All the Devils Are Here (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #16) - Louise Penny Page 0,56
But there are other reasons they might kill?” Fontaine continued to provoke.
It seemed everyone else had faded into the furniture. And they were alone. Locked in a duel. This senior cop from Québec, with the strange accent. And her. The second-in-command of the cops in all fucking Paris.
She would outrank him, had they been in the same force. She tried to find comfort, and confidence, in that. Even as she felt herself wavering. Wondering if it had been such a good idea to cross that line.
But she had to know. Had to push him. The Prefect had instructed her to do all she could to find out what this man knew. And the best way was to hit him where it hurt.
“No,” said Gamache. “Nothing could make anyone here try to kill Stephen. At least”—his stare was unrelenting—“not any member of this family.”
Had he really just insinuated that she could be involved? she wondered. And that, by extension, the Préfecture could be involved?
Maybe even the Prefect himself?
He’d hit back, and hard.
She could now see why Monsieur Dussault had warned her about this man.
“Do you know the contents of his will?” she asked, trying to modulate her tone to match his.
“I’m one of the executors. Mrs. McGillicuddy and his personal lawyer are the others. But I haven’t seen the will.”
“He never mentioned any bequests to you or your family?”
“No.”
“Though it wouldn’t be unreasonable”—with great effort, she held his stare—“to expect something. Maybe even something substantial.”
“It’s certainly possible that Stephen’s left his billions to us. And it would be only human to imagine what that would be like.” He smiled. “Wouldn’t you?”
“Would you?”
“Me?” His smile faded until he looked almost wistful, and shook his head. “No. I never wanted anything from Stephen except his company.”
A snort of derision escaped her. But he continued to look at her, unapologetic. Almost, she saw now, in a kindly way.
Inviting her, it seemed, to understand. What it meant to love so completely that all you wanted from that person was companionship.
She remembered what he’d said while in Horowitz’s apartment.
Dead parents. Godfather. Nine-year-old boy.
And for a moment she understood what the crotchety financier must’ve meant to the boy. To the man.
She found that she believed him. But that didn’t mean his lawyer daughter and his banker son with the expensive new apartment hadn’t dreamed of riches beyond belief. And maybe even done more than dream.
Now Gamache leaned forward. “No one in this family had anything to do with the attacks. Think about it. Even if, even if ”—he stressed the “if ”—“we had a motive to kill Stephen, why murder Monsieur Plessner?”
“Mistaken identity,” she said, not yet willing to give up her theory. “None of you knew Monsieur Horowitz was staying at the George V and not at his apartment.”
“For God’s sake—” Reine-Marie began, then stopped when she heard her husband laugh.
“I’m sorry,” he said, sitting back in the sofa. “But are you really suggesting that one of us went to the apartment, mistook Monsieur Plessner for a man we’d known all our lives, then shot him in the spine and head?”
He’d been specific for a reason. Hadn’t said “back.” Had said “spine.” And he could see that his logic had landed. Except.
Now Commander Fontaine turned slightly. Until she was looking at Jean-Guy Beauvoir.
“Oh, come on,” said Beauvoir, clearly following her thinking. “Me? You think I did it? This’s bullshit.”
“It was, as you pointed out, a commando-style hit,” she said, turning back to Gamache. “I understand, sir, you were a member of the Canadian special ops unit, Joint Task Force Two.”
“Do I look like a commando?” Gamache said, opening his arms.
Fontaine had to admit he looked more like her history prof at the Sorbonne. If you didn’t look into his eyes.
Elite forces were led by people like this. Who thought as well as acted. Who thought before they acted. And who could be ruthless if need be.
“Now?” she said. “Maybe not. But a hundred years ago …”
Gamache laughed and shook his head.
“You deny it?” she said. “But then, aren’t commandos sworn to secrecy, even after they’ve left? To say, if pressed, that they washed out, or were simply an instructor?”
“Really? If I admit it, then I’m a member. If I deny it, I’m still a member? You’d have done well in the Inquisition, Commander.” His smile had disappeared. “Now, this’s a little awkward, but I was actually an instructor for JTF2. Not a member.”