All the Devils Are Here (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #16) - Louise Penny Page 0,69

More tired, Armand thought, than when they’d parted.

The video started again. Stephen walked across the Art Deco lobby and disappeared.

He was alone.

“Can we see where he went?” Gamache asked.

Madame Béland hit more keys. They were able to track Stephen’s progress through the lobby, down the hall to the right. Through the large open room where elegantly dressed men and women were having afternoon tea or drinks. Stephen looked around before heading down the hall to the bank of elevators.

Madame Béland brought up the camera outside his suite. The elevator doors opened, and Stephen stepped out and disappeared into his suite.

“Can you go back? To the elevator?” asked Gamache.

Madame Béland did.

“Stop, please,” said Gamache.

There, frozen on the screen, was Stephen. Alone in the elevator. Armand realized he’d never actually seen his godfather when he thought no one was looking.

And what he saw was a very elderly man. Grim. Vulnerable.

Determined. Afraid.

A Burgher of Calais in the George V elevator.

“Is that such a good idea, sir,” asked Irena Fontaine. “To take everything?”

Claude Dussault smiled at her as he replaced items in the box. “We’ve been through it, more than once, and didn’t find anything. It’s possible Monsieur Gamache will. And I suspect he’d notice if anything’s missing. Even this.”

He held up a screw, then dropped it into the box.

“We need to go back to the front door,” said Beauvoir. “See who else arrived. Who Stephen was expecting. He ordered that second beer for someone.”

The video played. They saw guests and visitors and staff entering and exiting. And then they saw him.

At 5:26 Alexander Plessner walked confidently through the lobby of the grand hotel, a satchel over his shoulder.

“He must’ve come straight from the airport,” said Beauvoir.

A hotel official stopped Plessner, and they watched as the older man chattered, gesturing toward the hotel bar. The official nodded and watched him walk away.

“Your security?” asked Gamache.

“Yes. Private firm. Very good. Trained to be courteous, and to take down an assassin.”

Beauvoir raised his brows. “Has that happened often?”

“Once. And two kidnapping attempts. We also get a lot of protesters. Our clientele are rich and powerful. We take security seriously.”

“As I saw,” said Gamache. “Your people came up quickly, to see who we were.”

“Yes, well, not fast enough. We’re looking into that. Had you been intent on harm, you might have gotten away with it.”

But looking at the man, she understood how he and his wife got past security in the lobby. He managed to look both authoritative and trustworthy. Here was a man who naturally belonged.

It would take an extraordinary person to challenge him. And, once challenged, to stop him.

Now, the other fellow? She looked at Beauvoir. Handsome, she thought. But there was something almost wild about him. As though he was just pretending to be civilized.

Yes, he’d be stopped. Though if he wanted to get by, or through, their security, she had no doubt he would do so. But it wouldn’t be subtle and it wouldn’t be pretty.

On the screen, they watched Plessner take the same route as Stephen. A minute later he entered the suite.

Madame Béland put it into double speed. The beers arrived. The time stamp said 7:14 when the door opened again and Plessner stepped out. At the door Stephen said something.

They zoomed in.

“Looks like,” said Beauvoir, leaning close, “‘Good luck.’ But I can’t make out the rest.”

“Monsieur Horowitz is saying, ‘ Text me when you have it.’” They looked at Madame Béland, who explained. “You get good at lip-reading in my job.”

“Stephen checked his phone a few times over dinner,” said Jean-Guy. “That explains why.”

He also, Armand knew, had his phone in his hand when he was hit.

It became even more frustrating that the chip was smashed and they couldn’t retrieve his messages. Had Plessner managed to get something off before he was killed?

On the screen, they followed Monsieur Plessner out of the hotel. And to his death.

Gamache’s brow furrowed. He always found it moving to see someone in the final images. Oblivious to what was awaiting them.

They continued to watch the door, but no one followed him.

On the exterior camera the doorman waved over a taxi and Plessner got in.

At 7:53 Stephen himself left. He’d changed into a slightly more formal suit. Before getting into a taxi, he checked his phone.

“Is there a way to know if the video has been tampered with?” Gamache asked.

The GM looked at him, astonished, but didn’t argue the point. “Well, yes. There’s a time stamp generator. If it was edited, there’d be a slight