Still Life (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #1) - Louise Penny Page 0,71

felt she should be saying something in her son’s defense.

‘He’s fourteen. Old enough to know right from wrong,’ said Gamache, gently but firmly. ‘He needs to know that when he does something wrong, however unintentionally, there’s a consequence. Was Philippe one of the boys who threw manure at Messieurs Dubeau and Brulé?’

The change of subject seemed to revive Matthew.

‘Yes. He came home and bragged about it.’ Matthew could remember staring at his little boy in the kitchen, wondering who this stranger was.

‘But are you sure? I know Miss Neal called out three names, Philippe’s being one of them, but she may have gotten at least one of them wrong.’

‘Really?’ Suzanne said, hope reviving for a moment before she remembered it didn’t matter. A few days ago she’d been mortified by the thought her son had done such a thing, and been caught. Now it was nothing compared to the next thing he’d done.

‘May I see him?’ M. Guimette asked. ‘Just me and Chief Inspector Gamache.’

Matthew hesitated.

‘Remember, Mr Croft, I don’t work for the police.’

Croft really had no choice anyway and he knew it. He took them upstairs and knocked on the closed door. There was no answer. He knocked again. Still no answer. He put his hand on the knob then took it off and knocked yet again, this time calling his son’s name. Gamache watched all this with interest. Finally he reached out, turned the door knob and let himself into Philippe’s room.

Philippe had his back to the door and was nodding his head. Even from a distance Gamache could hear the tinny, thin line of music coming from the headphones. Philippe was wearing the uniform of the day, baggy sweatshirt and baggy pants. The walls were plastered with posters of rock and rap groups, all made up of petulant, pouting young men. Barely visible between the posters was the wallpaper. Little hockey players in red Canadiens jerseys.

Guimette touched Philippe on the shoulder. Philippe’s eyes flew open and he gave them a look of such loathing both men felt momentarily assaulted. Then the look disappeared. Philippe had hit the wrong target, not for the first time.

‘Yeah, what do you want?’

‘Philippe, I’m Claude Guimette from the Guardians Office, and this is Chief Inspector Gamache of the Sûreté.’

Gamache had expected to meet a frightened boy, and he knew fear came in many forms. Aggression was common. People who were angry were almost always fearful. Cockiness, tears, apparent calm but nervous hands and eyes. Something almost always betrayed the fear. But Philippe Croft didn’t seem afraid. He seemed … what? Triumphant.

‘So?’

‘We’re here about the death of Jane Neal.’

‘Yeah. I heard about that. What’s it to do with me?’

‘We think you did it, Philippe.’

‘Oh? Why?’

‘Her blood was on the bow found in your basement, along with your prints. Her blood was also on some of your clothing.’

‘That’s it?’

‘There was blood on your bike, too. Miss Neal’s blood.’

Philippe was looking pleased with himself.

‘I didn’t do it.’

‘How do you explain these things?’ Gamache asked.

‘How do you?’

Gamache sat down. ‘Shall I tell you? This is what I think happened. You went out that Sunday morning, early. Something prompted you to take the old bow and arrows and ride your bike to that spot. We know it was where your grandfather used to hunt. He even built the blind in that old maple tree, didn’t he?’

Philippe continued to stare at him. Or through him, really, thought Gamache.

‘Then something happened. Either your hand slipped and the arrow shot out by mistake, or you deliberately shot, thinking it was a deer. Either way the result was catastrophic. What happened then, Philippe?’

Gamache watched and waited, as did M. Guimette. But Philippe was impassive, his face blank, as though listening to someone else’s story. Then he raised his eyebrows and smiled.

‘Go on. This is getting interesting. So the old lady kacks out and I’m supposed to be beside myself with grief? But I wasn’t there, remember?’

‘I forgot,’ said Gamache. ‘So let me continue. You’re a bright lad.’ Here Philippe frowned. He clearly didn’t like being patronised. ‘You could tell she was dead. You searched for the arrow and found it, getting blood on your hands and your clothes. You then came home and hid the bow and arrow in the basement. But your mother noticed the stains on your clothes and asked about it. You probably made up some story. But she also found the bow and arrow in the basement. When she heard about Jane Neal’s death she added it