The flic nodded, writing in his notebook. “Knocking off a pharmacy makes more sense. There’ve been several break-ins this month.”
“Excuse me, I’m Dr. Lambert’s patient and I forgot my bag. I’ve come for it.”
“There’s nothing here,” Marie said. “We’ve had a robbery.”
Aimée felt guilty. She should have stashed it somewhere else. “May I just check the examining room?”
“We’re dusting for fingerprints,” the flic said. “You’ll have to wait.”
Just then Guy walked into the office, his coat beaded with rain. His eyes widened in surprise when he saw her.
“Dr. Lambert, I’ve already called the insurance company,” said the receptionist. “The claims adjuster’s on the way.”
“Good job, Marie,” he said, taking in the damage with a glance. “I left at six-thirty. I was on call and had rounds at l’hôpital des Quinzes-Vingts. They must have broken in after that.”
“Thank you doctor, I’ll talk with you in a moment.”
Aimée took Guy aside.
“I feel sick that this happened.”
Guy’s eyes softened.
“Does your arm hurt?”
Aimée shook her head. “Not much.” Only when she breathed. The fingerprinter, carrying his metal case, edged past them into the reception area.
“Didn’t you go to the police last night?” he asked.
“Guy, I left something in that room . . .”
“What? ”
“I have to get in there,” she said edging toward the examining room. “Please!”
“You don’t mean . . .”
“Just block the door. For one minute.”
She slipped past him into the antiseptic white room. A rain of stainless steel instruments and surgical gloves littered the linoleum floor. The cabinets lay open and gaping. She bent down. Under the sink, the bacterial soaps had been pushed aside, the particle board was askew. The backpack with the jade was gone.
She stood up. Stumbled. Guy grabbed her arm. Concern and anger warred in his eyes.
“You owe me an explanation,” he said.
“I meant to tell you. It’s my fault, I thought it would be safe here.”
She looked around the trashed office, sick. Patients arrived and Marie ushered them into the hallway.
“Of course, I’ll pay you for all the damage,” she said. “Guy, I’m so sorry.”
“What hurts, Aimée, is that you didn’t tell me.” He shook his head. “Even after. . . .” He stared at the examining table. “Why didn’t you go to the police? ”
“Guy, I knew you wouldn’t want me to keep it, and I couldn’t turn it over to them. . . .”
“Why not?”
Guy had never broken a law in his life. She doubted he’d even gotten a traffic ticket: A rare Frenchman who never parked illegally, drove too fast, or cheated on his taxes. He didn’t know the other side, the world outside the law, where things didn’t work like that.
“Last night, the RG were waiting outside my apartment,” she said. “They threatened me that I’d never work again if I didn’t turn the bag over to them. They had ransacked my place, too. There’s a lot more behind this than I suspected.”
He shook his head. “I thought you had changed, that you wanted a new start, not a job that endangered your eyesight and your life,” he said, his gray eyes hard. “But you haven’t changed. You never will.”
“Please, Guy, it’s not like that. Try to understand!”
“Dr. Lambert, we’ll take your statement now,” the flic said, as he entered the examining room. “If you’ll come with me, please.”
“Of course,” he said.
The policeman’s back was turned and she put her finger over her lips, then mouthed “Please” to Guy. But she couldn’t read his expression.
Out in the reception area, she heard Marie. “Dr. Lambert, the adjuster’s here to estimate damages.”
Aimée edged past the policemen to Marie’s desk. “Please tell Dr. Lambert I’ll call him later.”
She left the office, emerging into rue de Chazelles. What had she done? She called the temple, left a message for Linh that she was en route, and took the Métro to the Cao Dai temple.
By the temple’s storefront window, Linh came into view, her eyes bright under a hooded burnt orange shawl, her hands placed together in greeting. Aimée’s heart sank. There was no way around it; she had to tell Linh the truth. She took a deep breath and even though she wanted to run in the opposite direction, said, “Linh, I’m sorry. There’s no other way to say it,” she said. “The jade’s been stolen.”
“What do you mean?” Linh stepped back, shocked.
“Forgive me. I hid the pieces of jade, and someone broke in . . .”
“But Thadée gave them to you, non?”
Aimée nodded.
“Everything’s gone?”
Aimée reached in her pocket. “Here’s the envelope you gave me for him.”
“How do I know you’re not lying?”
“Someone must have followed me and stolen the jade after I hid it in my doctor’s office.”
“Why hide it there?”
“I needed stitches. I knew the doctor. I’m sorry, I thought it would be a good hiding place.”
“Stitches . . . why?”
“From a bullet’s ricochet,” she said. “Linh, I’m all right, but Thadée Baret . . . was shot and killed.”
Linh closed her eyes, fingering her amber beads.
Aimée felt sick with guilt. “My mistake.” Then she remembered. The jade disk! She reached into her coat pocket.
“I do have this.”
Hope, then sadness, filled Linh’s eyes. “So you did have the jade.” She nodded. “You must find the rest and get them back for me.”
“Forgive me,” Aimée said. “But . . . why didn’t you warn me? Why did you entrust such things to me, almost a stranger?”
“I had no choice.” Linh’s eyelids fluttered in the nervous mannerism Aimée remembered. “The Communists’ grip has loosened. Next year or the one after, the country will open up to foreign trade. We should be able to return too. But to legitimize and rebuild our congregation, we must have the jade.”
“Legitimize in what way?”
The wind rose and whipped around them. “If we want to return, we must give the jade to the government. It’s a national treasure that was in our care. The Cao Dai safeguarded it. Then just before the French left, it was stolen from us. It must be returned to my country.”
“This jade was looted during the battle of Dien Bien Phu?”
Linh nodded.
“But how did Baret come to have it in his possession?”
“We’ve searched for a long time. We don’t know how he ended up with the jade. All I know was that he needed money, quickly, and promised to deliver the jade in return.”
“We should go somewhere and talk,” Aimée said.
Cockleburs fallen from the row of chestnut trees littered the wet pavement. Ahead, steam billowed from the Métro grill vents. Passersby pulled their collars up and fastened their winter coats tighter.
Linh looked behind her. “It’s not safe,” she said. “Keep walking while I explain. There’s a whole culture of jade,” Linh told Aimée. “The ancients revered jade’s durability and luminous quality. Jade was believed to be a sacred embodiment of essential vital forces; it was used for ritual objects with cosmological and religious meaning.”
“Used how?” Aimée asked.
“To channel supernatural powers, to communicate between the mortal and celestial worlds.”
Aimée recalled the aura she’d felt radiating from the pieces.
Buses shot past on the wide boulevard. A siren resounded in the distance. In front of them, two women with wheeled shopping carts met and exchanged bisous on each cheek.