Reine shook her head and turned away, her hands busy again stroking Marin’s face, resettling his hands on his breast.
Charles closed his fingers over the necklace, unsure what to do with it.
“Our poor hearts are so often stolen,” Reine said softly, looking at the dead face in her lap.
Behind them, Jean tossed and moaned.
Reine looked at Charles. “We must decide what to do about him before Nicolas comes.”
Chapter 26
Running feet struck thunder from the walls of the cave, and a swinging lantern sent shadows spinning crazily off the ceiling.
“Reine! Reine, where are you? Answer me, for God’s sake!”
“I am here, Nicolas. I am well.”
Silhouetted against lantern light, the beggar Richard appeared briefly in the cave entrance before Lieutenant-General La Reynie shoved him aside.
“Here, Nicolas.” Reine held out a shaking hand. La Reynie covered the space between them in two strides and knelt beside her.
“Truly, ma chere, you are not hurt?”
“Truly. I owe what is left of my life to Maitre du Luc.”
La Reynie looked at Charles with gratitude so naked in his face that Charles looked away in confusion. But not before he’d seen La Reynie wrap his arms around Reine and hold her against his chest, rocking on his knees, his lips tightly closed against whatever he was trying not to say to her.
Wondering anew what lay so deep between these two otherwise so far apart, Charles wondered if La Reynie had even noticed Marin’s body. Slowly, the lieutenant-general released Reine and got to his feet. He took the little carving of Marin from his pocket and held it out to her.
“This is very like him, Reine.”
She put it carefully away inside her garments. “Nicolas-”
“At least we have his killer.” His face was hard with satisfaction. He went to where Jean lay tossing with fever and looked down at him.
“I have him, Nicolas. And I am keeping him. Maitre du Luc and I are keeping him.”
La Reynie stared at Reine. Instead of the anger Charles was waiting for, the lieutenant-general’s face creased with worry. He glanced at Charles and said gently, “Grief makes you rave, Reine. Of course I must take him, he is a murderer. At least I have found one whose guilt is certain,” he said, with an ironic look at Charles. “And I will see Marin decently buried.”
“Nicolas, you do not understand-”
La Reynie tried to talk over her, but Charles stopped him.
“Jean is Tito. He killed Martine Mynette and Henri Brion.”
La Reynie spun toward Jean, oblivious in his fever. “He is Tito? How do you know?”
Reine said, “I knew, Nicolas. I have known for a while that he killed Martine Mynette. But I did not know until this morning that he also killed Monsieur Brion.”
Before La Reynie could find words, Charles said, “The servant called Tito left the Mynette house in November, and Reine says that he joined her group of beggars then, calling himself Jean. He told me himself this morning, after he killed Marin, that he had killed Mademoiselle Mynette and Monsieur Brion, though he did not even know Brion’s name. He didn’t mean to kill the girl; he was trying to cut the ribbon of her necklace. He thinks the necklace is his; I don’t know why. As for Henri Brion, he was a victim of poor timing. He must have been on his way home that morning, after Madame Cantel let him out of his prison, when he saw a door open at the Mynette house and went to see if something was wrong. He saw Martine dying. Jean chased him down and stabbed him in fear that Brion would denounce him to the police. Remember that Monsieur Fiennes told us that Gilles Brion saw his father crossing the Place Maubert just at that time.”
La Reynie looked as though someone had given him a chest of gold.
“Thank God and all the saints! Your Jean, Tito, whoever he is, goes to the Chatelet as soon as I can summon men to take him there. If these stories stand up, I can release Gilles Brion.” He strode to Reine and stood looking down at her. “And from here on, I am going to see that you are cared for.” His eyes swept the cave. “No more of this. And this street crotte who tried to kill you will die as he deserves.”
“Listen to me, Nicolas! He is not street dung. It is partly my fault that he killed Marin. As Maitre du Luc just told you, I knew who he was; I thought it was Marin who had killed the girl, but I said nothing. If I had, the truth would have come out. It is my fault it ended like this. If I had confronted Marin, or come to you-” Reine threw her head back and stared up into the darkness. “If I had done that, Marin would be alive.” Then she sighed and bowed her head in defeat. “Instead, I gave Jean the chance to further damn himself. Unwittingly, but I gave it to him. Now I am not going to let him die in a prison cell, in worse misery than he’s already in. He stays here. I will watch out his life with him. He has the lung sickness; he’s had it a long time. I’ve seen the end drawing near him for days,” Reine said, drowning out La Reynie’s protest. “His fever will not abate now. I think he will be dead before another morning.” She looked at Charles. “Maitre du Luc agrees that he should stay here.”
La Reynie rounded furiously on Charles, but Charles forestalled him.
“I agree with all my heart, mon lieutenant-general.”
“You are deranged, both of you, this is preposterous!” La Reynie went to the boy and nudged him with the toe of his boot. Jean’s labored breathing didn’t change. “He is a killer I’d almost despaired of finding and he is going to die where I put him. You,” he said to Richard, who stood motionless and sharp-eyed at the entrance, listening intently. “Take this and go to the police barriere.” He held out a round token bearing the outline of the city’s sign, the cathedral of Notre Dame. “Say that Monsieur La Reynie requires two men and bring them here to the cave.”
The beggar didn’t move. “I am Reine’s man, mon lieutenant-general.”
La Reynie reddened with anger. “You,” he snapped at Charles. “Help me carry him.”
“No, Monsieur La Reynie. I am not your man, either.”
“You are a cleric. Where is your sense of justice, of sin?”
“Engaged in a fight to the death with my hope of mercy,” Charles said dryly. He never after knew what made him add, “If you had a son, Monsieur La Reynie, would you not want mercy for him? No matter what he’d done?”
Behind him, Reine drew in a startled breath. La Reynie stood rigid, pressing his crossed arms against his chest as though against a wound. His eyes went to Jean, as the boy moved restlessly in his fever.
“Yes, Nicolas,” Reine said, very softly, “which would you want for Gabriel?”
“Your clever question means nothing,” La Reynie said harshly. “Gabriel is no killer. And he wants no help from me.”
“But you want much from him. Give this dying boy mercy and perhaps the Virgin will give you mercy in return, you and Gabriel.”
“Lieutenant-General La Reynie,” Charles said, appalled, “please believe that I did not know you had a son. I never intended-”
“Peace, maitre,” Reine said. “Perhaps God intended.”
Chapter 27
The morning sun had risen high enough to fall greenly through the small window’s old glass onto Pere Le Picart’s desk. The rector sat behind the desk, his long, sinewy fingers lying in the little pool of light, tapping softly and rapidly on the desk’s scarred wood. La Reynie sat in one of the fireside chairs, which Charles had moved closer to the desk for him. Charles stood back, glad-for once-to let his superiors decide what happened next. His horror
