All the Devils Are Here(55)

“Mistaken identity,” she said, not yet willing to give up her theory. “None of you knew Monsieur Horowitz was staying at the George V and not at his apartment.”

“For God’s sake—” Reine-Marie began, then stopped when she heard her husband laugh.

“I’m sorry,” he said, sitting back in the sofa. “But are you really suggesting that one of us went to the apartment, mistook Monsieur Plessner for a man we’d known all our lives, then shot him in the spine and head?”

He’d been specific for a reason. Hadn’t said “back.” Had said “spine.” And he could see that his logic had landed. Except.

Now Commander Fontaine turned slightly. Until she was looking at Jean-Guy Beauvoir.

“Oh, come on,” said Beauvoir, clearly following her thinking. “Me? You think I did it? This’s bullshit.”

“It was, as you pointed out, a commando-style hit,” she said, turning back to Gamache. “I understand, sir, you were a member of the Canadian special ops unit, Joint Task Force Two.”

“Do I look like a commando?” Gamache said, opening his arms.

Fontaine had to admit he looked more like her history prof at the Sorbonne. If you didn’t look into his eyes.

Elite forces were led by people like this. Who thought as well as acted. Who thought before they acted. And who could be ruthless if need be.

“Now?” she said. “Maybe not. But a hundred years ago …”

Gamache laughed and shook his head.

“You deny it?” she said. “But then, aren’t commandos sworn to secrecy, even after they’ve left? To say, if pressed, that they washed out, or were simply an instructor?”

“Really? If I admit it, then I’m a member. If I deny it, I’m still a member? You’d have done well in the Inquisition, Commander.” His smile had disappeared. “Now, this’s a little awkward, but I was actually an instructor for JTF2. Not a member.”

“Really? That’s your official statement?”

“That’s the truth.”

“I see. That means you probably also train your own people in commando tactics. Why wouldn’t you? As the S?reté, your people are often first in.”

“Then you must know, Commander,” said Gamache, “that anyone schooled in those tactics is also trained to make sure the person they’re killing is the actual target. Not an innocent bystander.”

“Mistakes happen.”

“Yes, when a situation gets out of control. But this would not. It was contained. One unarmed elderly man in a private apartment. There would be no mistake. Whoever killed Alexander Plessner almost certainly meant to kill Alexander Plessner.”

That sat in the room. A bald statement so certain of itself that Commander Fontaine could not think of an argument.

“What have you found out about him, the dead man?” Beauvoir asked, hoping to draw some of her fire.

Fontaine disengaged from Gamache and turned to Beauvoir. “We’ve tracked down one of Monsieur Plessner’s colleagues in Toronto. She was, of course, shocked. The news of his murder isn’t public yet, and I have local investigators searching his office and home. As we know, Monsieur Plessner was trained as a mechanical engineer and seems to have used his training to invest in venture capital, mainly in small, apparently insignificant inventions or innovations that others dismissed, but ended up making him a fortune.”

“There can’t be many that come to anything,” said Roslyn.

“No, but if even one hits,” said Daniel, “a fortune is made.”

Reine-Marie heard Armand sigh, a long exhale of exasperation with a son who just could not shut up.

“That’s right, I’d forgotten, you’re in venture capital, too,” said Fontaine, who clearly had not forgotten.

If there was a trap to step into, Daniel would find it. If there was no trap, Daniel would create one. Then step into it.

“And yet, you don’t know Monsieur Plessner?” asked Fontaine, pleasantly.

“Never heard of him. If he’s based in Toronto, I wouldn’t. There’re a lot of people who think they can find the next Apple or Facebook. And some do. That’s where lives are changed.”

And sometimes, thought Gamache, staring at his son, lives lost.





CHAPTER 18




When the interview ended, the others went across the street to join the children and their sitter in the park. But Gamache and Beauvoir stayed behind.

Jean-Guy was dying to tell Gamache what had happened at work, and to check out what he’d recorded on his phone. But Fontaine and her number two also lingered in the apartment.

“Did you bring the box, Commander?” Gamache asked, looking around the foyer.

“The box, sir?”

“Monsieur Dussault said he’d ask you to bring Stephen’s things so we could go through them again.”

“Were you looking for anything in particular?”

“Well, yes. I wanted to look at the annual report from GHS.”

“The Prefect did ask, but I’d already left. Perhaps tomorrow.”

“Merci,” said Gamache, doubting he’d see that box the next day, or ever. He went to open the door for them, but Fontaine didn’t move.