A Great Reckoning (21 page)

Gracie had stopped struggling in his arms, and slowly he could feel her relax. Her trembling eased as he stroked her. From nose to tail. She was about the size of his hand, so they were not long strokes.

“I'll explain mine, if you explain yours.” Reine-Marie gestured with the sponge toward their guests.

Both Gélinas and Lacoste laughed.

“Isabelle I know, of course,” said Reine-Marie, peeling off the kitchen gloves and leaning in to kiss her. “Welcome,
ma belle
.”

“This is Paul Gélinas,” said Armand, as the two shook hands.

“
Un plaisir
,” said Gélinas. “I'm sorry to barge in like this.”

“RCMP,” said Reine-Marie. “The Mounties are always welcome.” She turned to Armand. “What have you done now?”

“Deputy Commissioner Gélinas is here to help us investigate the murder of Professor Leduc,” said Isabelle.

“I see.”

Armand had already called to tell Reine-Marie about it, so it was no surprise. She did not, they noticed, offer the usual words of grief and shock and sadness. No need to add hypocrisy to an already complex situation.

“Your turn.” Armand looked down at Gracie, now asleep in his arms.

“Remember when I told you this morning that Clara had gotten her rescue puppy?”

“And this is it?” asked Armand with relief.

“Well, no.”

“What have you done now?” he asked her. “And what is it?”

It did not, in all truth, look like a puppy.

“It looks like a groundhog,” said Isabelle Lacoste.

“I think it might be one of those teapot pigs,” said Gélinas.

“Oh, God, don't tell me,” said Armand.

“Some detectives,” said Reine-Marie with a smile, taking Gracie from him. “She doesn't have trotters. She isn't a pig.”

“Well, Ruth doesn't have cloven hooves,” said her husband, “but we all know…”

“She's not a teapot pig,” Reine-Marie assured him.

“Then what is she? Not a puppy.”

“Ummm,” said Reine-Marie. “We think so.”

“You think?”

“She hasn't been to the vet yet. The litter was found in a garbage can by Billy Williams, out Cowansville way. He called around and—”

“At least it's not a skunk,” said Isabelle. “Is it?”

“A ferret?” asked Gélinas.

Reine-Marie put Gracie in the cage by the fireplace, soft towels and small chew toys keeping her company.

The four adults and Henri bent over her, like surgeons examining a complicated case.

She was so tiny it was difficult to tell what she was. She had rounded ears and a long thin tail, and paws with sharp nails. She was bald except for patches of black hair, not yet long enough for a combover. Her eyes opened and she looked back at them.

“She's a puppy,” Gamache declared and straightened up.

“Don't you need to say it three times for it to be true,
patron
?” asked Lacoste.

“You don't believe it?” he asked.

“I reserve judgment.”

“Smart,” said Deputy Commissioner Gélinas. “I myself will stand by ferret.
Désolé, madame.”

“Not at all,” she assured him. “I admire you for standing behind your conclusion, however misguided.”

There was no mistaking the subtext, or the warning.

Gélinas nodded. He understood. Mess with her family, you messed with her. And she had a ferret at her disposal.

“We should talk,” said Gamache, after pulling the towel up around Gracie to keep her warm, and resting his hand on her.

“
Oui
,” said Lacoste. “And I need to get back to the academy. You're returning?”

She held his eyes and saw a very slight nod.

The cadets were here, in the village. Somewhere. Out of sight. Even from the Deputy Commissioner. And he wanted to keep it that way, for now.

“Yes, later this afternoon,” said Gamache. “I'll drive Monsieur Gélinas back after filling him in.”

Isabelle Lacoste left and Madame Gamache offered them a late lunch. “You probably haven't eaten much today.”

“True,” said Gélinas. “But I don't want to put you out. I noticed a bistro in the village…”

“Probably best to have a more private discussion,” said Armand, leading him into the kitchen where he sliced fresh bread from Sarah's boulangerie and Gélinas helped him grill sandwiches of Brome Lake duck, Brie and fig confit.

“Your wife is very caring, monsieur,” said Gélinas, as they worked side by side. “And not just of the ferret—”

“—puppy.”

“You're a lucky man. I miss this.”

“A puddle of pee at the front door?”

“Even that.” Paul Gélinas was looking down at the sandwiches as he sliced them. “My wife was a lot like Madame Gamache. Always bringing home strays. Animals. People.” Gélinas's hands paused and he grunted in surprise. “She died three years ago. Sometimes it seems like she's been gone forever. And sometimes I still smell her perfume and hear her footsteps and look up, expecting to see her. And then I remember.”

“I'm sorry,” said Armand.

“When a job came up at the embassy in Paris after she died, I took it. Needed to get away. A change. I came back a few months ago.”

“Did it help?” asked Gamache. “Paris?”

“It didn't hurt,” said Gélinas, smiling.

Gamache smiled back and nodded and turned the sandwiches over in the pan. There was nothing to say that didn't sound trite, or hollow.

Paul Gélinas, roughly Gamache's age, was living his nightmare.

But Gamache knew something else.

Deputy Commissioner Gélinas had not been seconded to Paris to serve canapés at diplomatic soirées. This man had been in the intelligence service. He'd almost certainly spent the last few years as a spy.

And now he was here. Invited into the investigation, to spy on them.

“You have a nice home here, monsieur,” said Gélinas as they took their sandwiches to the harvest table. “The Sûreté Academy must have held some powerful attractions, for you to leave this for that.”

It was said pleasantly. A guest making polite conversation. But both men knew that, while polite, it was not simply conversation.

“I left to clean up the academy,” said Gamache. “As I suspect you very well know.”

Gélinas took a huge bite of his sandwich and nodded approvingly. “Delicious,” he managed to say as he chewed. Finally swallowing, he said, “Sometimes, to clean up a mess, we have to make an even bigger one. It gets worse before it gets better.”

Gamache put down his sandwich and looked across the pine table at the RCMP officer.

“Is this going somewhere?”

“I think you'd do just about anything to protect your family, your home.”

Gélinas glanced at the kitchen, then looked in the other direction, to the woodstove and comfortable chairs next to the windows looking out to the village green.

“Are we talking about the death of Serge Leduc, or something else?” asked Gamache.

“Oh, we're still on topic. The Sûreté Academy is an extension of your home, isn't it? And the cadets are extensions of your family, just as the homicide division of the Sûreté once was. You are a man with a protective instinct. To care that deeply is a blessing. But like most blessings, it can also be a curse.”

Now Gélinas also carefully, regretfully, returned his sandwich to his plate.

“I know.”

“And what do you know?”

“I know how much it hurts when someone we care about dies, or is threatened.”

“I did not care for Serge Leduc.”

Deputy Commissioner Gélinas broke into a smile at that. “I wasn't referring to Leduc. From all I hear, he was a nasty piece of work.
Non
. I meant the academy.”

“It's true that I care about the academy,” said Gamache. “But it's an institution. If it disappeared tomorrow I'd be sad, but I wouldn't move to Paris.”

Gélinas nodded and gave a small grunt. “Forgive me, but are you being intentionally obtuse, Commander? By academy, I mean the cadets. The flesh-and-blood young men and women who are your responsibility. While Leduc was in charge, there was misconduct, misappropriation of funds. Perhaps even abuse. I hear the rumors too, you know. But within months of you taking over, there was a murder.”

“Who's worse? Is that what you're saying?”

“I'm asking,” said Gélinas. “I've followed your career, Commander Gamache. I know what you're capable of doing. And believe me, I have only the greatest respect for you, for your choices. Doing what others could not. It's only because of that respect that I am being this open with you. You must know why I'm here.”

“I do,” said Gamache. “You're not investigating the murder of Professor Leduc, you're investigating me.”

“Wouldn't you? Who had it in for him from the very beginning?”

“But I kept him on. I could have fired him.”

“And isn't that in itself suspicious, monsieur?” Gélinas wiped his mouth with his napkin, then placed it carefully on the table.

“You've been open with me,” said Gamache. “Now let me be open with you. I detested Leduc, but I did not kill him. And you are here because I asked for you.”

For the first time since they met, Gélinas showed surprise.

“For me personally?”

“
Oui
. I called Chief Superintendent Brunel just before Isabelle Lacoste placed her call. I asked for you.”

“But Chief Inspector Lacoste didn't mention that.”

“She doesn't know.”

The RCMP officer cocked his head slightly and examined Gamache.

“Why me?”

“Because I wanted to meet you.”

“Why? And how did you even know about me?”

“I spent some time in retirement, you know. Recovering. Deciding what to do next. Figuring out what I really wanted to do.”

“Yes, I'd heard.”

“In that time, there were a number of job offers. Including from the RCMP.”

“For Paris?”

Gamache shook his head.

“To head up the Québec detachment?”

Gamache shook his head.

“Ottawa?”

Gamache sat still while Gélinas's mind followed that path. Then stopped.

“The Commissioner? You were offered the top job? He's to retire in the next few months.”

“I declined. Do you know why?”

“To take over the academy?”

“That was, actually, the major reason. But I also declined after doing a great deal of research.”

“And what did you discover?”

“That there is a better person for the job. You. This morning, when it was clear we needed an independent observer, I realized it was an opportunity to meet you. To see if I was right.”

“I'm not one of your protégés,” said Gélinas. “And this is a murder investigation, not a job interview.”

“No one knows that better than me,” said Gamache, also placing his napkin, like a flag of truce, on the table. “Now. Let me tell you about Serge Leduc.”

 

CHAPTER 17

“
Oui, je comprends
.” Though Olivier sounded unconvinced. “Are you sure?”

On the other end of the phone, Armand Gamache spoke swiftly, softly, not wanting to be overheard. He stepped from his study, out into the living room, and could see Gélinas and Reine-Marie still in the back garden of their home.

Then he turned and looked through his study window, to the bistro. He could see movement in the window and wondered if it was the cadets.

And he willed them to stay there. To stay put. To not leave the bistro.

“I wish people would stop asking me if I'm sure,” he said.

“They will,
patron
, once you stop making almost incomprehensible decisions.” He was whispering too, to match Gamache's voice, though he had no idea why.

“I'll do my best. Can you keep the cadets there, Olivier? Just until we leave?”

“Fortunately, I have a whip and a chair. Don't ask.”

“I'm assuming it has something to do with Ruth,” said Gamache, and heard Olivier chuckle softly, and then it stopped.

“What's this about, Armand? Are they in danger?” There was a pause. “Are we?”

“I'm trying to prevent something terrible happening,” said Gamache, though something terrible had already happened.

In bringing the cadets to Three Pines, he was trying to prevent something worse.

*   *   *

“Okay,” said Olivier, standing at their table. “Monsieur Gamache just called and said he couldn't rejoin you after all.”

“Just fucking great,” said Jacques, throwing himself back in his chair. “He drags us down here, away from the action, then just leaves us here? What's he doing? Napping?”

“What is wrong with you?” asked Olivier. “Is it just him or are you rude to everyone?”

“You don't know him,” said Jacques. “You think you do, but you don't. You know the nice neighbor. You don't know the real man.”

“And you do?”

“Professor Leduc did. He told us all about Gamache.”

“Really? And what did he say?”

“That he was caught up in the corruption scandal. That he resigned one step ahead of being fired. That Gamache is a coward. He ran away from the mess he made and now he's trashing the academy.”

“Enough.”

Behind them, the old poet and the bookstore owner had risen to their feet. But it wasn't Ruth Zardo who'd spoken. It was Myrna.

“It's all right, dear,” said Ruth. “They don't know what they're saying.”

Beside her, Myrna was so angry she was actually shaking. Her face so filled with rage, she was almost unrecognizable.

Jacques stood abruptly and faced her.

“You'd defend him? Do you know how many agents died while he was Chief Inspector? Do you know he murdered his own superior? You think we don't know that he killed Professor Leduc? Of course he did. A shot to the head of an unarmed man. It has coward written all over it. It has Gamache written all over it.”