his eyes were bright and his deep voice warm.
“I was.”
“Can I help you with anything?”
“No, I’m just waiting for my lift, merci.”
“Would you like to wait inside?” Hugo waved behind him, toward the office building he’d just come from. The head office of Horowitz Investments.
“No, I’m fine. Thank you.”
But Hugo didn’t leave. He stood beside Gamache, shifting from cold foot to cold foot. And thumping his gloved hands together. He looked like a lug, a pug, a failed boxer who made a living being beaten up by his betters in practice rounds.
Gamache turned to him. Clearly Hugo had something to say.
“I hear you had lunch with Mr. Horowitz.”
“I did,” said Gamache. “How’d you know about that?”
“Ahh, the street. Everyone knows everything. For instance, I know that during lunch Stephen approached that moron Filatreau and told him he was dumping his stock.”
“True. Do you know what Monsieur Filatreau had for lunch?”
It was meant as a joke, but Hugo answered, “Sweetbreads. And you had sea bass.”
Gamache’s smile faded, and he nodded. The street, it seemed, was well informed.
“What else do you know, Monsieur Baumgartner?”
“I know you asked about my brother and that Stephen said he was a crook. Mr. Horowitz is a financial genius and a good judge of character. But he isn’t always right. He likes to imagine the worst in people. His worldview is that everyone’s a crook. Or about to be.”
“He spoke highly of you.”
“Well, maybe I have him fooled,” said Hugo. “My brother was a good man. He wouldn’t steal. Word’s spreading that that’s why he was killed. You have to find out who did this, please. It’s bad enough what happened. Anthony’s reputation can’t be ruined too.”
“What do you know about the will?”
“My mother’s? Just what you do. That she believed the hokum about some long-lost family fortune that was really ours. It was amusing to us as kids but grew tiresome.”
“And yet when we were reading the will, and your brother and sister seemed embarrassed by it, you defended your mother.”
“Her, yes, but not the will.”
“As I remember, you did defend it, saying you thought maybe she was right.”
Hugo looked around and again shifted from foot to foot. “I loved my mother and hated when anyone mocked her. Even Tony and Caroline.”
“You’re a loyal man.”
“Is that such a bad thing?”
“Not at all. I admire it. But loyalty can blind us to the truth about people. Though, as it turns out, your mother might’ve actually been right.”
“What do you mean?”
Hugo had stopped shifting and stared at Gamache.
“I think you know exactly what I mean, monsieur. Think about it, and call me when you decide you do know.”
He gave Hugo a card.
Just then Gamache saw Benedict draw up in his Volvo. It was rush hour and dark, and it didn’t take long for other cars to start honking at Benedict, who was gesturing at Gamache to hurry.
“There’s one more thing,” said Gamache. “Who’s Katie Burke?”
“Who?”
“It’s cold, and my ride is about to be murdered by other drivers, so just tell me. You know I know.”
“Then why ask?”
“To see just how truthful you decide to be. So far you’re not doing well.”
“I’ve told you the truth about my brother.”
“Did you?”
There was a pause, and all they could hear were more horns joining in, a veritable shriek of rage from rue Sherbrooke. Directed at Benedict.
“Who is Katie Burke, Monsieur Baumgartner?”
“She used to visit the Baroness in the nursing home.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. But Mom liked her, and it sort of relieved us of some responsibility, I’m ashamed to say.”
“She was at the top of your mother’s contact list.”
“Was she?”
“You didn’t know?”
By now Benedict had lowered the window of the Volvo and was pleading with Armand to get in.
Hugo shook his head. “Does it matter?”
“Would I ask if it didn’t?” Armand gestured toward the card in Hugo’s gloved hand. “Your mother’s will, Monsieur Baumgartner. Give me a call when you decide to tell the whole story. Don’t wait too long.”
He walked to the car and waved at the line of cars behind Benedict. More than one driver raised a finger in return.
“Thank God,” said Benedict, exhaling and pulling into traffic. “Who was that? Looked like you were speaking with something from Lord of the Rings.”
“Hugo Baumgartner.”
“Oh right. I didn’t recognize him.”
Armand buckled up, and as they headed over the Champlain Bridge, he found himself humming under his breath.
“‘Edelweiss, Edelweiss…’”
CHAPTER 31
Bernard Shaeffer sat in the spartan interview room at Sûreté headquarters. Looking around. Crossing and recrossing his legs. Trying to get comfortable on