A Great Reckoning (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #12)(33)

There had been no commendations in Gamache’s study. No photographs of him in uniform. Leduc said Gamache was a disgrace, that he had been forced to “retire.” And there were rumbles around the academy about some corruption case.

She found it hard to reconcile these rumors with the man himself, but Amelia knew that people were not always what they appeared.

She reached for her iPhone to google Armand Gamache, something she’d been meaning to do since she’d arrived at the academy, but more pressing things kept occupying her. Like getting through each day.

No connection. She tossed the iPhone on the bed in frustration. She’d forgotten. There was no Internet coverage here. Not only had mapmakers forgotten this place but so, apparently, had time. And technology.

She pulled the duvet up higher and wondered who Armand Gamache really was. And if he knew that Huifen and Jacques and even Nathaniel quietly visited Professor Leduc regularly.

The Duke met with a few select students. And she wondered if Gamache knew that she was among those selected.

Sides had been chosen, allegiances declared, the game of Red Rover was over.

Finally, eyes heavy with sleep, she went to turn off the light. Only then did Amelia notice the inscription at the front of the well-thumbed volume.

For Clouseau, who will be just FINE one day. Ruth.

Ruth?

Ruth?

She sat up in bed and stared at the book, then out the window at the village. That appeared and disappeared and contained all sorts of secrets within its thick walls.





CHAPTER 11

Another week passed and by then they were deep into the term.

Some of the older students still grumbled, but less and less. Not necessarily, Gamache knew, because they were coming to terms with the realities of the new regime, but because they were kept too busy to complain.

He was in his rooms early one morning, talking with Reine-Marie on the phone. He’d had late meetings and decided to stay the night at the academy.

“Did I tell you that Clara got a new puppy yesterday?” she asked.

“From that litter she talked about? That was a while ago.”

“No, Billy Williams found these ones in a garbage can.”

He inhaled deeply and exhaled the word “people.” Not so much an indictment as in wonderment. That there could be so much deliberate cruelty and so much kindness in one species.

“Clara took one. A little male she’s called Leo. Adorable. But there is something—”

And that’s as far as she got. Even down the phone line, she could hear the shouting. Reine-Marie couldn’t make out the words, but she could hear the panic.

“I have to go,” said her husband, and the line went dead.

*

Gamache threw a dressing gown over his pajamas and was out the door in moments, the shouting hitting him in the face as he ran toward it.

One voice. A man’s. Young. Frightened. The terror bounced off the marble floors and walls, magnifying.

“Help,” the voice was screaming. “Help.” The single syllable elongating. “Heeeeelllll-p.” More a sound than a word.

Other professors came out of their rooms, joining in behind Gamache. As he ran past Jean-Guy Beauvoir’s door, Gamache gave it a single pound with his fist, but kept going.

Behind him, he heard the door open and the familiar voice, groggy.

“What the—Jesus.”

Up ahead, the screaming had stopped. But the hallway was still clogged with fear.

Gamache rounded a corner and there, back to the wall, stood Nathaniel Smythe. On the ground in front of him was a tray, with broken glass and china and food.

Stepping in front of the boy, to break his line of sight, Gamache looked quickly, expertly, over him.

“Are you hurt?” he asked.

Nathaniel, eyes wide and not quite focusing on Gamache, shook his head.

“Look after him,” Gamache said to whoever had arrived right behind him. “Take him to my rooms. Don’t let him out of your sight.”

“What’s happened?” Jean-Guy Beauvoir asked, skidding to a stop beside Gamache.

Other professors were arriving and craning to see. But the Commander was blocking the open door, and their view.

He himself had yet to look, but as Nathaniel was led away, he turned around.

“Call the police,” he said, speaking to Beauvoir but still staring into the room. Then he looked at Jean-Guy. “Call Isabelle Lacoste.”

“Oui, patron,” his voice betraying none of the surprise he felt. Though shock would be a better word.

He knew what that meant. What Gamache was seeing.

Jean-Guy ran back down the corridor to his rooms to call. As he went, he was met with worried and excited faces all asking, “What’s happened?”

More professors were arriving, and behind them, staff. And behind them, the first of the students.

“Lock the doors to the academy,” Gamache told two other professors. “No one gets in or out.”

They took off down the corridor.

The other professors were crowding around, trying to see what could possibly be in the room. But Gamache blocked their way.

“The head of each year,” he said, scanning the now-crowded corridor. Three professors stepped forward.

“Here, Commander.”

“Make sure the cadets are safe. Get them into the dining hall and do a head count. Keep them there. Give them breakfast, but no one leaves until I say so.”