The Golem of Paris

Chapter forty

Back at the hostel, Schott’s bed was empty and unmade, his roll-aboard pulled open. Jacob stripped off his wet clothes. His hair was a wind-driven pile, his eyes garish with broken capillaries.

The man who followed you tonight.

He’s one of them, too.

Until now he’d thought of Special Projects as Mallick, Schott, Subach, Divya, the rotating cast of characters who manned the surveillance vans. The reality — if you wanted to call it that — now seemed obvious.

Schott had said as much: there were others.

The folks who’d shown up to bully Jan, for instance.

Not all of them knew what they were.

Maybe Tremsin’s guy fell into that category.

Maybe Mallick was pulling strings.

Assigning Jacob to the archives in the first place?

Planting the file to snag his interest?

But Marquessa — she was real. TJ was real. They were a mother and a child, tossed away like garbage. In the end, he didn’t care if he was playing into the Commander’s hands. He could do only this, the only thing that gave him meaning.

It was the middle of the night in California. Jacob e-mailed out a picture of Knob Neck to all potential witnesses. He predicted Zinaida Moskvina would be the first to reply. A baker. She’d be up early.

He got cleaned up, texting Schott that he was back before heading down to the lobby for the stale display that passed for a continental breakfast. He sank into a bean bag chair, sipping black coffee, debating how best to act, going forward.

Confront Schott?

Pretend like everything was normal?

Without trust, there’s nothing.

He’d have some choice words for Divya when he got back.

He hadn’t yet decided on a strategy when the big man came charging in from the street.

Jacob rose. “Hey. We need to ta—”

The slap sent him sprawling, coffee raining down in a lukewarm arc.

A girl standing at the buffet table sputtered crumbs.

Jacob rolled over, his head buzzing.

Schott bent to him. “You’re a sack of shit.”

The girl hurried out; the desk clerk began reaching for the phone.

Schott turned, snapping his fingers. “Posez ça. Ne bougez pas.”

The clerk replaced the receiver.

“Vos mains.”

The clerk laid his palms passively on the counter.

“Asshole,” Jacob said. It came out as ath-hole.

“I was right about you,” Schott said. “I should have gone with my gut.”

“Asshole. Listen. You were sleeping. I got restless. I took a walk. I was followed.”

Schott wavered. “What?”

“The guy from Tremsin’s house. Knob Neck. See for yourself.”

He thumbed to the first image on his phone and handed it over.

“He knew my name,” Jacob said.

SAG card notwithstanding, Schott reacted with convincing astonishment. “How’s that possible?”

“I don’t know,” Jacob said. “Theories?”

Schott looked at him.

“He’s not one of yours?” Jacob asked.

“One of — are you outta your mind?”

“He’s awfully tall,” Jacob said.

“Tell me you’re kidding. What’s gotten into you?”

“Me? He chased me for half an hour. I had to duck into a building to get away. He knew my name, you prick.”

“Don’t look at me. I saw him for the first time yesterday, same as you. Call Mallick, you don’t believe me.”

Jacob laughed. “Okay, right.”

“Christ, but you’re paranoid.”

“Says the pot to the kettle.”

Schott lobbed the phone at Jacob, hitting him square in the chest.

“Look me in the eye,” he said, “and tell me you didn’t see her.”

Jacob reached for a napkin and began dabbing at coffee stains. “I didn’t.”

“Look me in the eye.”

“I am.”

“You’re looking at the floor.”

“You fucking hit me. My head is spinning.”

“I barely touched you,” Schott said. Grumbling: “Trouvez-moi des glaçons.”

With the possibility of further excitement ruled out, the desk clerk appeared both relieved and disappointed. He ducked through a back door.

Schott paced. “You can’t run off like that.”

“Next time I’ll leave a note.”

“I don’t want a note. I want you not to run off. Why didn’t you call me?”

“I was more focused on not getting shot.”

“Were you drunk?”

“I had a drink.”

“How many?”

“Leave it alone.”

The clerk came back with a baggie of ice. He handed it to Schott, who handed it to Jacob, who pressed it to his face.

Schott lowered his bulk into a plastic chair. He looked haggard. “You should have called,” he muttered.

“Duly noted.”

“How’d the guy find you, anyway?”

“For all I know, he was following us all day.”

“I didn’t notice anyone.”

“Neither did I.”

“What’d he want?”

“You know,” Jacob said, “I completely neglected to ask.”

“I’m thinking out loud, all right? What’s he think he’s going to accomplish?”

“He said he wanted to talk. Maybe it’s true. I suppose if he really wanted to nail me, he had plenty of time. Or he didn’t want to risk shooting in public. Either way, I’m taking it as a good sign. Tremsin blinked.”

He held out his coffee cup for a refill.

Schott scoffed. “Yeah, okay.”

“You were an actor, weren’t you?”

Schott snatched the cup and lumbered over to the buffet.

“I wouldn’t say no to a pastry,” Jacob called.

“Eat me.”

They arrived at the hospital minutes after visiting hours began. The hallway outside Breton’s room was clogged with bodies, men clumped in protective twos and threes, talking in low tones, a few openly crying.

“Shit,” Jacob said.

A waspish Odette Pelletier pushed from the crowd to intercept them. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“We came to talk to Breton.”

“Yes, well, as you can see, it’s a bit late for that.”

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“It’s not your place to be sorry,” she said. “This is a family matter.”

A man crouched against the wall looked up sharply. Jacob recognized the blond goatee, the expression of dislocation.

“My colleague is dead,” Pelletier said. “I’ve been here all night. You’re abusing professional courtesy, Detective. I’m going to ask you, one last time, to leave.”

Jacob put up peace hands. “Okay. Just so you know: I was followed last night.”

A beat. “By whom?”

“One of Tremsin’s goons.”

He showed her the photo on his phone. She didn’t react.

“Did he do anything?” she asked. “Threaten you?”

“Nothing overt. Didn’t feel too good, though.”

The goateed man was watching them intently.

Pelletier said, “You can file a formal complaint at the station.”

“You don’t think it’s a little strange?” Jacob said. “I’m minding my own business and I get tailed?”

“I think you acted provocatively by going to Mr. Tremsin’s house. I will say it again, and I ask that this time you please pay attention. He is a private citizen, entitled to live free of harassment. Now excuse me. I have my men to take care of.”

She turned on her heel.

Out in the lobby, Jacob punched the elevator button. “We never told her we went to the house.”

“You said he was Tremsin’s goon. It’s a reasonable assumption on her part.”

“Or she’s in contact with them. That’s the easiest way for the guy to know where to find me. I gave her my card with the hostel’s address. She tipped them off.”

They stepped into the elevator.

“Une seconde, merci.”

The man with the blond goatee was running toward them.

Jacob stuck a foot out to block the closing doors.

“Merci.” The man tucked himself into a corner and they rode down in silence to the ground floor.

The doors opened.

The man said, “Suivez-moi.”