114

Grand Orient Masonic Hall

Present day

Antoine Marcas, wearing the same wrinkled suit, was pacing in Guy Andrivaux’s office.

“You could have stopped at home to change and shower,” Andrivaux said. “And maybe caught a cat nap while you were there. You look exhausted.”

“I sat in traffic for an hour and a half on the way in from the airport, and we’ve already wasted enough time. I haven’t even called Hodecourt at headquarters. I’m sure he’s still steamed about getting left behind while I was in the US. So do you have it?”

This was his last lead, his only chance to identify a ghost. The name Cenevières wasn’t in any database the police had access to.

“I can’t find the name anywhere in our files,” Andrivaux said, clicking away at the keyboard.

Marcas ran his hand through his hair. “He told me his name, for God’s sake—Cenevières. Are you sure?”

The grand master had been watching this exchange. He walked over to Marcas and put a hand on his shoulder.

“He is sure. The database is constantly updated and has the names of all brothers who have paid their dues and even brothers who have been suspended or removed from the order.”

Marcas couldn’t make sense of it. Why would the killer give a fake name if he thought Marcas was going to die under the Statue of Liberty?

“Do you think he was a member of another jurisdiction?”

The grand master shook his head. “I sent the name out to my counterparts at the other jurisdictions. When I told them the man could be a murderer, they all agreed to look through their files. But they found nothing. The name Cenevières cannot be found in any French Freemason lodge.”

Marcas collapsed in an armchair. Andrivaux left his computer and sat down beside him. They were silent for several minutes.

“Didn’t you tell us that he was a descendent of an eighteenth-century Freemason who was close to Lafayette and Archambeau?” The grand master asked.

Marcas looked up. “That’s right. The three brothers belonged to the same lodge.”

“Let’s go to the archives then,” Andrivaux said. “We’ll look up the marquis’s lodge and work from there.”

Marcas got up and rushed to the door, with Andrivaux on his heels.

“I’ll leave you to your work, my brothers,” the grand master said, rising from his chair, as well. He was a gray-haired lawyer who belonged to another lodge. “I’ve got a television interview to do.”

Marcas and Andrivaux parted ways with the grand master and took the elevator to the sixth floor. They hurried down the hallway, stopping at the head librarian’s office. Pierre Moutiers, a middle-aged man with a neatly trimmed black beard answered their knock and invited them in. The office, with its old wooden floor and shelves overflowing with books, offered a fabulous view of western Paris that extended as far north as the Sacré Coeur.

The man’s desk was full of books, manuscripts, and various other objects, including a cigarette lighter that Marcas noticed.

Andrivaux filled him in on their quest.

“Lafayette’s lodge isn’t a problem. It was Les Amis de l’Humanité. But that doesn’t tell us which lodge his friends went to. However, we might be able to find them as veterans of the American Revolution. Let’s see….” The man focused on his computer screen.

Marcas stepped behind him to look over his shoulder.

“Voilà. Here you go, a list of French brothers who fought in that war. It’s long. We have five books that you can consult. Head over to the library, and I’ll have them brought in.”

Marcas thanked Moutiers and gave him a brotherly embrace.

“My pleasure, brother. I’m happy to help.”