All the Devils Are Here (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #16) - Louise Penny Page 0,50
adversary.”
Stephen was famous for bringing a cannon to a fistfight. Was it really possible, Armand wondered, that he’d underestimate his opponent?
But he was in a coma and Alexander Plessner was in the morgue, so clearly he had. But Armand was also curious about Claude’s turn of phrase. Describing Stephen as “tilting at” GHS. That conjured images of Don Quixote, who tilted at windmills, mistaking them for adversaries.
Was Claude suggesting, however subtly, that Stephen was also mistaken?
“Is that why Stephen got your Beauvoir a job at GHS?”
“It’s possible. If that is the reason, he didn’t share it with Beauvoir.”
“So Beauvoir knows nothing?”
“Nothing except what I’ve told you.”
“The Luxembourg thing.”
“Yes.”
“Seems pretty thin. Could a business rival be setting GHS up? Knowing we’d investigate? But would they really go this far to discredit, maybe ruin, another company?” Dussault stopped and grimaced. “Sorry. That was stupid.”
Yes, it was.
Corporations that put profit before safety would not stop at killing two old men to protect themselves. That would be considered a slow day.
Dussault made a note. “I’ll pass along our thoughts to Commander Fontaine.”
“Poor her,” said Armand.
Dussault chuckled, then glanced at the clock. “You need to be off soon.”
It was now half past two.
“I do.”
As he walked Gamache to the door, Claude Dussault said, “You were a member of Joint Task Force Two, Armand. Non?”
Armand cocked his head and looked at his friend. How did Dussault know about his relationship with the elite Canadian force? But then, how did he know about Dussault’s background as a commando?
Because that’s what they did. If knowledge was power, both wanted to be the most powerful in any room. Neither carried a gun. What they carried was a brain, and in that brain was information.
“Non. I’ve trained recruits,” said Armand, his voice steady. “But that’s all.”
“In counterterrorism and hostage situations,” said Dussault.
“Correct.”
“And how to kill effectively.”
“Mostly how not to have to kill.”
“Far more interesting,” conceded the Prefect. “And challenging.”
With some surprise, Gamache realized that while he harbored suspicions of Claude Dussault, it was actually a fairly crowded harbor.
It seemed Dussault might have some suspicions, too.
And Gamache could see why. He’d been essentially on the scene of both attacks. While not there for the murder of Alexander Plessner, he had discovered the body. And come away unharmed from a confrontation with an intruder no one else saw.
It would have been amusing, these two men in late middle age suspecting each other of commando-style murders. If one of them wasn’t, possibly, right.
At the door Dussault spoke quietly and gravely. Holding Armand’s eyes.
“I’m happy for your insights into Monsieur Horowitz, but please, Armand, after your talk with Commander Fontaine, it’s time for you to leave this investigation to us. Step away. You’re too close.”
“Close to what?”
The truth?
“Leave it.”
“Would you, Claude? If you were in Montréal and a man who was pretty much your father was attacked. Would you just step back?”
“If you were in charge of the investigation? Yes.”
Armand left, knowing he’d just heard at least one lie. And told at least one himself.
He called Mrs. McGillicuddy and asked her to agree that the board meeting was noted in Stephen’s agenda.
“Just, perhaps, don’t say which agenda.”
After leaving the BHV, Reine-Marie Gamache hurried back home. Showering and changing again, she placed a call before she thought better of it.
“Dr. Dussault? Monique?”
“Oui?”
“It’s Reine-Marie Gamache.”
“Oh, I was just about to call to invite you and your husband for dinner.” Monique Dussault’s voice was deep and warm. “Claude told me what happened last night. I’m so sorry.”
While Reine-Marie had only met her a few times, she’d immediately liked the woman. Dr. Dussault was a pediatrician who had a practice in Montparnasse, not far from the catacombs.
“Seems like some sort of karma,” she’d told Reine-Marie. “I live with a secretive man, and now I live over those secret tunnels. The only difference between them is that the catacombs have hidden depths.”
She’d laughed and looked across the table at her husband with undisguised affection.
“Why don’t you come to us,” said Reine-Marie. “Something simple. To be honest, once home I’m not sure I’ll want to go out again. I know the men will want to talk, and honestly, I’d like the company.”
“But you must be exhausted.”
Reine-Marie was, and could barely believe she was inviting company for dinner. But it was the only way …
“I find cooking relaxing. Please come. It’ll be just us. En famille.”
“Let me at least bring a dessert.”
And so it was decided. No going back now, thought Reine-Marie, and wondered how Armand would feel about this.