All the Devils Are Here (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #16) - Louise Penny Page 0,117
in Colombia. The disappearance of the reporter who’d written the story and that her body was eventually found in a gorge in Patagonia.
“Near the mine?”
“We’re trying to find out. The local police dismissed it as a hiking accident.”
“She was alone?”
“It seems so. AFP sent people to investigate. They discovered that neither her phone nor her laptop were found on her, or in her hotel room.”
“She was murdered.”
“Looks like it, though the local authorities never agreed and didn’t investigate. And eventually the story died.”
“Really?”
“The local cops must’ve been paid off.”
“She was on to something,” said Gamache. “But what? Might be the derailment, or might not. Have you figured out the other dates?”
“We’re working on it.” Jean-Guy paused, wondering if he should say more. Knowing their phones were probably being monitored. But it also felt like they’d passed the point of no return. “Do you know an Alain Pinot?”
“The media fellow. Yes. He’s on the GHS Engineering board. I saw him just now at the Lutetia. Why?”
“His company owns Agence France-Presse.”
There was a pause as Gamache absorbed that news and considered what it could mean.
“But do you know him personally?” Jean-Guy asked.
“Non. Should I?”
Jean-Guy told him about McGill, and the possible connection to Stephen. “Reine-Marie’s written to Mrs. McGillicuddy to see if Stephen did know him. This would’ve been thirty years ago or more. Stephen never mentioned him?”
“Not that I remember. If he was looking out for Monsieur Pinot back then, I’d have thought he’d introduce us. We’d be about the same age, non?”
“He’s a couple of years younger, but yes, that’s what I thought, too.”
Jean-Guy was obviously a little disappointed. There might not be a connection between Alain Pinot and Stephen Horowitz after all. If there was, Stephen would almost certainly have introduced the wild young man to his more stable godson.
“I might’ve been away at university,” said Armand. “Let me know what you find out.”
“Any news your end?”
“Seems neodymium, while a rare earth element, isn’t exactly rare. It’s a powerful magnet, but that’s about it. We’re looking into the telecommunications connection. Still, it’s puzzling why GHS kept the find a secret.”
“Maybe that’s just the culture,” said Jean-Guy. “They don’t exactly like broadcasting their business.”
“That’s probably it.”
Both men knew Jean-Guy’s statement was for the benefit of whoever might be listening. The truth was, this wasn’t extreme secrecy. It was a cover-up.
“Is Reine-Marie there? Can I have a word?”
“Armand?” he heard her say. “Jean-Guy told you what we found?”
“Yes, much more than we’ve found. Have you heard from Daniel?”
“Not yet. Do you want me to call him?”
“No, I’ll do that. Let me know what Mrs. McGillicuddy says about Stephen and Monsieur Pinot.”
“Absolutely. Armand?”
“Oui?”
“Everything all right?”
“Yes. We’re moving forward. Getting closer and closer.” He chose not to tell her where they were getting closer to.
If GHS was good at keeping secrets, they were amateurs compared to the head of homicide.
Though the key was knowing what information to let slip, and what to hold on to.
He called Daniel. Heard it ring. And ring. And then Daniel’s recorded voice, deep, cheerful, warm, inviting him to leave a message.
“Daniel? It’s Dad. Call me when you can.”
Up ahead he could see their apartment. And in it what he’d dashed across Paris to find.
Since silence was already broken, Jean-Guy decided to make one more call.
As soon as he heard Annie’s voice, he relaxed. Until that moment, he had no idea how tense he’d become.
“Everything all right?” he asked.
“Just fine. Honoré and the girls have had their dinner and baths, and we’re just tucking them in. Did you know Great-Aunt Ruth has taught him a song?”
“Oh, God, what now?”
Their son’s very first word hadn’t been “Mama” or “Papa,” or “milk,” or “please.”
Thanks to Great-Aunt Ruth and her duck Rosa, Honoré’s first word had been “fuck.” Which he’d screamed, loud and clear. In the middle of a party. Repeatedly.
Annie and Jean-Guy had tried to explain that he was actually saying “duck,” but his enunciation was so perfect no one believed that.
Honoré adored Great-Aunt Ruth and her duck Rosa and absorbed anything they chose to imprint.
“Here, listen,” said Annie and held the phone out.
In a clear, high voice, their son was singing, “What do you do with a drunken sailor?”
“A sea shanty? Jesus,” sighed Jean-Guy. “Still, he can hold a tune.”
“Yes, that’s the thing to focus on.”
“You’re all right?” he repeated.
“Yes.”
A few minutes earlier she’d felt a twinge. It was, she told herself, indigestion. Though in her heart, and slightly further down, she knew it wasn’t that.