“No contact at all?”
“No.” But he looked away, down and to the left as he said it, and they both knew he was lying.
Nicholas crossed his arms. “Clairvaux Prison awaits if you tell us the truth, Henri.”
Couverel sat back in the chair, scratched his neck. Something came off in his fingers; he examined it for a second, then casually flicked it away.
Mike shuddered. Couverel caught the movement and smiled at her. His teeth were crooked but in surprisingly decent shape, considering. His voice was dreamy.
“Do you know they keep Carlos the Jackal at Clairvaux? I should like to meet him. He was here for a time, inside La Santé. But kept isolated. A celebrity. I suppose they didn’t want him to give us ideas.”
Nicholas was getting impatient. “Henri, I’ll make sure you get a personal audience with him, but only if you tell me the truth. When did you see Victoire last? I know you’ve seen her recently, so don’t lie.”
He sniffed and lit a cigarette he’d probably stolen. “I speak the truth. It has been twenty years since I last saw her. She does not care about me, I do not care about her. I have no idea where she is or what she’s done to bring you to me, cochon. I don’t care, either. If you see her, remind her she has a dying brother.” He took a long drag on the cigarette and shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe she will send me some money. Or her friend will.”
Nicholas flattened his palms on the table and leaned close. “What do you know of your sister’s friends, Henri?”
His eyes flickered. So this was the lie. He said slowly, unwillingly, “Perhaps I have heard of a man she knows.”
“Go on.”
“He is, how do you say it in English, un fant?me, oui?”
A ghost. Nicholas felt his heart speed up.
“A ghost?” Mike asked. “You mean the man is dead?”
Henri lit a new cigarette from the smoking ember of the old one. He nodded. “Yes, a ghost. But he is not dead.”
“You have to give us a bit more to go on, mate.”
“I cannot give what I do not have.”
“What’s his name?”
Silence.
Yes, Couverel was afraid of this so-called ghost. Who was he?
“Where did she meet him?’
Silence.
Mike said, “Come on, Henri. Help us out.”
“Un fant?me. You look, and you will see.”
“Tell us more about the people who adopted Victoire.”
Couveral didn’t move, didn’t speak, didn’t meet their eyes.
76
Couverel looked caught between the Devil and a hard place. Nicholas paused at the door, waited for a moment, and, sure enough, Couverel leaped up from his chair but he said nothing.
Nicholas waited, then stood up. “Say good-bye to Clairvaux, Henri.” He turned to Mike. “Let’s go.”
“The family who took Victoire, the man was some kind of missionary. He traveled, to foreign countries. I remember because they asked what sort of shots Victoire had.” He snapped his fingers in disgust. “As if she were a dog they had rescued from the gutter.”
Nicholas had seen Victoria snap her fingers in that same dismissive way in New York, at the Met, while they were still on the same team. Was it simple genetics, or had Henri seen Victoria more recently than he claimed?
Nicholas doubted it, because Couverel wanted Clairvaux more than he was afraid of the ghost. Nicholas rubbed his hand across his chin. He hadn’t had a chance to shave, and the stubble was thick. “Shots. A missionary. Were they taking her back to England, or somewhere else?”
“I do not know. And I swear to you, I know nothing more. Clairvaux—will I go there?”
Nicholas said, “Yes, you will go to Clairvaux.”