All the Devils Are Here (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #16) - Louise Penny Page 0,55
for Daniel to come through.
“Yes.”
Daniel was glaring at his father. Not understanding that the man had just saved him.
But Gamache wasn’t finished yet.
“How?” he asked.
“With billions of euros at stake, there can be bribery, blackmail,” said Daniel, his tone brusque. “Payoffs. Politicians can be in the pocket of private industry. Or it can be something as simple as a bureaucrat turning a blind eye to some problem, in hopes of being rewarded by the corporation.”
“A flaw in the system,” said his father, nodding. “Paying the enforcers so much less than the criminals make. Opens people up to temptation.”
“But most are honest,” said Daniel. “In my experience anyway. Unlike you, I don’t always want to see the worst in people.”
The shot was unmistakable. And had hit its mark.
Armand, despite years of practice, had never developed a defense against his son’s barbs.
And Irena Fontaine made a mental note. This might be a tight family circle, but she’d just found the weak link. The crack through which spite passed.
She wondered what the father could have done to the son to create such animosity.
“Bon, let’s shift back to Monsieur Horowitz. Madame McGillicuddy gave me a lot of information about his, what? Empire?”
The family, as one, smiled.
Stephen would have liked that. It made him an emperor.
“But,” continued Fontaine, “she refused to give me the codes to his computer and phone. The Prefect says you’ll get them for us. Have you done that, sir?”
“Not yet. I haven’t had the chance to call her back.”
“I see.”
Clearly, she was thinking, if she had found the time to speak to Mrs. McGillicuddy, he could, too. And Fontaine was right.
What she hadn’t known was that he’d spent that time with Stephen. But now, Armand realized he needed to focus on the investigation.
He couldn’t help his godfather. Stephen was in other hands. Good hands. But he could help find out who’d done this to him, and to Alexander Plessner.
“She did give me the name and number of Monsieur Horowitz’s personal lawyer in Montréal,” said Fontaine. “I’ll be calling soon, but you can save me some time.”
“How?” asked Roslyn, leaning forward.
“Who benefits?” said Fontaine, looking around the room.
“Didn’t we just talk about that?” said Roslyn. “That company benefits, if he had something on it.”
“She means the will, don’t you?” said Annie. “If Stephen dies, who gets his money.”
“Yes. He’s a billionaire with investments, property, impressive collections of art, rare first editions. And no one to leave it all to. Except you. Oh, come on, you can’t tell me you haven’t thought about that. You’re his family. Who else is he going to leave his fortune to? Chief Inspector?”
“Stephen never spoke about it,” said Armand. “And I never asked.”
“Neither did I,” said Daniel. “If I thought about it—”
Be quiet, be quiet, his father thought. For God’s sake, be quiet. But it was too late.
“—it was that he’d use his wealth to set up a foundation,” said Daniel. “He wouldn’t leave it to us. We don’t need it.”
“It sounds as though you have thought about it,” said Fontaine.
And there it was, thought Gamache with dismay.
“And you don’t need the money?” she continued. “Not even to buy an apartment that must cost several million euros? And put your children into private school?”
“I’ve had a promotion at work,” said Daniel, red spreading up his neck and across his cheeks.
“You can’t possibly think—” began Reine-Marie, then stopped, unable to say the words out loud.
But Beauvoir could. “You think one of us tried to kill Stephen? For money?”
“You don’t need to look so shocked,” said Fontaine. “You’d ask the same question if this was your case. Wouldn’t be the first time greed was a motive for murder. And as magnificent as you might think you all are, you’re still human.”
But it was Gamache’s reaction that interested her the most.
Instead of exploding, as she’d expected when she’d deliberately and clearly accused his family, attacked his family, he’d grown even calmer.
Claude Dussault, had he been there, would have recognized the warning signs.
But Irena Fontaine did not.
“It’s a legitimate question,” he said. “But let me make this clear. No one in this family would ever hurt someone, not for personal gain.”
The tone might be polite, but the force of his personality was almost overwhelming. The outrage so much more powerful for being contained. It was, Fontaine thought, like watching a centurion control a team of snorting and stamping warhorses. Prepared for battle, but holding back. Choosing, with infinite patience, his own time to take to the field.