All the Devils Are Here (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #16) - Louise Penny Page 0,57
your own people in commando tactics. Why wouldn’t you? As the Sûreté, your people are often first in.”
“Then you must know, Commander,” said Gamache, “that anyone schooled in those tactics is also trained to make sure the person they’re killing is the actual target. Not an innocent bystander.”
“Mistakes happen.”
“Yes, when a situation gets out of control. But this would not. It was contained. One unarmed elderly man in a private apartment. There would be no mistake. Whoever killed Alexander Plessner almost certainly meant to kill Alexander Plessner.”
That sat in the room. A bald statement so certain of itself that Commander Fontaine could not think of an argument.
“What have you found out about him, the dead man?” Beauvoir asked, hoping to draw some of her fire.
Fontaine disengaged from Gamache and turned to Beauvoir. “We’ve tracked down one of Monsieur Plessner’s colleagues in Toronto. She was, of course, shocked. The news of his murder isn’t public yet, and I have local investigators searching his office and home. As we know, Monsieur Plessner was trained as a mechanical engineer and seems to have used his training to invest in venture capital, mainly in small, apparently insignificant inventions or innovations that others dismissed, but ended up making him a fortune.”
“There can’t be many that come to anything,” said Roslyn.
“No, but if even one hits,” said Daniel, “a fortune is made.”
Reine-Marie heard Armand sigh, a long exhale of exasperation with a son who just could not shut up.
“That’s right, I’d forgotten, you’re in venture capital, too,” said Fontaine, who clearly had not forgotten.
If there was a trap to step into, Daniel would find it. If there was no trap, Daniel would create one. Then step into it.
“And yet, you don’t know Monsieur Plessner?” asked Fontaine, pleasantly.
“Never heard of him. If he’s based in Toronto, I wouldn’t. There’re a lot of people who think they can find the next Apple or Facebook. And some do. That’s where lives are changed.”
And sometimes, thought Gamache, staring at his son, lives lost.
CHAPTER 18
When the interview ended, the others went across the street to join the children and their sitter in the park. But Gamache and Beauvoir stayed behind.
Jean-Guy was dying to tell Gamache what had happened at work, and to check out what he’d recorded on his phone. But Fontaine and her number two also lingered in the apartment.
“Did you bring the box, Commander?” Gamache asked, looking around the foyer.
“The box, sir?”
“Monsieur Dussault said he’d ask you to bring Stephen’s things so we could go through them again.”
“Were you looking for anything in particular?”
“Well, yes. I wanted to look at the annual report from GHS.”
“The Prefect did ask, but I’d already left. Perhaps tomorrow.”
“Merci,” said Gamache, doubting he’d see that box the next day, or ever. He went to open the door for them, but Fontaine didn’t move.
“I’d like to speak with you. Privately, sir.” She glanced at Beauvoir.
“Yes? You can speak in front of Jean-Guy. What is it?”
He could see it was something. Something even more sensitive, it seemed, than accusing his children of murder.
They were standing in the front hall, and she pointed to the dining room. When they sat down, she said, “Are you aware of Monsieur Horowitz’s background?”
Armand opened his mouth to answer, then changed his mind. Finally saying, “I think so, but what do you know?”
“He’s German by birth.”
“Yes.”
“And fought with the French Resistance during the war,” said Fontaine. “His family was arrested for protecting Jews, and shot. Monsieur Horowitz managed to escape.”
“Oui. His family stalled the Gestapo long enough to allow him to lead the Jewish family out a hidden door in the back garden.”
This was news to Jean-Guy, who listened in astonishment. He knew about the Resistance, but not this.
“That’s the story, yes,” said Fontaine.
Gamache shifted in his seat but remained silent. He was beginning to get an inkling of what was coming.
“As you can imagine, sir, we have access to files that aren’t public. That were suppressed after the war, for all sorts of reasons.”
“Go on.”
Armand had tensed his muscles, like a boxer preparing for a body blow.
“The reports we have in the archives tell a different story,” said Fontaine. “His family was indeed killed in the war. His mother and siblings in Dresden. His father and uncle survived the war but were shot by the Russians.”
“Why?”
“They were senior Gestapo officers responsible, according to the Russians, for sending thousands to the camps.”
Armand sat perfectly still. Struck dumb. Almost blind and deaf. His senses shutting down. Not breathing. Not blinking. This was