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Dussault tossed the soldered coins in the air, caught them, then put them in his pocket. “For luck.”
“Actually, Claude, if they are Stephen’s good-luck charm, I’d like to take them to the hospital. Put them by his bed.”
Most people, Armand knew, had some degree of superstition, and imbued objects and rituals with power. From crucifixes to the Star of David, from a rabbit’s foot to a lucky pair of socks.
This could be Stephen’s. Nickels stuck together. Money he could not spend.
“Of course,” said Dussault, and without hesitation he gave them to Armand. “Selfish of me, to want all the luck.”
He went back to the box and examined the torn and bloody clothing. Armand noticed that he looked for, and found, the hidden pocket. Which held Stephen’s passport. But not his agenda. That was sitting in Armand’s pocket. And would stay there.
Finally, from the bottom of the box, Claude Dussault brought out a publication.
“An annual report. You said he was here for meetings. Could this be one?”
Dussault placed the document on the sofa.
Armand watched as Jean-Guy picked it up. It was for GHS Engineering. Beauvoir’s company.
His face, at first, showed some confusion. That never lasted long with Beauvoir.
“Stephen?” he said quietly. “You?”
Armand was prepared for this, but no less dreading it. He’d known since the attempt on Stephen’s life, since they’d found the annual report on Stephen’s desk, since bringing it with them, since calling Beauvoir into the investigation, that this moment would come.
“What does this mean?” Jean-Guy asked, holding up the document.
There was no mistaking the barely contained anger in his voice.
“It means that Stephen helped find you your job, at my request.”
And there it was.
“You told Stephen to use his influence to get me my job at GHS?”
Armand stood up. “Let’s talk in the bedroom.”
Not waiting for Jean-Guy to agree, Armand walked across the huge living room, down the corridor, and into the farthest bedroom.
A moment later Beauvoir appeared, his lips thin. His eyes hard.
“Close the door, please,” said Armand.
Beauvoir gave it a sharp shove. Creating a bang that got the message across.
“I’m sorry,” said Armand.
Beauvoir opened his hands, indicating Is that it? while remaining mute. Partly because he didn’t know what to say. Partly out of fear of what he would say.
This was a betrayal, on so many levels. To not just do this thing, but to keep it from him.
They’d been through Hell together. Crossed the River Styx together. Paid the boatman in blood and agony and sorrow. Together.
They’d come back to the land of the living together. Scarred. Marked.
They were as connected as two humans could be.
And Armand had played God with Jean-Guy’s and Annie’s lives? He’d conspired to get Jean-Guy his job at GHS Engineering, without asking first? Without consulting him?
