A Better Man (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #15) - Louise Penny Page 0,7
past near-empty desks piled with reports and photographs and laptops.
He walked into the conference room. “Salut tout le monde.”
Everyone got to their feet, including Gamache.
Without hesitation, Jean-Guy put out his hand, and Armand took it.
“Welcome back.”
“Merci.” Gamache nodded. “Patron.”
CHAPTER THREE
They looked to Chief Inspector Gamache first, of course. Speaking to him. Reporting to him. Looking for his comments, his approval, as they went through their cases.
* * *
Gamache, for his part, listened closely but did not speak. Instead he looked to his left. To Chief Inspector Beauvoir.
For direction.
And Chief Inspector Beauvoir gave it. Calmly, thoughtfully. He asked clear questions when needed. Guiding, at times prodding. But otherwise he just listened.
He did not become defensive, or prickly.
Though, to be fair, he did feel no small annoyance, but not at Gamache. Not even at his investigators. Just at the situation. And the higher-ups he suspected had done this on purpose. Pitting two senior officers against each other. For the sake of the force? Non. For fun. To see if they could drive a wedge between them. Create enemies from friends in a kind of malevolent alchemy.
And perhaps, a slight warning voice suggested, for more than fun.
To his left, Superintendent Lacoste watched all this. Aware of the forces at work. Hoping for the best but half bracing for the collision.
Yet as the meeting went on, Jean-Guy Beauvoir was showing a side to himself she hadn’t seen before.
She’d seen him display incredible bravery. Fierce loyalty. Dogged, often brilliant commitment to finding killers.
What she’d never seen before, in this kinetic man, was restraint.
Until today.
Somewhere along the line, probably in that sunny Québec forest, Beauvoir had learned which battles needed to be fought. And which did not. What mattered and what did not. Who were true allies and who were not.
He’d entered the woods a second-in-command. He’d left it a leader.
It was a shame, Lacoste thought, that it should happen just as he was about to leave the Sûreté.
They went through the cases, one by one, each lead investigator speaking succinctly about the homicide they were heading up. Giving updates on forensics, interrogations. Motives. Suspects.
As always, cell phones had been turned off and put away, banned for the life of the meeting.
As the gathering went on, the investigators slowly stopped looking to Gamache. Stopped glancing toward Superintendent Lacoste. And turned their full attention to Chief Inspector Beauvoir. Who gave them his.
Where arrests had been made and they were going to court, Beauvoir wanted to know what the Crown Prosecutor thought of the case. Though the fact was, he already knew. No homicide went to trial without Chief Inspector Beauvoir’s being completely aware of the strengths and weaknesses of the case.
His questions were for the benefit of the team.
Beauvoir sat now with his elbows on the shiny table, hands clasped, leaning forward. Intent, focused. He hoped he gave off an aura of calm and steady leadership. The truth was, he gave off a sense of energy. Vitality. Extreme alertness.
As he glanced at his investigators, Jean-Guy Beauvoir’s eyes were bright and encouraging. His glasses gave the impression he was older than he actually was. In his late thirties, he was younger than many of the senior investigators in the room.
Twenty years younger than the man to his right.
Slender and well-groomed, Beauvoir had dark hair that was just beginning to show some gray. And his once-lithe frame was filling out slightly.
As he’d approached the conference room, he’d heard some of the comments. And knew who they came from. It was no surprise. These were the agents most likely to question.
When Gamache was the Chief Superintendent, Lacoste and Beauvoir had gone to him asking that these same troublesome agents be removed.
“Remember what happened before,” said Beauvoir.
There was, within the Sûreté du Québec, a before and after. A line drawn in their collective and institutional memory.
“Before” was a time of fear. Of distrust. Of enemies disguised as allies. It was a time of vast and rampant brutality. Of senior officers sanctioning beatings and even murders.
Gamache had led the resistance, at huge personal risk, and had eventually agreed to become Chief Superintendent himself.
No one left standing in the Sûreté who’d been through that could ever forget what had gone “before.”
“We have to get rid of these agents,” Lacoste had said. “They were transferred into homicide when things were out of control, just to cause trouble.”
Gamache nodded. He knew that was true.
But he also knew that few were more loyal than those who’d been given a chance.