Chapter Fifty-Two
Jean-Paul Mazenc was in his late thirties. He had an oblong, sensitive face with sensual lips and a female touch in the way his nostrils flared. It was a pleasant face really, although his eyes betrayed him as a nostalgic man. His handshake was firm, though. He didn’t resemble the stout, almost bulldoggish Patient 232 at all. Denis caught the swift glance at his empty right sleeve when they shook hands and introduced themselves.
“You’ve travelled quite a distance in dire circumstances, Monsieur Mazenc.”
“I love my brother Albert, Monsieur Denis. I’ve been so worried about him after his disappearance.”
“You recognized him from a picture in the newspaper?”
“In Le Petit Parisien, to be exact. It’s ironic – I recognized my brother’s picture on the first page because he i
