A Better Man (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #15) - Louise Penny Page 0,51
poker?” asked Gamache, incredulous. “You know that any confession you might’ve gotten would’ve been inadmissible, and the whole case thrown out.”
“I would’ve erased the beginning,” said Cameron.
Now Gamache stared, clearly dumbfounded. “You say that as though you expect me to go along with you. I warned you about this just hours ago, and now you do exactly the same thing?”
“Not the same. You warned me about hitting a suspect. I never laid a hand on him.”
“Threatening a beating is still brutality,” said Gamache. “If you were under my command, Agent Cameron, I’d relieve you of duty right now.”
“I’m happy to leave.” He took a step away.
“You’ll leave when I tell you to. What’re you even doing here? This isn’t your assignment.”
“You think my responsibility stops at the end of my shift? Does yours?”
“Don’t question me, young man. This isn’t about me, it’s about your behavior—”
“Yeah, well, you’re quite a role model. Sir.” Cameron glared. “I’ve been following the Twitter feed about you. Have you?”
“I asked you a question. What’re you doing here?”
“How can you lead, sir, if you don’t have the support of the population? Wasn’t that the whole point of your lecture to me? Trust? Looks like you’ve lost it. Have you lost it?”
And the inflection made it clear that Cameron was talking about more than trust.
“Answer my question now, Agent Cameron, or I’ll charge you with interfering in a murder investigation.”
Gamache knew exactly what Cameron was doing. He was trying to throw him off balance. Put him on the defensive. Get control of the narrative and take focus away from the real question.
Why was Agent Cameron there? Why was he threatening Tracey for a confession?
This spoke of more than a cop going off the rails. Emotionally het up about the horrific crime. It spoke, and smelled, of personal involvement.
“Tell me,” said Gamache. “You know I’ll find out.”
And Cameron could see that was true. Here was a man determined to, trained to, born to find things out.
Chief Inspector Gamache, sharp intent in his eyes, did not seem like the slightly pathetic, definitely incompetent, occasionally dangerous man described in the tweets.
“I came because I care about Vivienne,” said Cameron.
And there it was. Confirmation of something that had become obvious to Gamache.
But Bob Cameron didn’t just care, he cared so deeply he no longer had control of his actions. Or judgment.
“I see.” Gamache paused. Studying the man. “Were you having an affair?”
“No.”
“The truth.”
“No. I wanted to help her. I asked her to call me, to have a coffee together. To just talk. But she never did.”
“Did you go to the house?”
Cameron lowered his head, no longer looking Gamache in the eye. “A few times. When I knew he wasn’t there. When he was in the bar or in jail to sober up.”
“You detained the husband, then went up and propositioned the wife?”
Cameron’s face flushed, the scars turning white against the red. “It wasn’t like that.”
“I think it was,” said Gamache. “And you just don’t want to admit it. She wasn’t interested, but you continued to harass her.”
“I wasn’t harassing her. She was afraid.” Cameron shot a filthy look at the man across the bistro. “She wanted to leave him, I could tell. I was just trying to help her break away.”
He lifted his head and met Gamache’s eyes. “I love my wife. I have two children. But there was something about Vivienne. Something…” He stopped and thought. “Not innocent. Not even fragile. She seemed strong, but confused. Beaten down. I just wanted to help her.”
Gamache looked at Cameron’s face. Disfigured. And knew how deep the blows went. How deep the disfigurement went. And knew how much this man, while a boy, would have wanted someone to help him.
Motivations were rarely straightforward, as he knew all too well. And Gamache wondered how confused Cameron was, between helping Vivienne and helping himself.
Gamache considered the man, then nodded. “Stay where you are,” he said, and walked across the bistro.
He had a duty to perform. No matter how ludicrous it seemed.
“Monsieur Tracey,” said Gamache, squaring himself in front of the man.
“What?”
“I’m sorry to have to inform you—”
“So she is dead,” said Tracey.
“Yes. I’m afraid so. Her body was found in the river, just outside the village. She was thrown off that bridge.”
“Thrown? You make it sound like it was done on purpose.”
“We think it was.”
“Prove it.”
“Pardon?”
“How do you know she was thrown? I think she jumped. Killed herself.” His voice changed. “She was very depressed, you know. It sometimes happens to pregnant women. Hormones. She