A Great Reckoning (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #12) - Louise Penny Page 0,66
forensics?” said Gélinas, consulting his notes. “But not the DNA kind. You teach the cadets how to investigate records, finances. To look for fraud, racketeering. A paper trail, not a blood trail.”
“Oui. Not very sexy, but effective. Not all of us get to chase murderers.”
“Important work,” agreed Gamache, but he was watching Godbut through narrowed eyes.
This was a man who, until Gamache arrived, had patrolled the hallways sniffing out cadets who were a little late for class, whose uniforms were slightly askew, whose hair a little long.
And he made them pay.
He humiliated and belittled students. While never actually beating them, he made them beat themselves up, giving them exercises in the quad, in their underwear, in winter. He made them run stairs and do near impossible numbers of push-ups and sit-ups. And when they failed, he doubled the numbers.
Marcel Godbut took them to the very edge of breakdown. Then brought them back.
It was an age-old form of torture. Some considered it training. Torment, relent. Torment. Relent.
They were made an example of. So that other students fell into line quickly. Eagerly. Some even, by third year, joined in the humiliation. Those were considered the successes and fast-tracked into good jobs in the Sûreté.
If Leduc was the architect, this man was the builder. Taking good material and making it rotten.
When he’d taken over as commander, Gamache had been sickened by what he’d found. The degree and depth of the abuse. And Marcel Godbut had not even been the worst. Those Gamache had summarily fired. One he’d had arrested. But he didn’t quite have enough on Godbut. It was all anecdotal. Professor Godbut, the master of paper trails, would be careful not to leave one himself.
But Commander Gamache had watched him closely and made sure Godbut knew it. The abuse had stopped.
But when all that bile had to be contained, it created a volcano.
Had Professor Godbut erupted last night and attacked Leduc?
But motive was missing. It was not enough to simply say he blew. There had to be a reason. A push, however trivial it might appear from the outside.
And the crime scene didn’t look like an explosion. It looked like an execution. Neat, orderly, bitterly cold.
“Tell us about the contract to build this school,” said Gamache.
Godbut slowly turned in his chair and stared at the Commander.
“I know nothing about that.”
“You taught fraud. You taught students how to spot it and yet you missed it when it was happening in your own house?”
“Was it? That’s news to me. I’m just a professor. And as you’ve made clear since you arrived, Commander, I’m not a very good one.”
“Did I ever say that? I think you are probably very good at what you do,” said Gamache. “The question is, what do you do? What was your real job here?”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning Serge Leduc was on the take,” said Paul Gélinas. “This whole structure was built on bribes and contract fixing. Someone organized it for him. Someone who not only knew how to do it, but how not to get caught.”
“I hope you have proof, Commissioner. That’s a serious charge.”
“Not a charge, a theory.” Gélinas smiled. “When was the last time you saw him?”
“Dinner last night. We discussed tactical exercises, as you know, Commander. And then Professor Leduc and I discussed the Montréal Canadiens.”
It was a clear shot at Gamache. His opinions on the curriculum were no more important than a hockey game.
“And after dinner?” asked Gamache, as though unaware of the barb.
“I went back to my rooms and corrected papers and did coursework. Like any good professor.”
“Did you see anyone? Any phone calls?” asked Isabelle Lacoste.
“No phone calls. No visitors. It was a quiet evening in. I awoke to that pathetic cadet screaming.”
“You knew Professor Leduc as well as anyone,” said Lacoste. “What do you think happened?”
“I think you’re partly right,” said Godbut. “I think his death did have something to do with this building. But not from the inside. I’d look outside, if I were you.”
He gestured through the plate glass, past the quad, to the church spires beyond.
“The town?” asked Lacoste.
“Do you think Serge Leduc was killed by an ally? Or an enemy?” said Godbut. “That town is teeming with people who hated Serge Leduc.”
Jean-Guy Beauvoir had slipped into the room. He and Godbut nodded to each other, the chill obvious.
Professor Godbut got up and paused for a moment to look out the window. The sun was just beginning to set and the huge sky was changing color, from blue to a soft rose.