true. It was just one scenario.
What he did know was that while it was necessary to go through various scenarios, there was folly, there was danger in landing too heavily on one particular theory early in an investigation. Too often the investigators became invested in that theory and began interpreting evidence to fit.
That could lead to a murderer going free, or, worse, it could lead to the conviction of an innocent person.
Don’t believe everything you think.
Chief Inspector Gamache wrote that on the board for the incoming cadets at the start of every year at the Sûreté academy, and it stayed there all year.
At first the students in the class he taught laughed. It sounded clever but silly. Little by little most got it. And those who didn’t did not progress further.
That phrase was as powerful as any weapon they’d be handed.
No. Right now there were any number of theories, all equally valid. But only one was correct.
“Why was the killer still here this morning?” asked Dussault. “They don’t normally hang around.”
“Or why did he return? The only explanation I can think of is that he hadn’t found what he was looking for.”
“Okay, here’s a thought,” said Dussault. “The original plan was to search the apartment while Monsieur Horowitz was at dinner. When he found what he wanted, the intruder would head over to the restaurant and kill Horowitz, hoping it would look like a hit-and-run. No one would suspect anything other than a terrible accident. Clean. Simple. Fini.”
Armand considered that. It could be true. Except …
“The place is a mess,” said Armand. “If he really wanted Stephen’s death to look like an accident, wouldn’t he leave the apartment as he’d found it?”
“Yes, that would’ve been the plan, but it went south as soon as he discovered this man and killed him,” said Dussault. “Then there was no need to be careful. In fact, he was in a hurry. He had to find whatever he needed, fast. Then get to the restaurant in time to run down Horowitz.”
“By then, why not just shoot Stephen?” asked Armand. “If what you say is true, there was no longer any need to make it look like an accident. We’d find the body in his apartment and realize it was deliberate.”
“He needed to buy time,” said Dussault. “If Horowitz had been shot, the brigade criminelle would’ve come here right away.”
As they should have anyway, thought Gamache.
The only constant in these theories was that the dead man was killed unexpectedly. One of several big mistakes made that night by the intruder.
Murdering the wrong man, failing to kill the right one, and apparently not even finding what he was looking for. If he had, he wouldn’t have still been hanging around when they’d arrived.
“Aaach,” said the Prefect. “My head is beginning to hurt.”
Gamache didn’t believe that. This was the sort of puzzle that people like Dussault, like him, were good at. Trying to unravel what appeared to be a Gordian knot.
But were they working on the same knot?
“It is possible,” said Armand, looking at Dussault to see his reaction to what he was about to say, “that it wasn’t the killer Reine-Marie and I interrupted, but someone else.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
Claude Dussault sighed. “People coming and going. Mistaken identity. We appear to be looking at two different mises-en-scène. I’m seeing an Émile Zola tragedy, while you see a farce straight out of Molière.”
It was not unlike what Gamache himself had been thinking a few moments earlier. Though Dussault’s description, while said with humor, held an implied criticism. And some mocking.
“Could be,” said Armand, with equanimity. “Fortunately, truth is on the march and nothing will stop it.”
Dussault laughed and clapped Armand on the arm. Clearly recognizing the Zola quote.
“Touché, mon ami.”
Dussault turned and they continued down the hall.
“Is this the way you came, following the intruder?”
“Yes.”
“He obviously knew there was a back stairway through the kitchen,” said Dussault.
“Exactly. He’d had plenty of time to get to know the apartment. It’s unfortunate. I thought I’d trapped him.”
“How did you even know there was someone else here?” asked Dussault.
“We heard a sound.”
Dussault was shaking his head. “And what would you do, Armand, if one of your agents, unarmed, chased a murderer with a gun down a narrow hallway?”
Armand gave a small laugh. “I’d have them on the carpet for sure.”
“You’d probably be scraping them off the carpet. Not very smart of you. He could’ve shot you, too.”
“Interesting that he didn’t. Though I am grateful.”
“As am I,” said Dussault, with a smile.