Page 15

In fact, the head of homicide for the Sûreté du Québec was scanning the street. Taking in, instinctively, the brasseries, the shops. The doorways, the alleyways. Their fellow pedestrians. The cars and trucks.

Paris was far from immune to violence. And had a tragic recent history of terrorist attacks.

While comfortable in the city, he was still keenly aware of his surroundings. But then, he did the same thing while walking the dogs through the forest at home.

They strolled down rue de Richelieu and in less than a minute had arrived at the bar à vins, with its window display of bottles.

They were greeted with kisses and embraces by the owner’s daughter, Margaux.

Now a grown woman and married, Margaux had been there thirty-five years earlier when the Gamaches had run into Juveniles, soaked through in a sudden downpour, and decided to stay for dinner.

Margaux had been just five years old and was working the bar.

Her father had bent down and whispered in her ear, pointing to them. She’d walked over to the newcomers, a white linen towel over her raised forearm, and gravely suggested a nice red wine from Andalusia.

She’d pronounced it carefully. Then looked back at her father, who nodded approval and smiled at the young couple.

Margaux had now taken over the restaurant and her husband, Ro-main, was the head chef. But Tim remained the owner and was still known as the Big Boss.

This evening the familiar carafe was already on the table waiting for them. They were the first of their party to arrive and were seated at their regular long table by the wooden bar.

Armand and Reine-Marie chatted with the Big Boss, while jazz played softly in the background. Within minutes Daniel and Roslyn arrived, with Annie and Jean-Guy.

There were shouts of delight as Margaux put her hand on Annie’s belly and the two women discussed the upcoming birth, while the others exchanged greetings.

Once the hubbub died down, they sat. Daniel poured the wine, and Margaux brought over fresh-squeezed juice for Annie and a Coke for Jean-Guy. Warm baguettes were placed on cutting boards on the table, along with a terrine de campagne, whipped butter, and small bowls of olives.

“I thought Stephen was coming,” said Annie, looking at the empty chair.

“He is,” said her father. “We saw each other this afternoon.”

“Let me guess,” said Daniel. “At the Musée Rodin?” He turned to Roslyn. “Did you ever hear about when Dad decided to propose to Mom?”

“Never,” said Roslyn, with exaggerated interest. Like the rest of them, she’d heard it a hundred times. “What happened?”

Armand narrowed his eyes at his daughter-in-law, in mock disapproval, and she laughed.

“The girls love their pajamas,” Roslyn said to Reine-Marie. “I’m afraid they’re going to want to wear them everywhere.”

“I say let them,” said Daniel. “And by the way, Mamma, thank you for not letting Dad pick out the gift.”

“He had the paint rollers all wrapped before I stopped him.”

Armand shook his head sadly. “I guess they’ll have to wait until Christmas.”

While the others laughed, Armand watched Daniel.

He was enjoying himself.

Daniel seemed to have made peace with Jean-Guy. Long jealous of the close relationship his father had developed with his second-in-command, now Daniel could establish his own relationship with Jean-Guy.

Still, Armand noticed that Daniel made sure to put Jean-Guy as far from him as possible. Though that might have just been a coincidence.

He himself hoped to find time in the next day or so for a quiet walk or meal with Daniel. Just the two of them. To make sure everything really was okay, after what Stephen had said.

Armand’s eyes returned to the empty chair. It was twenty past eight, and Stephen, normally a fiend for punctuality, hadn’t arrived.

“Excusez-moi,” he said, and made to get up, just as the door to the bistro opened and the elderly man appeared.