A Better Man (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #15)(49)

No, Gamache took in quickly as he made for the door. Not a gun. Too big. It was a fireplace poker. As lethal as a gun, if swung at a person’s head.

And it looked, by his stance, that that was exactly what Cameron was preparing to do.

Tracey was raising his arms to protect himself.

Gamache opened the bistro door with a bang, and Cameron turned around.

“He’s going to kill me,” shouted Tracey. “Stop him.”

“Shut up, you stupid shit.”

“Cameron,” snapped Gamache. “Step away. Now.”

After a slight pause, Cameron threw the poker onto the floor in disgust. And stepped back.

“I wasn’t going to hit him,” he said. “I just wanted to scare him.”

“Get over there,” said Gamache, pointing to the far corner.

The former left tackle jerked toward Tracey, who squeezed tighter into the corner. Then Cameron marched away, shoving a table as he passed Gamache.

“What’s happening?” asked Gabri, coming cautiously out of the swinging door between the bistro and the kitchen, followed by Olivier, who was holding up a frying pan.

“Nothing,” said Cameron.

“Nothing?” demanded Tracey. “He was going to hit me with that.” He pointed to the poker.

“Did you see anything?” Gamache asked Gabri and Olivier.

Both men shook their heads.

“He told us to go into the kitchen and stay there,” said Olivier.

“He’d picked up the poker,” said Gabri. “We didn’t need to be told twice. I tried to call you, but of course your phone didn’t work.”

He held up the receiver, still clutched in his hand.

Gamache turned to the agent who’d accompanied him and gestured toward Tracey. “Watch him.”

Then he led Cameron farther away from the others.

“What were you thinking?” he demanded.

“What’re you saying?” demanded Tracey. “I have a right to know. He was going to kill me.”

“Be quiet, please,” said Gamache, and while his tone was polite, anyone who saw the man would not be fooled by the courtesy.

Even as he turned back to Cameron, Gamache admitted that what Tracey said might very well be true. It certainly looked like that.

But how things looked and how they really were, were often two very different things in a murder investigation.

He waited for an answer.

“I wanted to get a confession out of him,” said Cameron. “I wanted to scare him, not beat him. I had my phone on, recording. I can show you.”

“You recorded yourself threatening a suspect with a fireplace poker?” asked Gamache, incredulous. “You know that any confession you might’ve gotten would’ve been inadmissible, and the whole case thrown out.”

“I would’ve erased the beginning,” said Cameron.

Now Gamache stared, clearly dumbfounded. “You say that as though you expect me to go along with you. I warned you about this just hours ago, and now you do exactly the same thing?”

“Not the same. You warned me about hitting a suspect. I never laid a hand on him.”

“Threatening a beating is still brutality,” said Gamache. “If you were under my command, Agent Cameron, I’d relieve you of duty right now.”

“I’m happy to leave.” He took a step away.

“You’ll leave when I tell you to. What’re you even doing here? This isn’t your assignment.”

“You think my responsibility stops at the end of my shift? Does yours?”

“Don’t question me, young man. This isn’t about me, it’s about your behavior—”

“Yeah, well, you’re quite a role model. Sir.” Cameron glared. “I’ve been following the Twitter feed about you. Have you?”

“I asked you a question. What’re you doing here?”

“How can you lead, sir, if you don’t have the support of the population? Wasn’t that the whole point of your lecture to me? Trust? Looks like you’ve lost it. Have you lost it?”

And the inflection made it clear that Cameron was talking about more than trust.

“Answer my question now, Agent Cameron, or I’ll charge you with interfering in a murder investigation.”

Gamache knew exactly what Cameron was doing. He was trying to throw him off balance. Put him on the defensive. Get control of the narrative and take focus away from the real question.

Why was Agent Cameron there? Why was he threatening Tracey for a confession?

This spoke of more than a cop going off the rails. Emotionally het up about the horrific crime. It spoke, and smelled, of personal involvement.

“Tell me,” said Gamache. “You know I’ll find out.”

And Cameron could see that was true. Here was a man determined to, trained to, born to find things out.

Chief Inspector Gamache, sharp intent in his eyes, did not seem like the slightly pathetic, definitely incompetent, occasionally dangerous man described in the tweets.

“I came because I care about Vivienne,” said Cameron.

And there it was. Confirmation of something that had become obvious to Gamache.

But Bob Cameron didn’t just care, he cared so deeply he no longer had control of his actions. Or judgment.