The Blood Promise: A Hugo Marston Novel

by Pryor, Mark

  “That’s right.”

  “And forgive me for asking, but you’re absolutely sure nothing else was missing?”

  “Yes, absolutely. You are thinking there was some other motive?”

  “Wondering, anyway,” Hugo said. “The obvious choices would be sexual assault, and there was no evidence of that at all, and robbery. But it’s possible there was another reason, it just seems like an out-of-the-way place to rob for a few earrings and necklaces.”

  “I agree,” Bassin said. “Now, I believe some of it was quite valuable but I couldn’t say which pieces with any certainty. I think my sister provided the list to the police and the insurance people; she knows better than I do what my mother had.”

  “Do you have a copy of the list?”

  “In the study, yes.”

  “I’d like to get a copy, if you don’t mind. But can we see where the jewelry was kept?” Hugo asked.

  “Of course. Please, follow me.”

  They followed single file into the hallway, past the open door to the study, and up a flight of stairs. At the top they followed Bassin to the left and he led them to the closed door of his late mother’s bedroom. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, gather himself maybe, then he opened the door and let Garcia and Hugo pass through first.

  “I don’t think it’s been touched since the police were here. I’ve not let the cleaners come in, even.” His voice dropped. “Not yet, anyway.”

  “I understand,” Garcia said, “and I’m sorry for the intrusion like this.”

  “Non, it’s necessary. My sister and I, we won’t rest easily here until whoever did this is caught.” He took a breath and then straightened up, pointing at a large armoire. “She kept blankets, sheets, and towels in there. And the jewelry, you’ll see an empty space but . . . that’s all there is to see, I think.”

  Hugo went over and opened the doors to the armoire, which reminded him of the ones he’d seen in the bedrooms at Chateau Tourville. Not surprising, they were de rigeur before the built-in closets of today. As Bassin had said, bed linens and towels took up most of the inside space, leaving a gap at waist height where Madam Bassin had stored, with no concern for security apparently, those items that mattered most.

  “Thank you,” said Hugo. A germ had planted itself in his head and he was ready to move downstairs. “Can I see that list of stolen items now?”

  “Of course.” He gestured weakly at the armoire as Hugo closed it. “No clues?”

  “One thought occurs to me, but . . . that list might help.”

  It did. Garcia looked over Hugo’s shoulder at the type-written inventory, twenty-eight items that included bracelets, broaches, necklaces, rings, and earrings. Brief descriptions of each were included, but no estimated values because Madam Bassin hadn’t acquired any of them recently. Some pieces were treasures from her youth and early married years, but more than half had filtered through to her from previous generations.

  “Twenty-eight,” Hugo said.

  “Yes.” Bassin said. “That means something?”

  “Well, it’s a lot to carry for one person and the police reported no indication of a second intruder.” Hugo looked at Bassin. “I’m wondering how he managed to carry it away. Too much for pockets, so either he brought a bag with him or . . . what was the jewelry kept in?”

  “An old box,” Bassin said.

  “All of it in one jewelry box?”

  “Not really a jewelry box, more of a chest. It had been in the family for almost as long as the house.”

  “How long is that?” Garcia asked.

  “Four hundred years. Not my direct line, there are family stories of feuds and the house moving from one branch of the family to another.”

  Hugo barely heard the response, impatient to get back on track. “The chest, you were saying . . .”

  “A sailor’s chest, maman called it.”

  Hugo’s chest tightened. “Can you describe it?”

  “Bien sur.” Bassin furrowed his brow in thought. “Made of wood, probably walnut because it was burled but you couldn’t really see that because it was so old. The fittings were brass, ornamental in a way, but again the hinges and decoration were darker than you’d think because of its age.” He smiled at a memory, and said, “You know, now that I think of it my mother had sort of a special affection for that chest, she used to say it contained all kinds of family treasures.” He shrugged. “But that’s the tragedy of burglaries like this, n’est-ce pas? The thief takes items that may prove valuable or worthless to him, but without question contain priceless memories and sentiments. I’m sorry, I didn’t think to list the chest as it’s not really worth anything. Is it?”

  “To someone,” said Hugo, “I suspect it is.”

  Garcia put a hand on Hugo’s arm. “What is it? I’ve seen that look before and it means you’ve discovered something, an answer . . . What this time?”

  Hugo turned to Bassin. “Is there any chance you have a photo of the chest?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “But you’d recognize it if you saw it again?”

  “Yes, I think so. I mean, there can’t be too many like it, can there?”

  “Precisely what I was thinking,” Hugo said. “I think we have all we need, Monsieur Bassin. Raul, we should go.” He winked at his friend. “I think you’d call this a clue. And one that takes us right back to Chateau Tourville.”

  Ambassador Taylor was emphatic. Hugo had finished his progress report, having already called Bassin’s sister and gone straight to voicemail. He’d left her a message and immediately called the ambassador.

  “Tonight, Hugo,” Taylor said. “He’s not back and I’m about to call the cavalry but before I do . . .”

  “I honestly don’t think it’ll make any difference. I’m not going to see anything in his room that Tom or anyone else missed.”

  “Maybe, but you’re only an hour away and you pretty much have to go through Paris to get home.”

  “Well, that’s true.” He glanced at Garcia, both hands gripping the wheel and eyes on the road. “The capitaine will want to get home, too, I imagine.” A twitch at the corner of Garcia’s mouth said thank you. “I was just hoping for a beer and some down time.”

  That was close to the truth, though an incomplete version. He’d hoped to entice Claudia for a drink, maybe dinner. Days filled with theft, murder, and mistrust had pushed him into wanting a moment of peace with someone who could make him feel utterly comfortable. Taylor’s request that he comb the still-missing senator’s room for clues pulled in the opposite direction from the plan he’d imagined ever since shaking hands with Georges Bassin and wishing him good-bye.

  “Missing senators don’t allow for much down time, sorry.”

  “I know,” Hugo sighed. “Someone can meet me there and let me in?”

  “The Crillon staff know you’re coming. They’re being great about this whole thing, discreet and very cooperative.”

  “You get what you pay for, I guess.”

  “True enough. Call me when you get there, OK?”

  Hugo hung up and stared out of the window. Dusk was settling over the countryside, an orange sun spilling across the horizon to their left. On either side of the highway lay fields that, little more than a month ago, had rippled with healthy rows of golden wheat and barley. Now they lay ragged and bare, cut to stubble that had been browned by the autumn rains and torn by the wheels of tractors. Clusters of still-yellow bales, as large and solid as boulders, gathered at seemingly random intervals, awaiting transport to the barns where they would carpet the floors for the dairy and beef cattle spending the winter inside.

  Hugo let his eyes wander the countryside while he pondered the disappearance of Senator Lake, but through tiredness or . . . something, he couldn’t concentrate. When his phone buzzed, he was glad for the excuse to stop trying and surprised to feel a jangle in his blood when he saw her name on the screen.

  “Claudia, how are you?”

  “Fine,
I got your message.” A smile in her voice. “Obviously.”

  “It’s good to hear you.”

  “Is everything OK?”

  “Yes. A little tired, maybe.”

  “So I don’t think I can do drinks tonight, I’m sorry. A work thing, someone retiring and I said I’d go.”

  “That’s OK, I—”

  “Ah. Something happened between you calling me and me calling you back?”

  “Yeah, pretty much.”

  “Well, that works out then.” She sounded amused rather than annoyed, but somehow that didn’t help. “Anything a reporter should know about?”

  “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.”