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CHAPTER 22

Jean-Guy stared at the printout.

“Holy Mother of God,” he said, and looked up into the steady eyes of the General Manager of the George V. “You charge that much for a pot of coffee?”

“Service is included,” said Jacqueline Béland.

She’d joined them in Stephen’s suite, at Gamache’s request, and brought the statement of room charges with her. Also at his request.

“How many people were serving this coffee?” Beauvoir asked, his voice almost squeaky with shock. “How big is the pot? Have you seen the total, patron? Thank God Stephen’s good for it.”

“Yes,” said Gamache, not bothering to tell Jean-Guy that he and Reine-Marie were covering the bill. Though he had discouraged Beauvoir from ordering up a club sandwich.

“Look,” said Gamache, running his finger down the first sheet, then turning it over. There were three sheets of room charges. “Stephen ate all his meals in his room. Alone. For ten days. But look at this.”

He pointed to the day before. In the afternoon. There was a room charge for two beers. Stephen’s usual and an Abbaye de Leffe beer.

“He had company,” said Jean-Guy, examining the bill. “The beers were ordered up after he left the Lutetia at four, and before he met us at Juveniles.”

“Oui. This’s where he was for at least part of the time.” Gamache turned to Madame Béland. “He made a note of Plessner’s arrival, before dinner.”

He brought out Stephen’s agenda to double-check, and there it was. AFP. Alexander Francis Plessner.

“You have security cameras?” Jean-Guy asked the General Manager.

“Many, yes. Everywhere except the actual guest rooms.”

“We’ll need to see the footage.”

“I’ll have my assistant bring up my laptop and we can view it here,” she said, understanding their need for privacy. And speed.

She placed the call.

“Do you know an Alexander Plessner?” Beauvoir asked.

“No. The Inspector in charge showed me a picture of him.” She paused. “Is he … ?”

“So he wasn’t staying here?” asked Gamache.

“No. I looked him up. No one named Alexander Plessner has stayed here. He might’ve visited, of course.”

Neither Beauvoir nor Gamache mentioned that Plessner was in fact a guest. And staying in this very suite.

“How about Eugénie Roquebrune?” Beauvoir asked.

“The head of GHS Engineering? I’ve heard of her, but we’ve never met. Not that I haven’t tried.”

“Why would you?” asked Gamache.

“Because I’d like her business. Their account would be worth hundreds of thousands of euros a year.”

“But you don’t have it?” asked Beauvoir. “Their account, I mean.”

“Non.”

Just then there was a quiet knock on the door and a young man with a laptop appeared. Sitting at the long dining table, Madame Béland opened it up and logged in.

“What day and time are you interested in?” she asked.