A Great Reckoning (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #12)(49)

Her smile disappeared. “I was joking. But you’re seriously expecting trouble on that scale?”

“I was not expecting a murder,” he said. His face as serious as she’d ever seen. “The cadets must be safe. The only thing more dangerous than a killer is a killer trapped. He is now trapped inside the academy. Best not to have an armory at his disposal.”

“Or an army,” said Lacoste, remembering the reaction in the auditorium. “Serge Leduc had a lot of supporters.”

“Yes, but did you see any grief?”

That set Lacoste back, and after thinking for a moment she shook her head. “No.”

“No,” said Gamache. “The problem with the breath of kings.”

“The breath of kings?”

“Who float upon the tide of state,” said Gamache. “I only wish Jean-Guy was here to appreciate this.”

“Another poem?” she asked, knowing full well it must be.

“Hmmm, Jonathan Swift.”

He handed her the dossier he’d retrieved off his desk.

“What’s this?”

“The gun I held to Serge Leduc’s head,” said Gamache. “Read it and tell me what you think.”

She took it and got up. “Merci. I will. Is there an office I can use?”

“There’s a boardroom across the hall.”

“Perfect.”

Though she was on her feet, Gamache himself had not risen. And so, taking the cue, Lacoste sat back down.

“There’s more?”

“Of a political nature, nothing that will help solve the murder, I’m afraid,” said Gamache. “There are some considerations in running a department. Especially one with as high a profile as homicide.”

“Yes?”

“Justice must be seen to be done.”

“I agree.”

It was an old adage, a cliché even, and Gamache was not given to spouting clichés. So when he did, it must be particularly apropos.

“‘Not only must justice be done,’” she quoted, “‘it must also be seen to be done.’ What are you saying? That I need to hold a news conference?”

“Well, that might not be a bad idea, but my thoughts run to something more nuanced. This is the S?reté Academy. The professors are all former officers or those on leave, like Inspector Beauvoir, or people who do contract work with the S?reté. I’m the former head of homicide. Your former boss.”

Chief Inspector Lacoste got it then.

“In effect, it’s the S?reté investigating the S?reté.”

“In a murder case,” said Gamache.

She nodded, considering. “You think I should call Chief Superintendent Brunel and ask that an outside agency take over?”

“Non,” he shook his head. “Not take over. You must fight against that. Simply ask that an outside investigator be sent. Someone who can vouch for the fairness of your investigation.”

She sat thinking. Her thoughts were not happy ones. “Have you ever had to do that?”

“Twice. It was not pleasant. But it had to be done. And better to have it come from you than be imposed. I suspect Chief Superintendent Brunel is contemplating it even now.”

Lacoste pulled out her iPhone and punched in the number for the head of the S?reté. “Is there someone I should ask for specifically?”

“No,” he said, getting to his feet. “That would taint it. You have to take what comes. I’ll leave you to it.”

Gamache stepped into his outer office just as Jean-Guy arrived.

“They’re heading down to Three Pines, patron.”

“Good. Merci.”

Now, close up, Beauvoir could see how stressed Gamache really was.

“There is something,” said Jean-Guy. “One of their maps is missing.”

“Whose?”

“The Goth Girl’s.”

“Amelia?”

Beauvoir raised his brows at the familiarity.

“Cadet Choquet, yes.”

“What did she say?”

“She seemed surprised. She denied there was any special relationship with Professor Leduc, aside from taking him coffee in the morning and gathering for the odd meeting with others in his rooms.”

“So it’s true,” said Gamache. “She was one of them.”

Gamache took a deep, deep breath, then on the exhale he looked out the door and down the empty hallway that had once teemed with cadets and was now completely devoid of life.

He muttered so quietly as to be almost inaudible, “What have I done?”





CHAPTER 15

“You’ve kidnapped us.”

“That’s a little harsh, wouldn’t you say?” said Armand Gamache later that day as he stood in the bistro and looked at the four cadets. “Hardly a prison.”

“You know what I mean,” said Jacques.

“Oh yes, Cadet Laurin. I heard you.”

Amelia wondered if Jacques had picked up on what the Commander was really saying. But he seemed too intent on his own message to hear anyone else’s.

“Why’re we here?” Huifen Cloutier asked, her tone more polite, though the edge was still noticeable.