Still Life (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #1) - Louise Penny Page 0,72

all up. She burned the arrow, but not the bow because it was too big to fit into the furnace.’

‘Look, man. I know you’re old so let me say this again, slowly. I was not there. I did not do it. Comprends?’

‘Then who did?’ Guimette asked.

‘Let’s see, who could have done it? Well, who in this house is an expert hunter?’

‘Are you saying your father killed Miss Neal?’ Guimette asked.

‘Are you two idiots? Of course he did it.’

‘What about the blood stains on your bike? Your clothes?’ Guimette asked, amazed.

‘Look, I’ll tell you what happened. You might want to write this down.’

But Gamache didn’t budge, just watched Philippe quietly.

‘My father came home all upset. He had blood all over his gloves. I went out to see if I could help. As soon as he saw me he gave me a hug, and held my hands, for support. He gave me the bloody arrow and the bow and told me to put them in the basement. I began to get a little suspicious.’

‘What did you suspect?’ Guimette asked.

‘When my father hunted he always cleaned his equipment. So this was weird. And there was no deer in the back of the truck. I just put two and two together and figured he’d killed someone.’

Guimette and Gamache exchanged glances.

‘The basement’s my chore,’ continued Philippe. ‘So when he told me to put the bloody things down there I began to wonder whether he was, well, setting me up. But I put them down there anyway, then he started yelling at me. “Stupid kid, get your effin’ bike off the driveway.” Before I could wash my hands I had to move the bike. That’s how the blood stains got there.’

‘I’d like to see your left arm, please.’ Gamache asked.

Guimette turned to Philippe, ‘I advise you not to.’

Philippe shrugged and shoved back the loose sleeve, exposing a violent purple bruise. A twin for Beauvoir’s.

‘How’d you get that?’ Gamache asked.

‘How do most kids get bruises?’

‘You fell down?’ Guimette asked.

Philippe rolled his eyes. ‘What’s the other way?’

Guimette, with sadness, said, ‘Your dad did that to you?’

‘Duh.’

‘He didn’t. He couldn’t have.’ Matthew was silent, as though suddenly emptied of all that made him go. It was Suzanne who finally found her voice, and protested. They must have misheard, misunderstood, be mistaken. ‘Philippe couldn’t have said those things.’

‘We know what we heard, Mrs Croft. Philippe says his father abuses him, and out of fear of a beating Philippe helped Matthew cover up his crime. That’s how he came to have the blood on him, and his prints on the bow. He says his father killed Jane Neal.’ Claude Guimette explained all this for a second time and knew he might have to do it a few more times.

Astonished, Beauvoir caught Gamache’s eye and saw there something he’d rarely seen in Armand Gamache. Anger. Gamache broke eye contact with Beauvoir and looked over at Croft. Matthew realised, too late, that he had gotten it wrong. He’d thought the thing that would destroy his home and his family was marching toward them from a great way off. He never, ever, imagined it had been there all along.

‘He’s right,’ said Croft. ‘I killed Jane Neal’

Gamache closed his eyes.

‘Oh, Matthew, please. No. Don’t.’ Suzanne turned to the others, taking Gamache’s arm in a talon grip. ‘Stop him. He’s lying.’

‘I think she’s right, Mr Croft. I still believe Philippe killed Miss Neal.’

‘You’re wrong. I did it. Everything Philippe says is true.’

‘Including the beatings?’

Matthew looked down at his feet and said nothing.

‘Will you come with us to the station in St Rémy?’ asked Gamache. Beauvoir noticed, as did the others, that it was a request, not an order. And certainly not an arrest.

‘Yes.’ Croft seemed relieved.

‘I’m coming with you,’ said Suzanne, springing up.

‘What about Philippe?’ Claude Guimette asked.

Suzanne suppressed the urge to scream, ‘What about him?’ Instead she took a couple of breaths.

Gamache stepped forward and spoke with her softly, calmly. ‘He’s only fourteen, and as much as he might not show it, he needs his mother.’

She hesitated then nodded, afraid to speak again.

Gamache knew that while fear came in many forms, so did courage.

Gamache, Beauvoir and Croft sat in a small white interview room at the Sûreté station in St Rémy. On the metal table between them sat a plate of ham sandwiches and several tins of soft drinks. Croft hadn’t eaten anything. Neither had Gamache. Beauvoir couldn’t stand it any longer and slowly, as though his stomach wasn’t making that whiny noise filling the