A Great Reckoning (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #12)(132)

“Now, yes. But not before.”

Before a bullet was put in Leduc’s brain.

“Makes our service pistols seem puny. Though I know they’re actually far more effective.”

“Depends on the effect you’re going for,” said Armand.

“True. And the revolver was perfect for Leduc’s needs. He told me about the first time he’d handed it to a cadet. He’d had the revolver for a year but couldn’t bring himself to do it. Not because he felt it was wrong, he was quick to assure me, but because he was worried the cadet would tell someone. But then he realized he had to work up to it. To choose the right student. Not a weak one, as you might expect. Those he could already control. No. He went for the strongest. The ones who might not bend to his will.”

Brébeuf thought for a moment, throwing his mind back to that night.

“I didn’t know what he was talking about, and he could see that. Finally he came right out and told me. He had cadets play Russian roulette with that revolver.”

He looked down at his hand, as though he still held the gun. And then he raised his eyes.

“I came to your rooms that night, after I left Leduc. I wanted to tell you.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I thought by our conversation that you already knew. When I asked what you were going to do about Leduc, you told me to worry about my side of the street, and you’d worry about yours. I took that as a sign that you knew what Leduc was doing. And intended to act.”

Armand shook his head. “I only found out last night. I should’ve known earlier, but it honestly never, ever occurred to me someone could do that to the cadets. Not even a sadist like Leduc. But it does explain the revolver, and the special silencer he had made. In case.”

“One bullet, placed in one chamber, and spun,” said Michel. “Only a revolver does that. When that wretched little man told me what he was doing, smiling all the time, I understood why you were here.”

“Me?” asked Armand, surprised by the turn the conversation had taken.

“I knew what you were planning to do. You came to the academy to get rid of Serge Leduc. You’d fired all the other corrupt professors, but kept him. Why? I asked myself. Because you had other plans for him. Something more permanent. So that he could never torture anyone else.”

“But I told you, I didn’t know about the Russian roulette,” said Armand. “I wish I had. I wish they hadn’t gone through months of that, while I did nothing.”

“You’d have found out eventually. You were digging. Trying to get something on him. And when you dug past the corruption to the real horror, then what? What would you have done?”

Armand was silent.

“You’d have confronted him, and then I think you’d have killed him. You’d have had to, to save the cadets.”

“I could have arrested him.”

“For what? He’d never admit it, and he had those poor cadets so confused, so disoriented, they don’t know up from down. They’d never admit to playing Russian roulette. Not while the Duke lived.”

He watched Armand and could see the struggle. Brébeuf spoke softly now. Quietly. Almost in a whisper.

“He had to die. He had to be killed. You’d have tried to find other options, as I did. But finally there would be no choice. You’d have visited him one night, asking to see the revolver. You’d have taken it and put bullets in the chamber, as he watched, mystified, trying to explain that you should only use one bullet. And then you’d have put it to his temple. And when it dawned on him what was about to happen, and he began pleading for his life, you’d have pulled the trigger.”

The two men held each other’s eyes. The story had done the trick. It had horrified them both.

“But the worst would be yet to come, Armand. Pulling that trigger on an unarmed man, executing him, would have killed you too. You’d have done the unthinkable, you’d have damned yourself to save the cadets. I couldn’t let that happen. So I did it for you. I owed you that.”

*

Deputy Commissioner Gélinas heard the footsteps before he heard the knock.

Picking up his pistol, he stood in the middle of the bedroom he’d been assigned in the academy. A junior professor’s room, Gamache had explained. Apologizing. Bed, living room, kitchenette, all in one small space.

But Gélinas’s needs, as it turned out, were simple. He enjoyed the fine dining and luxury hotels in Europe, but without the companionship of his wife, the pleasure was shallow and fleeting.

He found all he really needed was a bed, a small bookcase, and a place to put the photo of Hélène, which now lay facedown on the table.

She’d inspired him to be a better man than he actually was, and he wondered if she knew it. Knew what he was really like, beneath the layer of integrity, worn like a uniform.

On Hélène’s death, there seemed no reason to keep it up. All the constraints fell away, and he was free. And he was lost.

And now he stood there, in the little room, and raised the gun.

“Deputy Commissioner Gélinas?” came Isabelle Lacoste’s voice.

“Come in.”

Isabelle Lacoste opened the door, and stopped. She thought for just a moment before turning and speaking to the agents behind her.