A Great Reckoning (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #12)(93)

“Actually, she’s one of mine,” said Gamache. “Amelia Choquet is top of her class. She reads Ancient Greek and Latin. And she swears like the criminals she’ll one day arrest. While you, Michel, are gentility itself. And have broken most of the laws you promised to uphold.”

Brébeuf took a deep breath, either steadying himself, or readying the attack. The thin ice they’d been on had given way. Gamache himself had shattered it.

There was a moment when the world seemed to stop entirely.

And then Michel Brébeuf smiled. “I was the more senior officer, Armand, but you were always the better man, weren’t you? How comforting for you to know that. And to always remind me.” He leaned his lean body across the desk. “Well, fuck you.”

It was said with a strange mixture of humor and anger. Was he joking, Gélinas wondered, or was the insult real?

He looked over at Gamache, who’d raised his brows but was also smiling. And Gélinas understood then how well these two men knew each other. And while there was malice, there was also a closeness. An intimacy.

It was a bond that could only have been formed over many years. But hate bonds as surely, and closely, as love.

Paul Gélinas made a mental note to look into their pasts. He knew them professionally, but now it was time to dig into their personal lives.

“The murder of Serge Leduc didn’t happen out of the blue,” said Brébeuf. “If it had, you’d have caught the person by now. No. It was considered. He enjoyed tormenting people. Especially people who couldn’t fight back. But he obviously chose the wrong target.”

“You think Leduc hurt and humiliated someone so badly that they got their revenge?” asked Gamache.

“I do, and I can see you do too. And you, Deputy Commissioner?”

“I reserve judgment. You’re both more experienced in murder than I am.”

“Do you think he means murder, or investigating murder, Armand?” asked Michel as they got to their feet.

“I think Monsieur Gélinas says exactly what he means,” said Gamache.

“Then I think you’re in a bit of trouble,” said Brébeuf. He laughed. With genuine pleasure.

Paul Gélinas felt nauseous as he walked down the hall. Made seasick by Brébeuf’s wildly corkscrewing emotions.

Neither man looked behind him, but they could feel Brébeuf’s eyes on their backs. And then they heard the office door quietly click shut.

“You two were friends?” asked Gélinas.

“Best friends,” said Gamache. “He was a good man, once.”

“What happened?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you think he still is?” Gélinas asked when they reached the stairs.

Gamache paused at the top step. The stairwell was flooded with light from the three-story window that framed the vast thawing prairie.

The echo of cadets calling to each other to hurry bounced off the walls, and urgent steps were heard on the marble stairs below.

And Armand remembered how he and Michel would race up an old, scuffed mahogany staircase, taking them two at a time. Late for class. Again. Because of some sudden discovery the young men had made. A trap door. The way into the attic. A bone that might be human. Or from a chicken.

The poor pathology professor. Dr. Nadeau. Armand smiled slightly at the memory of the harried man, bothered yet again by the two cadets and another bone, or a piece of hair, that might be human. Or mouse.

And each time the verdict. Not human.

But Michel and Armand developed a pet theory. Their finds were in fact some poor victim, and Dr. Nadeau the killer. Covering up. They didn’t believe it, of course, but it became a running joke. As was their search for more and more ludicrous things to take to the poor man for analysis.

“Gamache?” said the RCMP officer. “Do you think Brébeuf is still a good man, underneath?”

“I wouldn’t have brought him here if I didn’t think there was good still in him,” said Gamache, the distant laughter echoing off the glass and concrete.

“But do you regret the decision? Do you think he killed Leduc?” asked Gélinas.

“Not long ago you were accusing me, now you’re accusing him,” said Gamache, taking the steps down, his hand on the rail. He stopped on the landing as cadets raced by, late for class. They paused to salute, then ran on, taking the stairs two at a time.

“I’ve found in homicide it’s natural and even necessary to suspect everyone,” said Gamache, when the stairwell was clear, “but best not to say it out loud. Undermines your credibility.”

“Thanks for the advice. Fortunately, in the field of homicide, I have no credibility.”

Gamache grinned at that.

“I actually thought you might’ve done it together,” said Gélinas, as they continued down the steps.

“Killed him together? Why in the world would we do that?”

“To get rid of a problem. You wanted Leduc dead, to protect the cadets. But you couldn’t quite bring yourself to do it. But you knew someone who could. Someone who owed you. That would also explain Brébeuf’s presence at the academy. As an object lesson for the students, perhaps, but mostly as a tool for you. To get rid of someone you couldn’t just fire. So while it was your idea and planning, Brébeuf was the one who actually did it. It was one last spectacular amend for what he did to you.”