All the Devils Are Here (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #16) - Louise Penny Page 0,44
the 36, down the stone ramp to the walkway along the Seine.
“How could you let this happen?” Mrs. McGillicuddy demanded.
Armand opened and closed his mouth. Surprised by the accusation and trying to work out an answer. Should he have, could he have, prevented it?
“I’m sorry,” was all he could think of to say. “I didn’t see it coming. Mrs. McGillicuddy, do you know why Stephen was in Paris?”
“To see you, of course. And because of the baby. He wants to be there to support you all.”
“He isn’t here just for that. Stephen’s also in Paris for a board meeting.”
“No, he isn’t.”
“We found the annual report on his desk. For the engineering company GHS. It’s in his agenda.”
“Not in the one I have.”
“His personal agenda.”
“Mr. Horowitz isn’t on any boards anymore. He gave them all up.”
“Why?”
“Most corporations have bylaws saying board members must step down at a certain age. Mr. Horowitz passed all those ages. And then some.”
Bikers pedaled by. Kids on scooters passed. Pedestrians walking dogs glanced at the man staring into the river.
“Why would he have the annual report then?”
“He liked reading annual reports, like others like reading celebrity magazines.”
“Was he ever on the board of GHS Engineering?”
“No.”
“Does he own shares in the company?”
“I’d have to check.” He heard clicking as she looked it up on her laptop. “No. It’s privately owned. Not publicly traded on the stock exchange.”
“Did he ever talk about Luxembourg?”
“Luxembourg? The country? Or is it a city-state? Why would he talk about that?”
Armand sighed. “I don’t know.”
There was a pause before she spoke again, softly, almost gently. “You think this was no accident, don’t you, Armand?”
He hesitated. Considering.
Stephen Horowitz had trusted Agnes McGillicuddy with his business and personal life for decades. If anyone knew his secrets, it would be her.
If Stephen trusted her, so could he.
“I’m certain of it. Stephen knew something. We need to find out what it was. He never gave you anything, any documents, for safekeeping?”
“No.”
No, thought Armand. Even as he asked the question, he had known that Stephen would never drag her into this. Just as he hadn’t mentioned it to him, or Jean-Guy, or anyone else.
Except Monsieur Plessner, and he was dead. Confirming Stephen’s worst fears, and his need for extreme caution.
“And you have no reason to suspect he’d found something out, something extremely damaging, about a corporation?”
“No, and he’d normally crow to me if he had. He loved having a secret, and loved nothing better than knowing the shit was about to hit the fan.” She hesitated before going on. “If he didn’t tell me, that means it must be really bad. And they tried to kill him to stop him?”
“I think so. You have his business agenda?”
“I do. What do you want to know?”
“What he was doing between September eleventh and the twenty-first.”
“I don’t see anything here. But he must’ve been spending time with you.”
“Reine-Marie and I only arrived in Paris yesterday.”
There was a pause and then she said, “Oh.”
“So you have no idea what he was doing in those ten days?”
“No.” Now she was clearly confused. Something new for Mrs. McGillicuddy. “I didn’t book anything for him. No dinner reservations. No theater or opera tickets. And I don’t have the meeting next week. He might’ve made that plan since arriving in Paris.”
“Did you make a reservation for him at the George V?”
“No. I just told you. No dinner reservations.”
“Not at the restaurant. For a suite.”
“A suite? At the George V? Have you lost your mind?”
Well, that answered that, thought Gamache. He began to pace back and forth along the riverfront as they talked.
The great medieval buildings of île de la Cité rose behind him, while across the Seine he saw the Rive Gauche. The historic home of artists and writers.
Over the centuries, people looking out of those windows had seen far more shocking things than a man walking back and forth along the riverfront.
They’d have witnessed the Terror, for instance.
This was more like watching the Agitation.
Though if they could see his thoughts, his feelings, they’d have drawn the curtains and locked their doors.
“Do you know a man named Alexander Francis Plessner?”
“Alex Plessner? Yes.”
Armand stopped pacing. Finally, a sentence that didn’t start with “no.”
“Mr. Horowitz has lunch with him at the club whenever Mr. Plessner’s in Montréal. He lives in Toronto, I think.”
“They were friends?”
“Were? Mr. Horowitz’s still alive.” The reprimand was immediate and whip sharp. “Don’t bury him yet.”
The past tense was because of the death of Plessner, but Armand wasn’t ready to give up that piece