The hotel suite on the eighth floor of the Hôtel Crillon-Beaumarchais had been booked under a name that did not exist on any registry the public could access.
Margaux had checked in two days ago. She had paid in cash. She had walked through the lobby in a black wool coat that hid the brace at her left wrist. She had taken the elevator to the eighth floor, locked her door, drawn the curtains, run a bath, drunk one glass of cold water from the suite's marble counter, and lain down on top of the made bed without removing her coat.
She had been asleep since.
The third statue arrived at four-twelve in the morning, Paris time.
