand, after your talk with Commander Fontaine, it’s time for you to leave this investigation to us. Step away. You’re too close.”

“Close to what?”

The truth?

“Leave it.”

“Would you, Claude? If you were in Montréal and a man who was pretty much your father was attacked. Would you just step back?”

“If you were in charge of the investigation? Yes.”

Armand left, knowing he’d just heard at least one lie. And told at least one himself.

He called Mrs. McGillicuddy and asked her to agree that the board meeting was noted in Stephen’s agenda.

“Just, perhaps, don’t say which agenda.”

After leaving the BHV, Reine-Marie Gamache hurried back home. Showering and changing again, she placed a call before she thought better of it.

“Dr. Dussault? Monique?”

“Oui?”

“It’s Reine-Marie Gamache.”

“Oh, I was just about to call to invite you and your husband for dinner.” Monique Dussault’s voice was deep and warm. “Claude told me what happened last night. I’m so sorry.”

While Reine-Marie had only met her a few times, she’d immediately liked the woman. Dr. Dussault was a pediatrician who had a practice in Montparnasse, not far from the catacombs.

“Seems like some sort of karma,” she’d told Reine-Marie. “I live with a secretive man, and now I live over those secret tunnels. The only difference between them is that the catacombs have hidden depths.”

She’d laughed and looked across the table at her husband with undisguised affection.

“Why don’t you come to us,” said Reine-Marie. “Something simple. To be honest, once home I’m not sure I’ll want to go out again. I know the men will want to talk, and honestly, I’d like the company.”

“But you must be exhausted.”

Reine-Marie was, and could barely believe she was inviting company for dinner. But it was the only way …

“I find cooking relaxing. Please come. It’ll be just us. En famille.”

“Let me at least bring a dessert.”

And so it was decided. No going back now, thought Reine-Marie, and wondered how Armand would feel about this.

She looked at the box on their dresser. Then, opening the bottom drawer, she hid it under a layer of sweaters. Not from Armand, but from their dinner guests.

It was twenty to three when Jean-Guy signed out.

This was a different guard than the one who’d visited him. But no less fit. No less focused. Why hadn’t he noticed that before? No flab on these men and women. Their eyes were sharp, intelligent. Watchful. Suspicious.

Once out the door, he kept walking, his pace measured.

He was longing to look at what he’d printed out and recorded on his phone.

Up ahead was the entrance to the métro. He took the escalator down, used his Navigo Liberté card to get into the station, and waited for his train.

Once on, he pulled out his phone to check he’d actually recorded.

Before clicking it on, he glanced to the left and saw bored passengers reading Le Monde or looking at their phones.

Then the other direction.

And there he was. The guard Loiselle. The one who’d come up to the office.

The man was staring at him. Not even trying to hide his presence, or his scrutiny.

It was twenty to three when Reine-Marie once again emerged from the dry cleaners.

The first time that day she’d dropped off a reeking set of clothes, they’d smiled and been polite. Pretending not to notice the shrieking smells.

This time there was no pretense.

“Do you work in a perfume factory, Madame Gamache?” the young woman asked as she used two fingers to pick up the clothes, holding them at arm’s length.

“No. I was just testing some.”

“With a fire hose?”

Reine-Marie laughed, and got out of there as quickly as possible.

Stepping onto rue des Archives, she first turned toward Roslyn and Daniel’s place. Then, changing her mind, she walked in the opposite direction.

It was twenty to three when Armand entered the h?pital H?tel-Dieu.

The nurse had a brief word with him. Nothing had changed. Which, she said, was actually good news. At least Monsieur Horowitz hadn’t gotten worse.

After exchanging a few words with the guard outside Stephen’s room, Armand went in. He kissed Stephen on the forehead. Then, walking to the end of the bed, he opened the paper bag Reine-Marie had given him.

Uncovering Stephen’s feet, he squirted moisturizer on his hands, and gently massaged Stephen’s feet while telling him about the day. The family. Mrs. McGillicuddy.

“And Jacques at the Lutetia says, ‘Fluctuat nec mergitur.’ I think that means ‘pay your hotel bill, you schmuck.’”