She knew she had him, and almost certainly by the tender bits. Bits that she was not at all interested in possessing, but that had now fallen into her lap.
“It’s a quote,” came the deep, calm voice of Chief Superintendent Gamache.
Judge Corriveau waited. She knew the quote, of course. Gamache himself had used it earlier. And Joan had looked it up. But for the Crown to now use it meant that it hadn’t been just a passing thought. It had been something the two of them had discussed.
“One of you will have to tell me,” she said.
“It’s something Mahatma Gandhi said.” Gamache turned in the witness box and she could see the gleam of perspiration on his face.
“Go on,” she said.
“There is a higher court than courts of justice and that is the court of conscience. It supersedes all other courts.”
She could hear the now manic clicking as the press wrote that down.
“Are you quoting,” she asked. “Or advocating?”
Because it sounded like those were his words. His thoughts. His belief.
And Maureen Corriveau knew then that this wasn’t a puzzle piece. It was the key to decoding the whole damn thing. She’d been presiding over one court, while these men had been in a whole other one. A higher court.
She was both enraged and overwhelmed. And more than a little frightened. Of what she’d just unearthed. And what she still didn’t know. Like what could possibly make these senior officials, both sworn to defend the law, consider breaking it.
And might have already.
“Quoting,” said Gamache. His eyes held a plea but also a warning. Let it pass.
Then he turned back to the Crown Prosecutor, while Judge Corriveau considered what she’d just heard. And seen. What had, in effect, just been admitted. And what she should do next.
“So you already suspected Katie Evans had been killed by someone who knew her?” said Zalmanowitz, gathering himself and forging ahead. There was, after all, no going back.
“Oui. This was a crime that was a long time in the planning, so the killer must have known her for a long time.”
“And knew her well enough to want her dead. That must’ve narrowed it down.”
“It did.”
CHAPTER 23
“I have some questions,” Jean-Guy Beauvoir said, his voice quiet. But also businesslike.
He’d driven through the sleet, into Montréal, to break the news first to Katie’s sister, Beth. He needed her now to focus, not to sink deeper into sorrow. That could wait. Right now he needed answers.
“Did Katie ever mention a cobrador?”
Beth looked at her husband, beside her on the sofa. From the basement they could hear the children, arguing over a laptop.
“A what? No.”
“Did she sew?”
Now they looked at him like he must be crazy. Beauvoir couldn’t blame them. These questions sounded nonsensical even to him.
“Sew? Ho—wha—” Beth struggled to get a word out.
“She was wearing a sort of cloak and we wondered if she made it.”
“No, she isn’t handy in that way. She cooks,” said Beth, her voice hopeful, as though that might help.
Beauvoir smiled. “Merci.” And making a note that he would never need, he saw Beth look at her husband and give him a strained smile.
“You’re close to your sister?”
“Yes. We’re only a year and a half apart. She’s younger. I always protected her, though she didn’t really need it. It became a kind of joke. She lives just a couple streets over, and Mom and Dad are a couple blocks away. Oh, God.”
Again, Beth turned to her husband, who put his arm around her shoulder.
“Mom and Dad.”
“I’ll tell them,” said Beauvoir. “But it would help if you were there.”
“Yes, yes of course. Oh, Christ.”
“You and Katie told each other everything?” he asked.
“I think so. I told her everything.”
Beth’s husband lifted his brows just a bit. Very little, but it was enough to show surprise. And some discomfort.
“I’m sorry, but you need to tell me anything she shared with you that could be compromising.”
“What do you mean?”
“Did she ever break the law? Did she ever do anything that she was ashamed of, that she never admitted to anyone? That someone could hold against her?”
“No, of course not.”
“Please, think.”
And she did.
He watched her pale, blotchy face. The rigid body, trying to contain the pain. Trying to hold it together.
“Katie used to take money from our mother’s purse. So did I. I think Mom knew. It wasn’t much, just a quarter or fifty cents. She once cheated on an exam. Cribbed from the girl next to her.