A Better Man (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #15)(137)

“As it should have been. I waited, you know, for someone more senior to defend him.” She glared at Toussaint. “And when that didn’t happen…”

“There’re issues you’re not aware of.”

“What issues exactly make it okay to attack our own?”

“I didn’t attack him.”

“Oh, no? You think I don’t know where that video came from?” Lacoste demanded.

“What video?”

But Lacoste had seen the surprise in Toussaint’s eyes. The tensing of her body. A spasm of alarm. Of fear even.

“When the shit was flying, he made sure it didn’t stick to you,” said Lacoste, leaning forward. “You do know that Monsieur Gamache was the one who recommended you for this job.”

“He’s not the only reason I got it.”

“True. You got it because the Premier asked you not to defend Monsieur Gamache in the hearings and you agreed.”

“That’s a lie.”

“It’s the truth.”

Toussaint’s jaw clamped shut, and her eyes hardened. The problem with going up against Isabelle Lacoste was that she was a hero. Unassailable.

And a die-hard defender of Gamache.

“Be careful, Isabelle. It’s never a good idea to catch a falling knife.”

Toussaint knew that while Superintendent Lacoste might be beyond reach, Gamache was not.

When the smoke had cleared on that final, fateful raid and Isabelle Lacoste lay in her own blood, Chief Superintendent Gamache had to answer for his decisions.

Madeleine Toussaint had known, even as she stood in those woods surveying the wreckage, that he could never really explain his actions to anyone who wasn’t there. Even as they made sweeping arrests, in the most successful raid in decades, the vultures were circling.

Politicians desperate to rid themselves of this inconvenient person. A vicious and ravenous social media, desperate for fodder.

On his last day in command, before being suspended, he’d recommended Toussaint for his job. A black woman, a Haitian. They’d stood in this office. He shook her hand and told her she’d be great. But he had one request.

“Don’t defend me, Madeleine. You won’t win, and they’ll come after you.”

“But—”

“Promise me.”

When the board of review took their shot, no one in power had stepped in front of Armand Gamache to stop it.

Chief Superintendent Gamache had gone down.

And Superintendent Toussaint had risen up.

But what no one expected, was that Gamache would actually return. Would accept such a demotion.

With the departure that evening of Jean-Guy Beauvoir to Paris, Gamache once again took over the homicide department. Respected by colleagues and subordinates, he was viewed with suspicion and worse by those who feared the power he wielded. No matter his official rank.

And Madeleine Toussaint had grown used to her own power. Used to the office. The deferential looks. The salutes. The respect of her community.

She wasn’t about to give it up. But to hold on to it, she had to diminish Gamache. And that meant one thing. A purge of his most powerful supporters.

“I’ve been looking at your health records, Isabelle.” She nodded at the dossier on the table between them. “The S?reté demands a certain level of fitness, especially in its leaders. We have to act as role models.”

“Yes,” said Lacoste. “I know. I also know there are different sorts of fitness.”

The words hit home, but Toussaint tried not to show it. “I’m sorry to say we’ll have to pension you off. While you’ll keep most of your salary and your benefits, I’ll have to ask for your ID and your weapon back. Your security code will no longer be valid.”

If she’d expected an argument, Toussaint was disappointed. Isabelle Lacoste just nodded and put her hand in her pocket to bring out her S?reté ID.

But instead what she brought out was her cell phone. Propping it against some books on the table, she hit play.

Chief Superintendent Toussaint watched with thin lips and narrow eyes.

She watched Jean-Guy Beauvoir dive across the screen. Reaching for the falling man.

She watched as he grabbed a handful of the man’s coat and hung on, even as he himself was dragged over the edge.

Her eyes widened as she watched Gamache leap forward. No time to think. He reacted instinctively.

She no longer saw him. He’d disappeared over the edge of the bridge. But she did see his hand. White-knuckled. Gripped onto the foot of the post.

As she watched, the hand began to slip.

Her mouth opened a little as the finger slid off. Isabelle Lacoste leaped forward to grab the hand. But someone was there before her. The former tackle, Cameron, was on his belly, reaching over the side.

There were shouts for help. Cries for help. A splash.

All this the Chief Superintendent knew. She’d read the report. But knowing and seeing were two different things.

Lacoste picked up her phone and turned it off.

Then she took an envelope out of her pocket and, placing it on the table, slid it toward the Chief Superintendent.

Isabelle Lacoste knew that the doctored video purporting to show Gamache killing unarmed kids had come from Toussaint.

It was done to discredit her predecessor, not expecting the real video to be found and released by some crazy old woman in a village that didn’t even, officially, exist.