A Better Man (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #15)(95)

Zalmanowitz, the prosecuting attorney, got to his feet. “If it pleases the court, there’s case law covering this. Where officers go onto private property to stop a crime being committed and in the course of that come across another crime—”

“True.” The judge stopped him there with an upraised hand. Predicting just this objection. “But no crime was being committed. A river was flooding. It was an act of nature. A violent one, potentially dangerous, granted. I have no doubt that the actions of the officers saved property if not lives. It was the right thing to do. Except when they found the duffel bag, they should have immediately applied for a warrant, before removing it. And certainly before opening it.”

Beauvoir, in near panic, looked once again at Gamache.

Gamache himself was shocked. Never had he heard such a severe, such a narrow interpretation of the law. He immediately scribbled on a piece of paper and handed it to the prosecution, who read it and said, “Your Honor, a life was at stake. As you said, Madame Godin had not yet been found. She could have been hurt, or kidnapped. They needed to search the overnight bag, to determine if it was hers and if it could lead them to her. Which it did.”

“And that might have been justified,” said the judge. “Had they not been on the defendant’s private property. Let me ask you this: Did the officers get Mr. Tracey’s permission before opening the bag?”

The prosecution turned to Beauvoir, who had gone so pale his lips were almost white. He thought and thought, glancing at Gamache once.

Beauvoir was not pausing to remember, Gamache knew. He remembered perfectly well, as did Gamache. Carl Tracey shouting at them not to open the duffel bag. That it was none of their business.

No. Jean-Guy Beauvoir was pausing to decide whether or not to tell the truth.

Judge Pelletier was giving them a potential out. A way to cut down the poisonous tree. Whose roots and branches and fruit looked to infect so much of their case against Tracey.

“While not formally sworn in, Chief Inspector,” the judge said, “you are presumed under oath.”

She could see his thoughts, his struggle. And it seemed clear to Gamache that she sympathized. This was not giving Judge Pelletier any pleasure. But it was, according to her lights, the law.

Before Beauvoir could answer, the defense got to his feet. “Your Honor, my client tells me he told them—” Tracey grabbed his arm, and the lawyer bent down to listen to his client, then straightened up. “He begged them not to open the bag. But they did, anyway.”

“I see,” said the judge. “Just out of interest’s sake, why didn’t he want the police to open the bag? If it could have helped them find his wife, which, presumably, he wanted.”

That was met with silence. It was a very good question.

Both Gamache and Beauvoir would have been amused by Tracey’s bringing this scrutiny on himself had they themselves not been so appalled by what was happening.

The lawyer consulted his client, then turned to the judge. “He says he believed his wife was alive and that the bag contained things she wouldn’t want strangers to see. Like underwear.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” burst out of Homer. “You’re not … You can’t … This’s…”

“Homer,” said Gamache, turning to him, but Godin was already on his feet.

Gamache also rose and faced Homer, who was glaring at Tracey with all the violence a look could contain. Then Gamache turned to the judge.

“Please, Your Honor,” he said.

“For you, Monsieur Gamache, I will give you a moment to settle him. I’m assuming that is the young woman’s father?”

“He is, and thank you.” Gamache turned back to Homer. “Do you need to leave? Look at me.” He stood between Homer and Tracey, breaking Homer’s line of sight. Forcing Homer to focus on him. “You need to hold it together.” Gamache was speaking so quietly that no one else could hear. And so forcefully that Godin would not just hear but listen. “Or you need to leave. Do you understand?”

Godin nodded.

“Do you want to stay?”

Godin nodded.

“And you’ll control yourself, no matter what happens?”

“What is happening, Armand?” The man’s voice now sounded almost like that of a child.

“I don’t know, but losing control will only make it worse. You understand?”

“You promised. You promised it would be okay.”

“Please,” said Gamache. “Just sit down.”

Homer sat, and Gamache turned to the judge and gave a nod that was almost a small bow. “Merci.”

The judge looked tired, strained. Even, Gamache thought, a little sad. Which did not bode well.

She turned back to Beauvoir. “You still haven’t answered my question, Chief Inspector.”

Beauvoir got back to his feet. “No, Your Honor, we didn’t ask, and the defendant did not give us permission to open the bag.”

“I see.” She gestured to him to sit back down.

As he did, he glanced at Gamache, who nodded approval. A lie would make this even worse. Besides, there was the video Reine-Marie had taken at his request.

“The opening of the bag is, in my opinion, a poisonous tree,” said Judge Pelletier, “and everything that stems from that act is its fruit and therefore tainted and inadmissible.”