The Blood Promise: A Hugo Marston Novel (8 page)

“I did suggest that it might be, yes.”

“Right. Precisely. Which means I expect you to investigate this and bring me some answers. This may not seem like a big deal to you, and if it turns out that some wandering maid came to feel my forehead, then fine. But I won’t have you acting like it’s nothing at all when you have no clue who was in there, or why.” He pointed a finger at Hugo’s chest. “You will investigate, Hugo, because I see this as a personal violation and I appreciate neither the intrusion nor your collaboration in pretending nothing happened.”

Lake straightened, looked past both men for a brief moment, then turned on his heel and marched back toward the house.

Hugo and Henri Tourville watched him go. When he was out of earshot, the Frenchman said, “Why is he here, anyway?”

“What do you mean?”

“I know that he replaced the man we intended to speak with. I was not told why, other than some sort of family emergency.”

Hugo nodded. He’d wondered about the official story on that.

“Everyone knows he doesn’t like foreigners, especially us,” Tourville went on. “Why did they send him, of all people? And why did he agree to come?”

Hugo laughed. “How would I know that? I’m just keeping him company.”

“I’m serious, you are an intelligent man, I’m guessing you keep up with the news, with politics. Tell me what you think, because from where I’m standing he’s an odd replacement for Senator Railton.”

“I agree, they are quite different.” Hugo paused. “Between us, Monsieur Tourville, Senator Railton was threatened. He was scared off, that’s why he didn’t come. And that made finding the perfect replacement hard, I’m sure.”

“Why didn’t they tell us? Surely they didn’t think—”

“No, no,” Hugo said hurriedly. “Some local crackpot, nothing to do with you. But, I’m guessing it made finding a replacement hard. As Railton’s second-in-command, it made sense for Lake to fill in.” Hugo thought for a moment. “And If I had to guess, I’d say that he’s come here to prove himself. To show the people who are giving him money that he can come here and be a tough negotiator, but also to show his opponents that he’s able to strike a deal with foreign counterparts. Potentially it’s a win–win for him. And if it all goes wrong, well, with all due respect, Monsieur Tourville, not too many people in America will dwell on the fate of the Guadeloupe Islands.”

“Meaning there’s nothing for him to screw up too badly.”

“Right.”

“Is he the man we’ve read about, or is there more to him? Our press has been quite unkind.”

“You know,” said Hugo, “I think he’s a conflicted man, I really do.”

“Conflicted or paranoid?”

Hugo raised an eyebrow. “No comment. But I don’t think he’s as isolationist as he acts, I think a lot of it is just hot air. Now, his major backers, the people who put him in office, I can’t speak to them. I know a couple of the places he gets his money and I’m sure they are less than excited about him being here.”

“Do you like him?”

“I wasn’t expecting to, that’s for sure,” Hugo said. “I don’t think I know him well enough to say. I’m not sure we’d ever be best friends but then again, I’m also pretty sure he’s a lot nicer than he lets on.”

Tourville grunted. “The paranoia aside.”

“Well,” Hugo smiled, “we all have our issues.”

“We do, and mine is resurrecting these talks. Do you have any suggestions?”

“I’m afraid I’m not a politician, Monsieur Tourville, I’m just keeping him company.” This was, indeed, a problem for the politicians to handle, but still. Not taking Lake’s allegations seriously could mean the end of his participation, certainly in the short term, and Hugo had a strong feeling that brushing off the senator’s concerns might just make a minor dispute that much worse.

They turned back toward the fields and leant on the fence in silence. The grass was now bathed in sunlight as overhead the bulky rain clouds had fragmented, showing thick ribbons of blue sky that twisted amongst them. A breeze pushed across the open land bringing with it the soft and musty smell of wet and fertile farmland.

“Is he serious about an investigation?” Tourville finally asked.

“It seems like it,” Hugo said.

“I was afraid of that. I can’t allow it, I’m afraid. I won’t allow it, such a thing is unthinkable here.” He shook his head. “This is ridiculous. What if he’s playing some kind of idiotic game? I mean, think how this looks; an American officer investigating on French soil, in my house. And because of what? No, no, I don’t think so.”

“I understand completely. But I also know you want to get these talks moving.” An idea was forming in Hugo’s mind, and after a moment he turned to Tourville and said, “You know, I may have a way to satisfy the senator and safeguard your home and reputation.”

“You do?” He gave a tired smile. “You know, Ambassador Taylor is a friend of mine and he’s told me good things about you. That you can be trusted. So please, tell me.”

Hugo dialed and the phone rang twice before being answered.

“
Allo?
Hugo, is that you?”

“
Bonjour, mon ami
,” Hugo said. “How are you?”

“Always better for hearing from you. But since you ask, very busy.”

“Are you too busy for a wild idea and a trip to the countryside?”

“I don’t have time for much of anything these days, as my wife will testify. Especially one of your adventures.”

Capitaine Raul Garcia sounded tired, Hugo thought, but there was still humor in his voice. Hugo had once compared the policeman to a cactus, prickly on the outside but sweet inside. Their friendship had begun with Garcia extending a few, and grudging, professional courtesies during Hugo’s hunt for his bouquiniste friend Max. They’d worked well together on that case, learned to trust each other, and soon become friends as well as colleagues. And now more than ever, Hugo needed a friend in a policeman’s uniform.

“This is less an adventure and more a matter of dry international politics.”

“Sounds tedious. But safe, at least. What could international politics possibly want from me?”

Hugo explained the situation, trying to be tactful and even-handed in describing Senator Lake’s allegations and Tourville’s concerns for his reputation.

Garcia listened attentively, then asked, “Even if someone was in his room, why is it such a big deal?”

“He thinks it’s a breach of security, which makes it a big deal to him.”

“And that makes it a big deal to everyone, I suppose. But suppose he’s right, how can it be proven and what can be done about it?”

“I think the point is that we try.”

“We?”

“I need it done discreetly. If I tell Monsieur Tourville that we are friends and I tell Lake that you’ve helped me solve cases in the past, then we can take care of this quickly and the politicians can get back to work.”

“And stop acting like babies.”

Hugo chuckled. “Well, they’ll still be politicians, so let’s not expect miracles. What do you think?”

Garcia sighed. “I don’t know, Hugo. I really am swamped here and I wasn’t kidding about my wife, things have been . . . difficult lately.”

“I’m sorry, Raul, I wouldn’t ask if I had another solution. And I would very much like to see you again, maybe Madam Garcia can come with you for some country air. Be good for you both to get away.”

“Nice idea, but we’re not . . .
Alors
, I can come down tomorrow, is that soon enough?”

“It’s perfect. I’ll ship the senator back to Paris, seal off the room, and when you can get here you can dust the place for prints and talk to a few people.”

Garcia sighed again. “It’ll be good to see you, too, Hugo. Friendly faces in this business can be few and far between sometimes.” His voice perked up. “And it’s been a year or two since I’ve taken prints at a crime scene, it’ll be a good refresher for me.”

“Excellent, thanks Raul. And so you know, the chef is wonderful here and they serve very good wine. Very good indeed.”

“Well then,” Garcia said, “I really do have something to look forward to. I’ll bring cigars.”

Senator Lake was happy to go back to Paris. He packed his bags while still bristling at the outrage of the night before, although he’d been somewhat mollified by the impending investigation and was grateful to Hugo for taking charge of it. Lake shook hands with Henri Tourville on the chateau’s steps, both a little cool, but they agreed that in a couple of days talks could resume, here or elsewhere, perhaps depending on what the Paris policeman discovered.

Ambassador Taylor was less thrilled at the prospect of entertaining his compatriot for forty-eight hours but impressed by Hugo’s solution.

“And it leaves me,” Hugo told the ambassador, “with a few days to enjoy the fresh air and find a book or two to read.”

“The place probably has a library, right?”

“I’m in it right now. Quite small but comfortable and well-stocked enough for me to have spent the morning in here. I read about hunting dogs favored by the rich and famous and a little bit about the demise of King Louis XVI and his lovely wife. Anyway, it looks like the sun’s coming out, so I’ll probably go for a walk in a little bit.”

“Don’t rub it in, Marston,” Taylor grumped. “And wrap things up as soon as you can, we do have an international crisis to resolve remember.”

“We? Oh no, not me Mr. Ambassador, I’m just the—”

“Yes, yes, I know what you are. But you might want to remember that I can easily promote you. Note taker, perhaps. Or sandwich bearer.”

Hugo rang off with a laugh, then looked at the phone in his hand. He pulled himself out of his armchair and wandered out of the library into the main hall, headed for the main doors. Outside, he followed the gravel pathway around to the back of the house and found a quiet spot at the rear of the garden, a wooden bench protected from the sun, and to some degree the rain, by a trellis laced with brown vines of some creeping plant he couldn’t recognize.

He sat quietly for a moment, his mind turning to Claudia, and he wondered if a phone call would bug her, interrupt her at work—he’d no idea what she might be doing—but he dialed anyway.

“What a nice surprise!” Her voice sounded bright, and he knew she was smiling.

“How’s my favorite newspaper reporter?”

“You charmer.” Claudia laughed, the gentlest of sounds. “But how many reporters do you know?”

“Millions,” he lied.

“I’m glad to hear it. And glad to hear from you. I’m fine, keeping busy. They have me covering that Archambault case.”

“I saw the headline, and your name, but didn’t read it.”

“Horrible business. A suicide and then some. Monsieur Archambault was a fairly prominent banker, he had a nice house and a pretty wife. But he was working long hours, was stressed, and for some reason he thought his wife was cheating on him. He checked her internet history, her emails, and found some from a man he didn’t know that seemed to be in a code of sorts. He was convinced she was going to leave him so instead of talking to her, getting an explanation, he strangled her and hung himself. She lived, thank God, but he died.”

“She wasn’t having an affair?”

“No, quite the opposite. She was arranging a trip for just the two of them and the cryptic emails were from a travel agent trying to keep the secret. The poor husband got an idea in his head and for whatever reason he couldn’t shake it. Especially sad because they had two kids.”

“Like you say, a horrible tragedy,” said Hugo. “Sometimes the reality in our heads is more powerful than actual reality.”

“For sure.” Her voice brightened. “Other than that, I’m doing well. You?”

“Yep, fine. Out in the countryside for a few days. It’s a work thing, but I have a day or so of down time.”

“Lucky you.” There was a slight catch in her voice and Hugo knew she was wondering whether he was about to invite her to join him. He wondered the same thing.

“Yep. I was actually hoping to see you again at some point.”

“Oh Hugo, I can’t get away for a few days.” She laughed again. “Or maybe you didn’t mean out there.”

“Whatever works, my schedule’s pretty flexible. I’ll take a hurried lunch at this point.”

“Yeah, me too.” She paused. “It’s been a while since we really talked.”