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She motioned them to sit.

“You’re Monsieur Horowitz’s next of kin?”

“I’m his godson. We were with him when it happened.”

“You’re named as next of kin on his Québec hospital card.”

“Which means you can tell us how he is.”

“Yes. And you can make medical decisions. There’s significant trauma. Honestly, a man his age should not have survived. He must be very strong.”

“Strong-willed, for sure,” said Reine-Marie, and the doctor smiled.

“He is that,” she agreed. “Unfortunately, if will to live was all it took, most of us would never die.” She looked at them for a moment. “We have him in a medically induced coma. He’s in no pain that we know of. We’re monitoring him closely. Since he’s survived the night, there is a chance he’ll go on.”

Armand noticed she didn’t say “recover.” She confirmed his suspicions a moment later.

“You must prepare yourself for a difficult decision.”

She looked into those thoughtful eyes. They were deep brown, and she could tell this was a man who’d had to make many difficult and painful decisions. Who’d known pain himself. That much was etched into his face, and not just by the deep scar at his temple.

She’d seen wounds like that before, when working emergency, and she knew what must have made it. She looked at him with more interest.

Yes, there was pain in that face. But now she saw other lines. This man also knew happiness.

And by the way he and his wife held hands, lightly, they knew love.

She was glad. They’d need it.

“Can we see him, please?”

“Yes, but only one of you, and briefly. We have some papers for you to sign, and there are his personal effects. Best to take them with you, for safekeeping.”

“I’ll get those,” said Reine-Marie as they stood up. “While you see Stephen.”

“There’s a gendarme outside Monsieur Horowitz’s door,” said the doctor. “I understand there’s some concern that this was no accident.”

“Yes.”

They left Reine-Marie to sort Stephen’s things, which arrived in a sealed cardboard box, while Armand was taken down the quiet hall, to a private room.

The gendarme, at a word from the doctor, let him pass.

Opening the box, Reine-Marie shoved aside the bloodstained clothing, cut off by the emergency room medics, then opened the sealed plastic bag. Stephen’s iPhone was there. Smashed.

She tried it. It was dead.

There was loose change, and mints, and a handkerchief. His wallet had 305 euros, and credit cards.

She was about to close the bag when she remembered the things she’d picked up from the street the night before. Reaching into her handbag, Reine-Marie placed Stephen’s broken glasses and keys into the bag.

Then, pausing, she took a closer look at the keys.

Last night, in the dark and panic, they hadn’t struck her as odd. Now, in daylight and relative calm, they did.

In fact, far more than just odd.

CHAPTER 7