All the Devils Are Here(75)

And, equally disturbing, what Annie had told him. And what that could mean.

Jean-Guy stopped. Supposedly to stare into the duck pond. But actually, he’d picked up the fact he wasn’t alone. Someone was quietly watching from the shadows.

A thief? Was he about to be robbed?

It is a mystery, he hummed as he slowly circled the pond. It is a big mystery.

Then, turning quickly, his hand shot out, but the man had lightning reflexes and jumped out of his grasp, then turned and took off.

Jean-Guy ran after him, and while the man was younger and had the advantage of age, Jean-Guy had the advantage of rage.

The man ran out into the traffic along rue de Bretagne. Horns sounded and curses followed them down rue du Temple, the distance between the men growing. The man turned down an alley, knocking over bins to slow his pursuer.

While all his survival instincts, all his training, told Jean-Guy it was a mistake to follow a suspect into a dark alley, his instincts as a husband and father were stronger.

The man disappeared around a corner.

Skidding around the corner, Beauvoir saw a brick wall at least ten feet high blocking their way. It was a dead end.

The man didn’t slow down. Didn’t hesitate. He ran full tilt at it, leaping and grabbing the top. Pulling himself up, he went over the other side.

At the very top, he twisted and looked back.

Directly at Beauvoir.

Then he dropped from sight.

Beauvoir got to the wall and jumped. Clutching for the top. His fingers scraping the bricks. Clawing at them for purchase. But he skidded down. Once, twice, three times he tried. Then stopped. Bending over, holding his knees. Gasping for breath.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he muttered, pounding the wall with each word.

Then he turned and jogged back to the apartment, picking up speed, breaking into a run as his mind raced ahead of him.

Had he actually been lured away? Was he meant to chase one man while another broke in?

He was running across streets as cars slammed on brakes.

At his building he took the stairs two at a time, yanking himself up with the handrail.

The door to their apartment was closed. And still locked. But …

Hands trembling, he unlocked it and ran to Honoré’s room, then checked on Annie.

Both were asleep. Both snoring lightly.

Returning to the front door, he double locked it. Then, leaning against it, he slid down, landing on the floor, his knees to his chin and his head in his hands.

What could have happened to his family?

He got up and walked unsteadily into the living room. The chase had not been totally futile. He’d found out one thing.

The man had turned at the top of the wall on purpose. So that Jean-Guy could get a good look at him.

It was the guard Loiselle.

Jean-Guy’s bloody hand reached for the phone. The Chief was right. Some things were solved by walking. And some by running.

Armand put down the phone and turned to Claude.

“Did you assign an agent to guard Annie?”

“I asked Irena to do it. Why?”

“Because,” snapped Armand, “there’s no one there, except, as it turns out, a security guard working for GHS. They’re watching the apartment.”

“Armand?” said Reine-Marie, standing up.

“They’re all right. No thanks to you,” he said to Dussault. “Jean-Guy chased him away.”

Claude Dussault picked up his phone and made a call. A moment later he hung up. “An agent has been assigned, but his shift won’t start until midnight. I’m sorry. I didn’t make it clear to Fontaine that this was a priority. A flic is on his way now.”

Armand continued to stare at the Prefect, who colored under the unrelenting glare.

“Désolé,” Dussault repeated.

Gamache was far from convinced this man was désolé. He was also concerned that any gendarme Dussault sent would be there not to guard, but to watch. And maybe do more, if it came to that.

The Dussaults were on their feet, understanding that the evening was over. But as Claude bent to pick up the box, Armand stopped him.

“I’d like to keep this for a day.”

The two men locked eyes. Over the box. Over the barricade. And the Prefect, knowing he was in a difficult position after his failure earlier, conceded. But he wasn’t surrendering completely.

“I’ll just take this then.” He picked up the laptop.

Had they actually been at the barricades, Armand had the impression Dussault would have pulled the trigger.

And he’d have shot back.





CHAPTER 25




What was that about?” Monique asked as they got in their car.

“The Horowitz case,” said Claude, tossing the laptop into the back seat.

“I know that, but there was tension. More than tension. Is something wrong?”

“Non.” But her husband was distracted. Enough to actually get lost for a moment in the narrow streets of the Marais. “I’ll drop you at home. I need to speak with Irena.”

“At this hour? It’s almost eleven. Claude, what’s going on?”

“Nothing. I need to get her the laptop, now that we have the password. I’ll be home before midnight.”

He dropped her at the door to their building and made sure she got in safely, then drove off.