A Great Reckoning (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #12)(91)

Amelia tapped her phone a few times, once again bringing up the photograph of the memorial window. Scrolling down, she read the names.

“No Turcotte here either.”

“Are you sure our map was drawn by Antony Turcotte?” Huifen asked.

“Positive,” said Monsieur Bergeron.

“Then why can’t we find him?” asked Huifen.

And why, thought Amelia, is everything to do with Antony Turcotte disappearing?





CHAPTER 28

“Salut, Armand.” Michel Brébeuf rose from behind the desk in his office. “I’m sorry. Commander.”

There was a slight nip in the air.

He put out his hand with exaggerated courtesy and Gamache shook it, then introduced Deputy Commissioner Gélinas.

“Of the RCMP.” Brébeuf pointed to the small pin Gélinas wore on his lapel. “I’ve noticed you in the halls. Here to assure fairness in the investigation?”

When Gélinas nodded, Brébeuf turned to Gamache.

“Still doing the right thing, I see.”

The nip became a bite.

“And we’re hoping you will too,” said Gamache, and saw the smile drift off Brébeuf’s face. “May we?”

But before Brébeuf could answer, the two men had taken seats. Gamache crossed his legs and made himself comfortable.

“Now, Michel, we have a few questions.”

“I’ve already been questioned, but always happy to help further. Are you any closer to finding out who killed Leduc?”

“We’re plodding along,” said Gamache. He turned to Gélinas, who’d been watching with interest.

To say there was animosity between the men would be a gross understatement. The air was almost unbreathable for the sulfur. Most of it emanating from Brébeuf, but Gamache was giving off his fair share. It was hidden beneath a razor-thin, and crackling, sheen of civility. But the stink of a long-rotted relationship was squeezing through the cracks.

Any thought the RCMP officer had that these two had colluded in the murder of Serge Leduc disappeared immediately. He doubted these men could bake a cake together, never mind plan and execute a killing.

“How well did you know Serge Leduc?” Gélinas asked.

“I’d heard of him, of course. I was still with the S?reté when he was transferred here. Second-in-command under that old fool, though Leduc actually ran the place.”

“You were a senior officer at the time,” said Gélinas. “A superintendent.”

Michel Brébeuf gave a shallow nod of assent.

“You won’t remember, but we met once,” said Gélinas. “Years ago, at a consular function.”

“Did we?”

It was said politely, but it was clear Brébeuf did not remember and didn’t care to put in the effort to try. Paul Gélinas would have been just another guest. But Michel Brébeuf was always memorable. A small man who took up a lot of space, not because he demanded it but because he radiated authority.

Unintentionally, or perhaps not, he became the center of attention in any room.

The only other person Gélinas had met who could immediately and naturally command a room was the man sitting beside him. But Armand Gamache had another skill that Brébeuf didn’t seem to possess.

He could disappear, when he chose. And it appeared he chose to disappear at that moment.

Armand Gamache sat quietly. Almost a hole in the room.

It was in some ways more disconcerting than the energy throbbing off the man across the desk.

“So you knew him,” said Gélinas.

“Serge Leduc? We were introduced a few times, at formal occasions. When I came here to speak to the graduating class, and at parades. But he was generally on the field with the cadets while I was on the podium.”

A not-so-subtle reminder of their relative positions.

“And when you accepted to teach here, did you rekindle the relationship?”

“Now you’re being deliberately misleading,” said Brébeuf with amusement that did not extend to his gray winter eyes. Eyes, Gélinas thought, that looked like the slush in the street. Not water, not snow. Some in-between state. March eyes.

“There was nothing to rekindle. We were barely acquainted, but yes, we came to know each other slightly better after we were thrown together here.”

“You make it sound like you were trapped.”

“Do I? I don’t mean to.”

“How well did you get to know him over these past few months?”

Brébeuf looked at him, and Gélinas could almost see his thoughts. He’s wondering how much we’ve found out. He knows by now the DNA and fingerprint results are in.

He knows exactly what steps we’re taking, and in what order. And how to be a step ahead.

“I’d visited him a few times in his rooms.”

“And did he go to yours?”

The question surprised Brébeuf and he raised his brows slightly. “No.”

“What did you talk about, when you were together?”

“We exchanged war stories.”

“And did he tell you about fraud and contract fixing and the numbered accounts he holds in Luxembourg?” asked Gélinas.