All the Devils Are Here (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #16) - Louise Penny Page 0,20
Dussault.
“We have the CCTV images,” said the Prefect. “The van was a delivery truck reported stolen earlier in the evening. We have it turning onto rue de Rivoli right after Monsieur Horowitz was hit. From there it crossed Pont de la Concorde, to the Left Bank, and headed southeast. But the van disappeared into back streets. We’ll find the vehicle. I have no doubt. How much it’ll tell us is another matter. Any more word on Monsieur Horowitz’s condition?”
“Not since last night. We’re heading over there now.”
“Armand …” The Prefect hesitated. “After some sleep and time to reflect, do you still think it was a deliberate attempt on Monsieur Horowitz’s life?”
“Yes.”
It was a clear answer, and the one Dussault had expected. But Gamache’s insistence and his involvement were both unsettling and problematic.
“It must be revenge,” said Dussault. “How many companies and individuals did he ruin in his career?”
“They ruined themselves. He just caught them. He was one of the first to figure out what Madoff was doing and alert the SEC.”
“And Enron, I think.”
“Yes. Ken Lay had been a personal friend. But that didn’t stop Stephen from testifying against him. Believe me, it gave Stephen no pleasure, but he did it.”
“A sort of avenging angel. Is there anyone he was targeting now?”
“Not that I know of. I think he was mostly retired.”
Dussault sighed. “Okay. Do you know what brought him to Paris?”
“He said he was here mostly for the birth of Annie’s baby, but he mentioned he had some business early in the week. In fact, he was meeting someone for drinks before dinner.”
“But you don’t know who?”
“No, he didn’t say. Do you know if his phone was found?”
“I haven’t seen mention of it. It’s probably at the hospital with his personal effects.”
“I’ll look for it when we get there.”
“I’ll put a guard on Monsieur Horowitz’s room,” said the Prefect. “When you finish at the hospital, come by the 36. I’ll be here all day.”
“The 36” was the nickname for 36, quai des Orfèvres. Where the Préfecture de Police traditionally had its headquarters.
Most of the services had been moved to a new building, but some units and some people stayed behind. Claude Dussault, the head of all the forces, maintained an office there. Mostly because he preferred the storied old building on île de la Cité to the modern one.
And also because he could.
“Taxi?” Armand asked as they left their apartment.
“I’d prefer to walk, if it’s all right with you.”
It was less than ten minutes to the hospital, along streets he’d explored with his grandmother after she bought the apartment with the restitution money.
“Those askhouls thought they could get rid of me,” she’d said, triumphantly, as she’d slapped down the money for the apartment. “Well, I’m back.”
Young Armand did not need a translation.
As they’d walked the quartier, Zora told him about her life in the Marais, when she was his age. She’d point out the synagogues, the parks, the old shops that used to be owned by friends of the family.
All said in her cheerful voice, which somehow made it better. And worse.
Now he and Reine-Marie left Le Marais, crossing the Pont d’Arcole and pausing to look at the restoration work being done on Notre-Dame.
How long it takes to build something, he thought, and how quickly it can all be destroyed.
A look. A harsh word. A moment of distraction. A spark.
At the hôpital Hôtel-Dieu they took the elevator to the critical care unit.
Armand identified himself, showing his ID, and said, “We’re here to see Stephen Horowitz.”
“The doctor has asked if she can speak with you first,” said the nurse.
“Of course.”
They were guided to a private meeting room. Within minutes a doctor appeared.
“Monsieur et Madame Gamache?”
She motioned them to sit.
“You’re Monsieur Horowitz’s next of kin?”
“I’m his godson. We were with him when it happened.”
“You’re named as next of kin on his Québec hospital card.”
“Which means you can tell us how he is.”
“Yes. And you can make medical decisions. There’s significant trauma. Honestly, a man his age should not have survived. He must be very strong.”
“Strong-willed, for sure,” said Reine-Marie, and the doctor smiled.
“He is that,” she agreed. “Unfortunately, if will to live was all it took, most of us would never die.” She looked at them for a moment. “We have him in a medically induced coma. He’s in no pain that we know of. We’re monitoring him closely. Since he’s survived the night, there is a chance he’ll go on.”
Armand noticed she didn’t say “recover.” She confirmed his suspicions a