The Blood Promise: A Hugo Marston Novel (15 page)

“Yes. Absolutely. Kind of a huge scoop, when I think about it.”

“Which means you won’t tell me. What a tease.”

“Sorry, can’t.”

“Can’t and won’t are equally unhelpful from where I’m sitting.”

“Not to me,” Hugo sighed, “honestly, I’d love to spill my guts, and preferably over a bottle of wine.”

“Oh, Hugo, you do sound tired.”

“Told you.”

“Maybe we can get together this weekend, are you free?”

“That depends on how tonight and tomorrow go. Can I call you when I know?”

“Only if you’re allowed to.” She was teasing him now—the first time in a while, and he felt himself grinning like a teenager.

“I’ll sneak out and call if I have to.”

“Do that.”

Garcia looked over as Hugo put his phone away. “What’s the plan?”

“If you don’t mind, drop me at the Crillon and then your evening is your own.”

“You want some help there?”

“No, thanks. It’ll take me a minute or two and there’s no point both of us wasting our time, especially since you have someone at home waiting for you.”

“With open arms and a three-course dinner,” Garcia said, his flat tone disguising either sarcasm or longing. “So what’s with you and the lovely Claudia?”

Hugo shrugged. “Nothing, literally. Best described as off-again, off-again.”

“Is that how you want it?”

“Sometimes. Mostly not, to be honest.”

“I don’t blame you, she’s a special lady.”

“She is. I like being around her, Raul, she’s smart and funny and we have a good time.” He pictured her, laughing in his apartment in tank top and jeans. “Sexy as hell, too.”

“Can’t argue with any of that. So, she’s not wanting more?”

“I’m assuming not. Ever since that business with Max and her father, she’s been distant. Friendly, always, but she’s hard to read as far as wanting more.”

Garcia smiled. “Ever thought about asking her?”

“Nope. Maybe this weekend if I see her.”

“
Bonne idée
. But I suppose you have to find your senator first.”

A serious young man in a gray suit came to the front desk when Hugo gave his name at reception. He introduced himself as Anthony, the head of hotel security. He looked too young to be the head of anything, but his smooth ebony skin probably knocked a few years off his real age and his intelligent eyes and firm handshake were reassuring. He talked, his English flawless, as they moved to the elevators. Two middle-aged women preserved by makeup and plastic surgery drifted up behind them and put down their shopping bags with conspiratorial sighs of exhaustion.

Anthony lowered his voice. “Your friend was staying in one of our deluxe suites. We show him leaving the hotel at ten this morning, heading toward the river. Since then, his two secret service agents and someone else, a Mr. Green working for your embassy, have been in the room. No one else.”

“What time was Mr. Green here?”

“Around one.” A small smile. “Mr. Green, sounds like he’s a Quentin Tarantino character.”

“Funny you should say that.” The elevator gave a soft ding and Hugo stood aside to let the women enter. “He’s very much a Tarantino character, though it’s his real name.”

“As far as we know, right?” Anthony winked. Hugo liked this young man very much.

Anthony unlocked the door with a swipe of his key card and bade the American enter Senator Lake’s suite. Hugo stood just inside the doorway and looked around, getting the lay of the room, a separate lounge area, before moving to its center. It was just as he’d imagined, beautifully furnished in classic
grand-siècle
style, a warm red and cream rug on an already soft carpet floor, painted paneled walls, a marble fireplace, and the kind of plush yet elegant chairs that might have been plucked straight from the Palace of Versailles.

“A question.” Hugo turned to Anthony. “Did the maid come into the room today, specifically after Senator Lake walked out but before his detail realized he was gone?”

“No, sir.”

“You sound sure.”

“I am. When he first got here, the senator phoned down and canceled all maid and cleaning services for his whole stay.”

“Really?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Is that common, for a guest to do that?”

“No, not really. I mean, this isn’t the first time but I definitely wouldn’t say it’s common.”

“I assume he didn’t give a reason?”

“No, and the staff wouldn’t have asked for one. You pretty much have things your way when you stay here.”

“Especially when you’re a senator.”

Anthony shrugged. “When you’re anyone. The people who stay here are accustomed to having things the way they like, and one of the reasons they come here is because we like to accommodate them.”

Hugo started moving slowly around the room, compartmentalizing it and analyzing each section for what should or shouldn’t be there. Small signs might tell him if the senator’s absence was intentional or not, whether sudden or planned, or intended to be brief or extended. He spent a few minutes at the desk, which held an empty note pad, a pocket map of Paris, and some other papers that told Hugo nothing.

When he’d circled the room he moved into the bedroom, furnished in the same elegant style with a king bed taking up much of the room. The covers had been pulled up but the bed wasn’t made, and Hugo found no evidence of a second person having slept in it, no makeup on pillows or long hairs laying in the sheets.

Hugo saw that Anthony had followed him from one doorway to the next, watching with interest but quiet, letting Hugo do his job.

“Let me know if you see anything amiss,” Hugo said.

Anthony straightened, surprised. “Me? How would I know?”

“These are your rooms. I know you guys furnish them individually, but maybe they all have the same ashtray and it’s missing. Perhaps a lamp should be in one corner but it’s been moved to another. Something like that.”

The security man’s eyes narrowed as he looked at the room in a new light, as somewhere he was now relevant, potentially helpful. “I don’t think so, nothing jumps out at me. I’ll look in the lounge.”

The bathroom was as unyielding as the other rooms. No signs of a struggle, no obvious indicators that told Hugo where the senator had gone or why he’d left. Lake hadn’t taken his toothbrush or other toiletries, and Tom had already checked that all the senator’s bags were present and accounted for, so they were still assuming he’d planned a short absence.

The oddity was Lake’s phone. A man as connected and politically important, Hugo knew, very rarely went anywhere without his phone these days. It was more than just a phone, too, Lake could have used it to text, connect to the Internet, or guide himself around Paris.

“We need to have another look at the surveillance video,” he said when Anthony returned. “See anything?”

“No. Why the surveillance tapes again?”

“He left here with someone. Either he met them in the hotel or close by. It’s possible whoever that person was, he or she showed up and met him in the lobby, persuaded him to ditch his phone and his security and go out.”

“He or she? You’re thinking a lady friend?”

“This is Paris, and he’s a politician. It’s not impossible. What we do know is that he left here without his phone or his map, and having never been to Paris before, you can bet it’s not because he knows his way around.”

“So he’s with someone who does know Paris.”

“That’s my bet.”

Both men froze as the door into the suite opened. Hugo gestured for Anthony to move into the corner of the bedroom, out of sight from the lounge area, while he moved quietly toward the doorway. His hand hovered near his jacket, though he couldn’t imagine using his weapon here in the hotel. Hugo heard someone moving steadily through the lounge, either carefree or in a hurry, and he took a deep breath and moved into sight.

Hugo took a moment to register.

“What the hell are you doing in my room?” Senator Lake demanded. He looked pale and tired, his clothes were rumpled and one of his shoelaces was undone.

“Trying to find you, as it happens.”

Lake went to the drinks cabinet and poured himself a brandy, then slumped onto the sofa. “You found me, Hugo, you can go now.”

Hugo turned and spoke to Anthony. “He’s back. Thanks for all your help, I’ll take it from here.” Anthony nodded and walked into the lounge, where he nodded a respectful
bonjour
to the senator and kept going out of the suite into the hallway, closing the door gently behind him.

“Backup?” If it was an attempt at sarcasm it fell short, coming out as no more than a weary question.

“In law enforcement terminology,” Hugo said, “he’s what we call the key-holder.”

“Well, you can call off the hounds, I’m home safe and sound.”

“Mind telling me where you were?”

“Yes, I do.”

“I thought so, but there are a lot of people who’re going to be asking you that question.”

Lake looked up, a flash of anger in his eyes. “It’s Paris. When people are in Paris they explore, is that so fucking unusual?”

Hugo eased into a chair opposite the senator, keeping his tone mild. “It’s a little unusual when the person is a senator who slips his security detail and wanders about without his phone or a map.”

“I like to be alone sometimes.” He sounded like a recalcitrant child and he dipped his nose into his glass to avoid looking at Hugo.

“We all do.” Hugo let the silence draw out. “Senator, is everything all right?”

“Yes. Everything’s fine, I’m just tired. You think everyone could just leave me alone until tomorrow morning? I’ll be fresh as a daisy and we can get back to work.” At last, he looked up. “But tonight, I would like to be left in peace so I can sleep.”

“Sure. I’ll let your detail know you’re here and not to bother you. I can’t promise that Ambassador Taylor won’t phone, but I’ll pass on your request. One thing, though.”

“What?”

“You said ‘get back to work.’ You meant the Guadeloupe negotiations?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’m not sure I understand. You’re ready to go back to Chateau Tourville?”

“That’s right. I think . . . I was wrong about seeing someone in my room, that’s clear to me now.”

“I imagine Henri Tourville will be pleased to hear that.”

“I’m sure. I’ll apologize when I see him and you can put an end to whatever little investigation you had going.”

“I can certainly terminate that end of it, yes.”

“What do you mean, ‘that end of it’?” His tone was sharp.

“I don’t know what the ambassador told you but the house is linked to another crime, a murder east of Paris.”

“What the hell does that have to do with me? Or you, for that matter?”

“Nothing, I’m sure. I’m just letting you know that there is an active investigation that tangentially involves the chateau.”

Lake put his glass down. “And how does Tourville feel about that?”

“As you’d imagine. Not happy at all.”

“I should think not. Look, Hugo, I may have gone off the deep end a little for a day or so, but we need these talks back on track. I’m serious. You and the French police can’t be poking around the hallways and bedrooms while we’re discussing international law and the future of people’s lives.”

“I’m sure the police will be discreet, but if you think it’s going to be disruptive, we can move the talks elsewhere. Here in Paris, at the embassy perhaps.”

“No! Dammit, the whole point of going out there was to keep it low-key and friendly. If we’d wanted a media circus we’d have held talks at the embassy or somewhere else people could pester us. What the hell are we going to tell the press? This may not be the biggest story in the world but you can bet your ass it’ll become one if you go around linking the Tourvilles to some random murder on the other side of the country.” He stood up and began pacing. “No, Hugo. This has to get back on track, and you and the police need to sit tight for a few days until our work is done. You hear me?”

Hugo rose, also. “Loud and clear, senator. You’re now telling me no one came into your room and you made the whole thing up.”

“Imagined it.” Lake pointed a finger at Hugo. “Not made it up, I was mistaken. So that part of the investigation goes away and the Tourvilles are left alone.” He sat down again and ran a hand through his hair. “Look, I’m sorry, Hugo. I don’t mean to be the yelling politician who wants to get his own way
just because
. This negotiation, it’s important to my career and to the people who live on those islands, of course. Sometimes my imagination can . . . It’s a little problem I’ve been dealing with my whole life. Nothing serious, really, I promise, but I can get an idea in my head and convince myself it’s true. It can take a day strolling the banks of the Seine to clear my mind and get back to what matters.” A tired smile. “Am I making any sense, here?”