How the Light Gets In (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #9) - Louise Penny Page 0,100
grinned.
He turned his back on them and made for the door.
“Our cases?”
Gamache stopped and turned back to see the young officer he’d tried to help a few days ago.
“Will your cases really be further along if you stay?”
It was a rhetorical question.
He knew these agents, looking at him so triumphantly, were spreading the word throughout the Sûreté that Chief Inspector Gamache was finished. Had given up.
And now he’d done them the very great favor of confirming it. By in effect closing his department.
“Consider this a Christmas gift.”
They no longer tried to hide their satisfaction. The coup was complete. They’d brought the great Chief Inspector Gamache to his knees.
“Go home,” he said, his voice weary. “I intend to, soon.”
He left the room, his back straight, his head up. But he walked slowly. A wounded lion just trying to survive the day.
“Chief?” said Inspector Lacoste, catching up.
“My office, please.”
They went in and he closed the door, then motioned her to take a seat.
“Anything more on the Ouellet case?” he asked.
“I spoke to the neighbor again, to find out if the sisters ever had any visitors. She told me what she first told the investigators. No one ever went to the house.”
“Except her, as I recall.”
“Once,” said Lacoste, “for lemonade.”
“Did she think it was strange that she was never invited inside?”
“No. She said after a few years you get used to different eccentricities. Some neighbors are nosy, some like parties, some are very quiet. It’s an old, established neighborhood and the sisters had been there for many years. No one seemed to question.”
Gamache nodded and was quiet for a moment, playing with the pen on his desk.
“You need to know that I’ve decided to retire.”
“Retire? Are you sure?”
She tried to read his expression. His tone. Was he saying what she thought he was?
“I’ll write my letter of resignation and deliver it tonight or tomorrow. It’ll be effective immediately.” He sat forward at his desk and examined his hands for a moment, noticing that the tremor was gone. “You’ve been with me for a long time, Inspector.”
“Yes, sir. You found me on the garbage pile, as I remember.”
“Dumpster diving.” He smiled.
It wasn’t totally inaccurate. Chief Inspector Gamache had hired her away from the Serious Crimes division on the day she was to quit. Not because she couldn’t do the job. Not because she’d screwed up. But because she was different. Because her colleagues had caught her at the scene of a particularly vicious crime against a child with her eyes closed and her head bowed.
Isabelle Lacoste’s error was in telling the truth when asked what she was doing.
She’d been meditating, sending thoughts to the victim, reassuring her that she wouldn’t be forgotten. From then on the other agents had made Isabelle Lacoste’s life one long hell, until she couldn’t take it anymore. She knew it was time to go.
And she was right. She simply hadn’t realized where she’d be going.
Chief Inspector Gamache had heard about the meditation and wanted to meet the young agent who’d become the laughingstock of the Sûreté. When she was finally called in to her boss’s office, letter of resignation in hand, she’d expected it to be just the two of them. Instead, another man rose from the large chair. She’d recognized him immediately. She’d seen Chief Inspector Gamache at the academy. Seen him on television and read about him in the newspaper. She’d once ridden with him in an elevator, and been so close she could smell his cologne. So attractive had been that aroma, and so powerful had been the pull of the man, she’d almost followed him from the elevator.
Chief Inspector Gamache had risen from his seat when she’d entered her boss’s office, and bowed slightly. To her. There was something old-worldly about him. Something otherworldly about him.
He extended his hand. “Armand Gamache,” he’d said.
She’d taken it, feeling light-headed. Not at all sure what was happening.
She hadn’t left his side since.
Not literally, of course. But professionally, emotionally. She would follow wherever he went.
And now he was telling her he was resigning.
She couldn’t say this was a complete surprise. She’d, in fact, been expecting it for some time. Since the department had begun to be dismantled and the agents spread among the other departments. Since the atmosphere at Sûreté headquarters had grown dank and sour with the smell of rot.
“Thank you for all you’ve done for me,” he said. He got up and smiled. “I’ll email you a copy of my resignation letter. Perhaps you can circulate it.”