All the Devils Are Here

CHAPTER 26

Armand stood up. “I’m going over there.”

“You can’t,” said Reine-Marie. “It’s almost midnight.”

“Then he’s sure to be in.” He was walking to the door.

“Armand, stop.” It was a command. From Reine-Marie.

And he did. But he remained with his back to her. Not, for the moment, wanting her to see the rage, the outrage he felt toward their son.

The hurt.

“He lied.”

“Yes,” said Reine-Marie. “But storming over there isn’t going to help. You know that.”

Now he did turn and held her eyes. “He lied. Not just to the police, but to us.”

To me.

“He was probably in shock when Commander Fontaine said it was Alexander Plessner who’d been killed,” said Reine-Marie. “You know Daniel. He feels things deeply and takes his time to think things over. But he gets there.”

“What would you have me do?”

“Come home,” said Reine-Marie. “Sleep on it. You can speak with him in the morning. If you go over now, who knows what’ll happen. What’ll be said that can’t be unsaid. Please.”

She held out her hand. Armand looked at it. Then, nodding, he took it.

“You’re right. It’ll keep ’til morning.” He turned to Annie. “Will you be going to the hotel?”

“First thing in the morning, yes,” said Annie. “Once Honoré’s awake. Dad?”

“Yes?”

“Daniel’s a good man. He’s not involved in this. You know that, right?”

“I do.”

But he didn’t dare look Jean-Guy in the eye. He knew what he’d find there.

If anyone else in a homicide investigation had blatantly lied about knowing the victim, they’d move way up the suspect list.

And Daniel’s actions were suspect, at the very least.

Once home, they decided to leave the dishes for the morning and dropped into bed, exhausted.

Armand expected to toss and turn, but instead he fell into an immediate and deep sleep and awoke to the sound of rain pelting against the bedroom window.

It was dawn on a drizzly Sunday morning. As he closed the window, Armand looked out and into the living room of the apartment across the narrow street.

It belonged to a young couple with a child. He didn’t know their names, though they sometimes waved to each other. But it was too early for anyone to be up.

Except, maybe. He scanned the street below but saw no one watching their apartment. But then, anyone SecurForte-trained would make sure not to be seen.

Though, oddly, Jean-Guy’s man had not only been spotted, several times, but made sure he was recognized. No doubt a scare tactic.

It seemed, this Sunday morning, that no one was trying to scare him.

He looked at the bedside clock. Six fifteen.

As he showered, he thought about Daniel. As he dressed, he thought about Daniel. Then, leaving Reine-Marie fast asleep in the bedroom, he did the dishes as quietly as he could.

And thought about Daniel. About what to do. What to say.

Putting the coffee on to perk, he went for a walk.

Glancing casually about him, he could see no sign of surveillance. It was, he thought as he put up the umbrella, a bit of an insult.

Gamache strolled through the familiar streets of the Marais, the rain, heavy at times, hitting the umbrella. It was, in its familiarity, a restful sound. Pat. Pat. Pat.

He walked past rue du Temple, pausing, as he always did, to study it. His grandmother had explained that it was named not for a Jewish temple, as he might have imagined, but for the Templars. This was where the Knights Templar had their headquarters, eight hundred years ago.

“This is where,” she’d told the boy, “they hid the treasure looted from the Holy Land in the Crusades. And when there was the putsch, when the Templars were rounded up and tortured, not one of them revealed where it was hidden.”

“The treasure?” young Armand had asked.

“Never found. Apparently still here, on rue du Temple, somewhere.”

Though by then Armand had understood that the treasure that was really lost were the lives.

Armand had gone to bed the night before hoping, praying, that he’d wake up to find a message from his son. Asking him to come around. Saying there was something he needed to tell his father.

But there was nothing.

Well, not nothing. There was an email from Isabelle Lacoste saying the engineer she’d consulted couldn’t find anything wrong with the Luxembourg plans.

And there was one from Mrs. McGillicuddy that he hadn’t read yet. Her messages tended to be long and rambling. And he couldn’t quite take that, first thing.

Gamache realized he’d have to tell Reine-Marie about the contents of Stephen’s will. But he wouldn’t, he thought, tell Daniel and Annie. Not yet.

Armand found himself on the Pont d’Arcole. The bridge that led across the Seine to the hôpital Hôtel-Dieu. Its name, Arcole, was a bit of a mystery, as with so much in Paris.

Some said it was named after a great victory by Napoleon over the Austrians, at the Battle of the Bridge of Arcole. Some said it was named for a young man killed in the French Revolution. He’d planted the tricolor and shouted, with his dying breath, “Remember, I am called Arcole.”

Daniel in particular had preferred that version, speaking as it did of valor and sacrifice.

The sort of heroics that would appeal to the young. And untested.

But it was, Armand thought as he continued his walk, an old and dangerous lie. There was nothing right or good in dying for your country. A necessity, sometimes, yes. But always a tragedy. Not an aspiration.

His anger toward his son had dissipated in the night, and now he thought of Daniel and how frightened he must have been, to lie like that.

Was he waiting in his apartment for the knock on the door? Knowing that, eventually, someone would discover the lie. Someone would come?

Armand walked over to the hôpital Hôtel-Dieu and spent half an hour with Stephen, rubbing the cream on his hands and feet. Then reading him the world news.

The ventilator continued to pump, and the beeping of the machines was steady, almost rhythmic.

But the man was still and silent.

After a hushed conversation with the nurse and the doctor on duty, Armand kissed Stephen on the forehead, told him he was kind and strong. Brave and loved.

“And I know that you always told the truth,” he whispered.

Then he left.

Though the nurse and doctor stopped short of saying it, he could see in their eyes that soon, very soon, they’d be asking him to make a decision. But he couldn’t think about that. Not yet.

The boulangerie on his way home was open, and he picked up half a dozen fresh croissants. By the time he got back, Reine-Marie was up.

“Five?” she said, after looking into the bag.

“One must’ve fallen out.”

“Of course it did, Chief Inspector. Did you sleep?” she asked, brushing crumbs off his coat.

“Very well.”

“How are you feeling about Daniel?”

“Calmer. You were right to have me wait. I’ll go around after breakfast.”

He took a long sip of rich, strong coffee while Reine-Marie spread strawberry jam on her croissant.

“I spoke with Mrs. McGillicuddy yesterday, about Stephen’s will,” he said. “He made a new one a year ago. After some sizable bequests, to his foundation and one to Mrs. McGillicuddy”—Armand hesitated for a moment, before going on—“he left the rest to us.”

Reine-Marie lowered her croissant to her plate, staring at him. To say it was a shock would have been disingenuous. But still, if she’d thought about it at all, she’d have said Stephen would leave Annie and Daniel small bequests. And them nothing at all.

And certainly not the whole thing.

“His estate would be split equally among Annie, Daniel, and you and me.”

Before she could ask, or fight the temptation to ask, he volunteered the information.

“According to Mrs. McGillicuddy, after taxes and fees, it will come to several hundred million each.”

Reine-Marie’s mouth opened slightly, and her lips went pale. Armand wondered if she was about to pass out.

“Armand,” she whispered. “We can’t—”

He nodded. That had been exactly his feeling, too. But there was a solution to that.

“If you want, when the time comes, we can start a foundation. Annie and Daniel can decide if they want to contribute.”

“Yes, yes,” said Reine-Marie. “Oh, I know. A home for wayward cats. And financiers.”

Armand laughed. It felt good. Then he called Daniel, who answered on the fourth ring. Yes, they were home and he could go over.

Armand could hear the chill in Daniel’s voice. He knows, thought Armand. Or suspects.

“Do you want me to come with you?” asked Reine-Marie.

“No, better if I do this myself.”

“Are you sure?” She searched his eyes. “You’re prepared for whatever Daniel will say? You won’t…”

“Make it worse? I’ll try not to.”

It was a pretty low bar, but still, Armand wasn’t completely confident he could get over it.

“What’ll you do?”

“It’s Sunday. The Archives nationales will be closed. Which is a perfect time to go. I’ve already contacted the head archivist. She’ll meet me there at ten. Are you going to tell Daniel about the will?”

“No. Nor Annie. Not while Stephen’s alive.”

She tied a scarf at his neck, and kissed him, and sent him back into the rainy day. And didn’t say what he already knew.

It would not be long.