All the Devils Are Here(61)
“Except that I used Arbour’s computer.”
“So they’d think it was her?” said Gamache, nodding. “That was smart. But … still …” His mind was working quickly, trying to put it together. “If someone was monitoring that project and noticed that Séverine Arbour had accessed it, and that set off alarms, that would mean—”
Beauvoir’s eyes opened wider. “That she’s not in on it. If she was, they wouldn’t be concerned, and they sure wouldn’t erase those files. By using her terminal, have I just put Arbour in danger?”
“It’s possible. Do you know where she lives?”
“Non. But I have her number.” He lifted his iPhone, but Gamache touched his arm.
“Just a moment. She might still be in on it. It’s possible what set off alarms wasn’t the computer but the security cameras. They might’ve seen you at her desk.”
Gamache thought, then remembered something curious. “You went to the window of Daniel’s apartment during the interview with Fontaine. You told her you were checking on the kids, but you can’t see the park from there. What were you really looking for?”
“I’m not sure it’s anything, but a guard came up while I was at GHS. They’d never done that before. He asked all sorts of questions.”
“Did he go over to Madame Arbour’s desk?”
“Non. But I saw him again on my ride back. In the métro. He got onto the same car as me.”
Gamache had grown very still. Very focused. His eyes on Jean-Guy were sharp. Quickly absorbing the information.
And Jean-Guy wondered if, maybe, Irena Fontaine had been right. And Chief Inspector Gamache had done more than just instruct recruits to Canada’s elite tactical team, Joint Task Force Two.
Though it did occur to Beauvoir to wonder what had happened to Task Force One.
“You were looking out the window for him,” said Gamache.
“Yes. But no sign of him. He was probably just going home. He didn’t get off at my stop. I think I was just spooked.” Jean-Guy tapped his phone then showed it to Gamache. “I took a picture of him. His name’s Xavier Loiselle.”
Gamache studied the photo, in case he saw the man again, then looked at Jean-Guy. “You have good instincts. What do they tell you?”
Jean-Guy shifted. He really hated it when Gamache talked about instincts, or accused him of being intuitive. It was, he was pretty sure, an insult.
But he was equally sure his father-in-law saw it as a compliment.
“I think the guard Loiselle was following me. But I don’t know why he would’ve stopped.”
“Maybe his orders were to scare you. What do you think is going on at GHS?”
Beauvoir exhaled and shook his head. “I wish I knew. I wish I could understand that report.” He pointed to the printout in Gamache’s hands. “The engineering could be flawed and they’re covering up. Could be money laundering. Drugs? Arms dealing? The company has the scope for it. Projects all over the world. Shipments of equipment going back and forth to places known to traffic in drugs and weapons and people. But the Luxembourg project?” Beauvoir shook his head. “A funicular in a grand duchy? It seems unlikely. Too small. Too time-limited. They’d choose something that would go on for years, not months.”
Gamache was quiet, nodding slightly, as though listening to music. Or some internal voice.
“What is it?” asked Beauvoir.
“There’s either something very wrong about the Luxembourg project, or there isn’t.”
That was a little cryptic even for Gamache.
Beauvoir was about to ask for clarification when he suddenly understood. “You think they were erasing all those messages so that we wouldn’t see that there’s nothing wrong with it. So we’ll continue to focus on the Luxembourg project, and not where the issue really is.”
“I think it’s possible.”
“Shit,” said Beauvoir, leaning back in the taxi seat and staring ahead. His mind working rapidly. “The problem will be understanding the report and emails well enough to spot a flaw.”
“We need a financial analyst and an engineer,” said Gamache, staring at Beauvoir.
“Oui.” And his eyes widened. “Jesus. Like Stephen and Plessner.”
Gamache’s phone vibrated. It was Mrs. McGillicuddy.
Jean-Guy could hear her voice, high-pitched with anxiety.
She was at Stephen’s office with Isabelle Lacoste—
Just then his own phone vibrated. It was Lacoste.
Both Stephen’s office and home had been broken into, the security systems circumvented.
“They’ve thrown things everywhere,” said Mrs. McGillicuddy.
“Agents at his home report it’s been searched, too,” said Lacoste, her voice calm, stating facts. “I can’t tell what they were looking for, but seems like papers.”
“Did they find them?” Jean-Guy asked.
“I’m not sure. The place is a mess.”
“Ask her about his safety-deposit boxes,” said Armand, covering the mouthpiece of his phone. In the background, Jean-Guy could hear Mrs. McGillicuddy still talking. Upset. Shocked.
“I heard,” said Lacoste. “We’re going there next. Mrs. McGillicuddy has the card that’ll get us in.”