Penny, Louise - All the Devils Are Here

“This is a terrible thing to happen,” said Monsieur Dussault. He shook their hands, then turned to Armand, noting the bloodstains and exhaustion. “How is he?”

“No word,” said Armand.

“Let me try.”

Dussault went over to reception and a few moments later returned to them. “They’ll let us in. But only one of you.”

“We’ll stay here,” said Reine-Marie.

“Go home,” said Armand.

“We’re staying,” she said. It was the end of any discussion.

As he went through the swinging doors, Armand felt himself light-headed for a moment. Swept back into memory. As bloodstained sheets were drawn over the faces of officers. Young men and women he’d recruited. Trained. Led.

Whose birthdays and weddings he’d danced at. He was godfather to several of their children.

And now they lay dead on gurneys. Killed in an action he’d led them into.

He’d had doors to knock on then. Eyes to meet and lives to shatter.

He took a ragged breath and kept walking, through those memories and into this new nightmare. His friend and colleague by his side.

“He’s in one of the operating theaters,” said Claude after speaking with a nurse. “We should make ourselves comfortable.”

They sat, side by side, on hard chairs in the corridor.

“Terrible place,” whispered Dussault, clearly struggling with his own memories. Of his own young gendarmes. “But they do good work. If someone can be saved …”

Armand gave a curt nod.

“On the way over I looked up the preliminary notes of the flic who responded to the call.”

The Préfet had used the Parisian slang for “cop.” Les flics. Learned on the streets before he’d joined the force. Though it was not, strictly speaking, a compliment, most cops, between themselves, had adopted the word. Originally from Yiddish slang, “flic” had become a sort of term of endearment. Or, at least, of camaraderie.

Armand remained silent, his focus on the door leading to the operating rooms.

“He wrote that you said it was deliberate. Do you believe that?”

Now Armand turned to him. His eyes bloodshot with exhaustion. And emotion.

“It was. The vehicle was stopped. Then it sped up. It meant to hit Stephen.”

Dussault nodded, looked down at his hands briefly, then back up. “The other witnesses agree that the van left the scene. One of them, your son-in-law, I believe, got a very bad photo of it.”

“Reine-Marie also saw it speed up to hit Stephen.”

“Did she? After you left, she described what happened. She said you were both looking at the Tour Eiffel that had just lit up.”

“That’s true. I began to speak to Stephen—”

Armand stopped, and blanched. Suddenly feeling he might be sick.

“What is it?” asked Claude.

“I didn’t realize Stephen was in the middle of the street. When I spoke, he stopped and turned. He didn’t see the van. Couldn’t. He was looking at me.”

“This isn’t your fault, Armand,” said Claude, immediately understanding what he was saying. Feeling.

The swinging doors opened and a nurse came through.

“Monsieur le Préfet?” he asked, looking from one to the other.

The two men stood up.

“Oui,” said Dussault.

“Mr. Horowitz is alive—”

Armand’s face opened with relief, but the nurse hurried on.

“—but he’s in critical condition. We honestly don’t know if he’ll survive the surgery. And even if he does, there’s significant trauma to his head.”

Armand bit the inside of his lip. Hard enough to taste blood.

Dussault introduced him, as next of kin.

“You might want to go home,” the nurse said to Gamache. “If you leave your number, you’ll be called.”

“I’ll stay, if you don’t mind.”

“We’ll stay,” said Dussault, and watched the nurse return through the swinging doors before he turned back to Gamache. “Horowitz? The injured man is Stephen Horowitz? The billionaire?”

“Yes, didn’t the report say that?”

“It must have, but I guess I was focusing on your statement.”

“He’s my godfather. Excusez-moi. I’m going to tell Reine-Marie and the others to go home.”

Claude Dussault watched Armand walk back down the corridor, sidestepping doctors and nurses as they responded to other emergencies.

Once Armand had left, Dussault went over to the nurse in charge and asked for the bag of Stephen’s things. Not his clothing, but whatever had been in his pockets.

The Prefect looked through the wallet, checking every slip of paper, then picking up the shattered iPhone and examining it.

Replacing everything, he resealed the bag and gave it back to the nurse.

Reine-Marie, Daniel, and Annie hurried to meet Armand.

The others in the waiting room looked up, alert, afraid, then dropped their eyes when they realized he wasn’t a doctor bringing them news.

“He’s still in there,” said Armand, giving Reine-Marie a hug.

“That’s good news, right?” said Annie.

“Oui.” Her father’s reply was so muted, she immediately understood.

“Dad,” said Daniel. “I’m sorry—”

“ Merci. He’s in good hands.”

“Yes, but I want to say I’m sorry I didn’t react when you asked for help. I think I was in shock.”

Now Armand turned to his son and focused on him completely.

If there was one thing the senior police officer understood, it was that everyone had strengths. And weaknesses. The important thing was to recognize them. And not expect something from someone who didn’t have it to give.

He knew he should never have turned to Daniel. Not in that moment. Not in a crisis.

Not, perhaps, ever.

“You’re here now,” he said, looking into that worried face. “That’s what matters.”

“Do you think the driver meant to hit Stephen?” Annie asked.

“Well, yes.”

“No, I mean, do you think he knew it was Stephen?” she clarified. Her lawyer’s mind working. “Or do you think it was a random attack?”

Armand had been troubled by that himself. He couldn’t see how the driver could have specifically targeted his godfather. And yet, if it was a random terrorist attack, another one using a vehicle as the weapon, why hadn’t the driver plowed into them, too? Why take out just the one elderly man?

“I don’t know,” admitted Armand. He looked over his shoulder at the swinging doors. “I need to get back. I’ll let you know. I love you.”

“Love you,” said Annie, while Daniel nodded.

Reine-Marie hugged him tight and whispered, “Je t’aime.”

CHAPTER 5

Once back in their apartment, Reine-Marie sank into a rose-scented bubble bath and closed her eyes. Trying to get the filth of the events off her. She took in deep, soothing breaths and could feel her body relax, though her mind kept working. Conjuring images.

Of Stephen, on the ground. Of Armand’s face. Of the van speeding by. And the car—coming straight at her.

She’d stayed rooted in place. Not leaping aside. If she had, the car would have hit Armand. And she’d be damned if she’d let that happen.

And then another image appeared. The expression on the face of the officer. Clearly not believing what she and Armand knew to be true.

This was no accident.

“You okay?” asked Jean-Guy. “You must be exhausted.”

He’d carried Honoré home, fast asleep in his arms, the two blocks from Daniel and Roslyn’s apartment. After putting his son to bed, he’d waited up for Annie, texting her now and then short messages of support.

Now Annie and Jean-Guy lay in bed as she tried to get comfortable. The lights out. Honoré’s baby monitor confirming he was sound asleep.