Doubira is on his way out the door.
“It’s odd that nobody’s asked us to report in today, after a shooting with two dead people, isn’t it?” he asks with a hand on the door.
“Yes, it is,” Evian replies. “They’re either still busy working the scene and looking for that white car, or there’s something much larger at play here and we’ll learn about it tomorrow morning.”
She hesitates for a moment. “Would you— I think maybe we should keep Madame Villemur safe and hidden for the moment. Until we understand what’s going on. I’m ninety-nine percent certain that Monsieur Klein was killed for what he knew, and Madame Villemur now knows some of it. She may not know the exact detail those people want kept secret, but they don’t know how much he told her before dying.
“They already shot one octogenarian in the back. I don’t think it would be beyond them to do the same to a woman in her nineties.”
I don’t like the sound of that at all. My mother may have lived a long life and she probably doesn’t have many years left to live—but she does not deserve to end it in a pool of her own blood like Lucien Klein.
“That’s a great idea,” I say loudly, hoping they’ll both hear it. “Keep her at your neighbor’s place. Keep her safe until the danger has passed.”
I don’t think Doubira hears me, but Evian is nodding. It’s like she heard her own argument and decides she’s right. “Would you mind stopping by Amina’s apartment on your way out, Malik? Ask her if she could play babysitter for a day or two, and making sure Madame Villemur stays in that apartment until we tell her it’s safe to come out?”
Doubira opens the door and steps into the hallway. “Sure,” he says with a smile. He’s not at all against the idea of talking to the pretty neighbor again, and I can’t say I blame him. “I’m on it. If you don’t hear anything from me, it means everything’s okay.”
They say goodbye and Evian locks the door, leaving her keys in the lock.
She goes to the window, leaning against the windowsill, and spends over an hour watching people get on and off buses, in and out of shops, cars stopping at the red light, angrily accelerating when it turns green, buses letting out tired sighs as they take their passengers toward their destinations.
After maybe twenty minutes, Doubira trots down the sidewalk in the direction of the metro station—but I don’t think Evian sees him. She’s lost in thought.
When she goes to bed, she removes the bracelet and leaves it on the kitchen counter like usual, and closes the bedroom door firmly behind her.