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Dussault had forgotten that his friend was a student of history. And, therefore, of human nature.
“You’re right, of course. Monsieur Horowitz has no family of his own?” Claude asked, bringing the topic back to the man fighting for his life just meters away. “Siblings?”
“Not that I know of. Stephen’s family lived in Dresden.”
No more needed to be said about that.
“A wife? Children?”
Armand shook his head. “Just me.”
“I have agents going over the CCTV cameras in the area. Since we know the time of the attack, we’ll be able to find the van as it turned onto rue de Rivoli.”
“And where Stephen was hit?”
Claude shook his head. “We can’t put cameras on every block in Paris, so no, none on the small side street. But shopkeepers might have their own. They’ll be canvassed as soon as stores open. But there’s something I can’t immediately get my head around.”
“Was Stephen the target, or was it random?”
“Yes. If this was an attempt on Monsieur Horowitz specifically, how did the driver know it was him?”
“And if it was random, a terrorist attack like the others using vehicles, why didn’t the driver try to hit more people?” said Gamache. “Us. We were as vulnerable as Stephen.”
“Yes. We’re categorizing this as a hit-and-run, but”—he put up his hand to stop any protest—“treating it as attempted murder.”
Claude Dussault looked at his friend. And spoke the words Armand Gamache needed to hear: “I believe you.”
Both men looked over as a doctor stepped through the swinging doors.
CHAPTER 6
The moment she heard the creak of the front door, Reine-Marie was instantly awake and out of bed.
“Armand?”
“Oui,” he said, whispering, though without knowing why.
Reine-Marie switched on the hall light.
“Stephen?” she asked as she embraced him.
“Still alive.”
“Oh, thank God.” Though even as she spoke, she wondered if thanks were really owing. “How is he?”
“Critical. He’s in recovery. They wouldn’t let me see him.”
“How are you?”
She looked into his haggard face and saw his eyes well. She grabbed him to her again, and they held on to each other.
Weeping for Stephen.
For themselves.
For a world where this could happen as they strolled happily along a familiar street.
They stepped apart and wiped their faces and blew their noses, then Armand followed her into the kitchen.
