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And, equally disturbing, what Annie had told him. And what that could mean.

Jean-Guy stopped. Supposedly to stare into the duck pond. But actually, he’d picked up the fact he wasn’t alone. Someone was quietly watching from the shadows.

A thief? Was he about to be robbed?

It is a mystery, he hummed as he slowly circled the pond. It is a big mystery.

Then, turning quickly, his hand shot out, but the man had lightning reflexes and jumped out of his grasp, then turned and took off.

Jean-Guy ran after him, and while the man was younger and had the advantage of age, Jean-Guy had the advantage of rage.

The man ran out into the traffic along rue de Bretagne. Horns sounded and curses followed them down rue du Temple, the distance between the men growing. The man turned down an alley, knocking over bins to slow his pursuer.

While all his survival instincts, all his training, told Jean-Guy it was a mistake to follow a suspect into a dark alley, his instincts as a husband and father were stronger.

The man disappeared around a corner.

Skidding around the corner, Beauvoir saw a brick wall at least ten feet high blocking their way. It was a dead end.

The man didn’t slow down. Didn’t hesitate. He ran full tilt at it, leaping and grabbing the top. Pulling himself up, he went over the other side.

At the very top, he twisted and looked back.

Directly at Beauvoir.

Then he dropped from sight.

Beauvoir got to the wall and jumped. Clutching for the top. His fingers scraping the bricks. Clawing at them for purchase. But he skidded down. Once, twice, three times he tried. Then stopped. Bending over, holding his knees. Gasping for breath.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he muttered, pounding the wall with each word.

Then he turned and jogged back to the apartment, picking up speed, breaking into a run as his mind raced ahead of him.

Had he actually been lured away? Was he meant to chase one man while another broke in?

He was running across streets as cars slammed on brakes.

At his building he took the stairs two at a time, yanking himself up with the handrail.

The door to their apartment was closed. And still locked. But …

Hands trembling, he unlocked it and ran to Honoré’s room, then checked on Annie.

Both were asleep. Both snoring lightly.

Returning to the front door, he double locked it. Then, leaning against it, he slid down, landing on the floor, his knees to his chin and his head in his hands.

What could have happened to his family?

He got up and walked unsteadily into the living room. The chase had not been totally futile. He’d found out one thing.

The man had turned at the top of the wall on purpose. So that Jean-Guy could get a good look at him.

It was the guard Loiselle.

Jean-Guy’s bloody hand reached for the phone. The Chief was right. Some things were solved by walking. And some by running.

Armand put down the phone and turned to Claude.