All the Devils Are Here (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #16) - Louise Penny Page 0,89

my family. For you. I didn’t want you to go through what I did. But I did agree to train them, and I am so, so sorry that wasn’t clear. This’s my fault and I’m sorry for all the pain I’ve caused you.”

“I don’t care anymore. You’re twenty-five years too late.”

Armand nodded. “Oui.”

The truth, too late.

He took another deep breath, exhaled. And took the plunge.

“If you don’t believe I’m saying this as your father, then please believe that I’m saying this as a homicide investigator. I know how these things work. How an investigator’s mind works. You need to go to the police and tell them everything you know about Alexander Plessner. They’ll find out anyway.”

“From you?”

“No. Not from me. I won’t tell Commander Fontaine anything. I know you had nothing to do with Plessner’s murder, and I know for sure you’d never ever do anything to hurt Stephen. But there’s a sophisticated, powerful organization behind this, and what they need is someone to take the blame. Someone to set up. And I’m very afraid it’s you.”

“Thanks for your advice, Chief Inspector. I’ll consider it.”

Armand nodded and held out his son’s umbrella, which he’d picked off the grass in the garden. Daniel looked at him then closed the door in his face.

Resting the umbrella against the wall, Armand left.

Jean-Guy waited in the shadows.

Pedestrians glanced at him, then moved along. Not wanting to draw the attention of this tightly coiled man.

And then, there he was.

Loiselle paused for just an instant at the opening to the narrow side street, but it was all Beauvoir needed.

He grabbed him, swinging the much larger man around. With his knee he dropped Loiselle to the pavement and knelt on his back as he patted him down, coming away with a Sig pistol.

People shouted, some screamed, all leaped away. But before anyone could raise their phone and take photographs, Beauvoir hauled Loiselle to his feet and shoved him into a boutique.

“I’m a cop. I need your back room.”

The wide-eyed manager pointed. Then, rushing ahead, he unlocked a door.

“Lock it after us,” commanded Beauvoir.

“Should I call the police?”

“No. I’ve already done that,” he lied.

When the door slammed shut, he pushed Loiselle against the wall and put the gun to his throat.

But something was wrong. The man wasn’t struggling. Wasn’t fighting back. This was far too easy.

Then Loiselle did something unexpected. He put up his hands.

They stared at each other. Beauvoir’s adrenaline was so strong, his anger so great, it was all he could do not to pistol-whip the man anyway, surrender or no.

Then Loiselle did something even more unexpected.

“You said you were a cop, in Québec,” he said. “You were Inspector Beauvoir, with the Sûreté du Québec. That was you, in the factory. I’ve been wanting to talk.”

Armand’s phone rang. It was Reine-Marie.

“Can you meet me at the archives?” she said.

“I’ll be there in five minutes.”

Armand walked quickly, and tried to get his thoughts straight. He’d told Daniel that he wouldn’t say anything to Commander Fontaine, and he wouldn’t. But still, he had to find out what Daniel and Plessner were working on. And whether it had anything to do with Plessner’s murder.

He checked his emails as he walked. Finally clicking on the one from Mrs. McGillicuddy that had come in during the night. Far from being long and convoluted it contained only two words.

Call me.

He looked at his watch and did the calculations. It was six hours earlier in Montréal. That made it five thirty in the morning. She’d be asleep.

He’d wait and call after he’d met with Reine-Marie.

“I recognized you from the video, the one in the factory,” Loiselle said, an urgency to his voice. “I saw what you did. You and the other agents. I saw what your boss did. I saw what happened.”

Loiselle was whispering, as though what had happened that terrible day a few years earlier was a secret. Instead of leaked and splashed across the internet. Seen by millions.

The Sûreté raid, to free a hostage. To stop heavily armed gunmen. It had been a desperate fight to prevent something even more horrific from happening. But it had been a bloodbath. They’d prevailed. Barely. And at a terrible price.

“That was Gamache I saw you with yesterday, right? The older man? I recognized him, too. That’s why I wanted to speak to you.”

“Why?”

“In the factory, none of your agents broke and ran. You were disciplined, trained, dedicated. A tight team. But still, no one faces that kind of hell and keeps moving forward unless