All the Devils Are Here (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #16) - Louise Penny Page 0,138
you know. Why do you think I asked Madame Lenoir to lock you in the basement?”
“Now this is interesting,” said Girard, who clearly had little time for Alain Pinot. “What gave him away?”
“The attack on Stephen Friday night,” said Gamache, speaking directly to Pinot. “Someone had to know where he’d be. He was very careful. He knew he’d be targeted, which was why he wasn’t staying here, in his own apartment. But someone found out he’d be at Juveniles. You. You were the one he met for drinks earlier Friday evening. In his agenda he’d written AFP. Stands for Agence France-Presse, but they’re also your initials. That confused us for a while. We thought AFP stood for Alexander Francis Plessner. And those notes he made, with dates? They were ones he asked you to look up from your files.”
“True,” said Pinot.
“But of course, you told him you found nothing. And that was your mistake. Stephen knew there was something there. That’s when he, too, began to suspect you.”
“Impossible,” said Pinot. “I’d have known. When we met Friday afternoon, he was his usual self. I’d asked him to bring the evidence with him so that I could see it before committing.”
“And did he?”
“Well, no. He said he’d left it here, in his apartment.”
Gamache gave him a contemptuous look.
“Just an old man’s memory lapse? You really are a fool.” Gamache turned to Girard. “Is that when the wheels started coming off your plans? Was he supposed to have an unfortunate accident leaving his meeting with Pinot? But when he didn’t bring the evidence, you had to scramble.” He turned back to Pinot. “Did Stephen tell you about his dinner plans? No, I doubt he’d do that. So how did you know? His agenda?”
“I saw it there,” said Pinot.
“What did you do then?” Armand sounded calm, but his mind was whirring. Trying to keep them engaged, trying to stay one step ahead. “Wait, don’t tell me. You came to the apartment, thinking Stephen would be here, changing for dinner. You could force the evidence out of him, then kill him. But once again, things didn’t go to plan. Instead of Stephen, you ran into Plessner. But …” His mind skidded to a halt and changed direction. “… No, I have that wrong, don’t I?”
He turned to Daniel. “Girard here couldn’t have come to the apartment because he was in the George V, having tea with you”—he looked at Dussault—“and the head of GHS Engineering.”
Girard’s eyes narrowed and his lips compressed. But Dussault looked almost amused.
“I told you it was a mistake to underestimate him.”
“Did Madame Roquebrune want to know why your operation was such a dog’s breakfast?” Gamache asked.
“No, not that exactly. She didn’t want any details, just that it was being handled.”
“But it wasn’t. In fact, it was about to get even worse,” said Gamache. “You didn’t find the evidence, one of your operatives shot Plessner, making it impossible to claim accident, and then your attack on Stephen was bungled. Must’ve been some pretty stressful hours, sitting there with me in the hospital. Is that why you hung around? To see what I knew?”
“And to make sure Horowitz didn’t regain consciousness, oui,” said Dussault. “And to comfort you, of course.”
“Merci.”
“I came here the next morning, to look for myself,” said Dussault. “That’s when you and Reine-Marie arrived.”
“Then it was you. We weren’t sure if it was you or Girard here.”
“If it was me, you’d have been dead,” said Girard. “It was one of the few mistakes the Prefect has made.”
“He’s right,” said Dussault. “I probably should have killed you then. But then we wouldn’t have this”—he tapped the file beside him on the sofa—“would we?”
“I’ve read the evidence,” Gamache said, his voice no longer matter-of-fact. “Thousands were killed in the so-called accidents, over years. You’re the head of the Préfecture. You could have stopped it, but you didn’t. How does that happen? How could you make that choice?”
He was searching his old friend’s face, his sharp eyes flicking over to the file, then back again. Trying to find the answer to a crucial question.
“Me?” Dussault looked up. “Not me. I was still only second-in-command at the Préfecture when all this started. I had nothing to do with it. Not then.”
“Then when?”
“Turns out, when Messieurs Plessner and Horowitz had enough evidence to be suggestive but not enough to be sure, they went to my predecessor in the Préfecture. Clément Prévost. Hoping he’d be able to start an investigation. You met him.”