Page 33 of All the Devils Are Here

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.