All the Devils Are Here(65)

“Really? You can’t believe that, you fuckhead.”

“The baby again?” asked Roslyn.

“No, that was all me,” said Annie. “You made yourself look bad, and while we’re on the subject, the baby wants to know how the hell you can afford that new apartment?”

“You want to know?” said Daniel, getting red in the face. His daughters looked over, and he took a deep breath to calm himself.

Lowering his voice, and making his tone friendly, he said, “It’s none of your business, but I’ll tell you anyway.” As he spoke, he ticked the points off on his fingers. “We saved up. I got a raise. Ros has a great job, and I get a favorable mortgage rate from my own bank. Satisfied?”

“I’m happy for you. For both of you. I really am. But you have to see that it looks suspicious. Why didn’t you tell the cops all this? It looks like you knew you were going to come into money when Stephen died. Dad was trying to help you.”

Daniel shook his head.

Honoré walked over to Daniel, offering his uncle the toy duck his godmother, Ruth, had given him when they’d left Québec.

When squeezed, it said “duck.” They thought. They hoped.

“Merci,” said Daniel, taking it. He squeezed it twice and Honoré laughed.

“I need to call work,” Daniel said, getting up.

She watched him leave the room, the phone to his ear.

Then Annie pulled out her own phone and made a call.

“I’m afraid you can’t come in, sir,” said the gendarme guarding the door to Stephen’s apartment.

“Is it possible to speak to the agent in charge?” asked Gamache.

“He’s busy.”

Beauvoir was about to say something, but Gamache stopped him. Bringing out his wallet, he handed the agent his card.

“Do you mind giving him this, please?”

The cop glanced at it. Unimpressed. A lowly chief inspector, from Québec.

“Un moment,” he said and swung the door shut in their faces.

“Well,” said Beauvoir, “this’s humbling. For you.”

Gamache smiled. “Humility leads to Enlightenment, Grasshopper.”

“Well, you are brilliant, patron.”

The door was opened a moment later and a plain-clothed officer in his mid-forties stood there.

“Désolé,” he said, putting out his hand. “Inspector Juneau, Stefan Juneau.”

“Armand Gamache. This’s my former second-in-command, Jean-Guy Beauvoir. He now works in Paris.”

“For us?”

“No, for a private company.”

“A security firm? SecurForte?”

“No, GHS Engineering.”

“Ah, oui?” said Juneau, walking into the apartment as they followed. “Out at La Défense?”

“Yes.”

Juneau stopped in the hall. “Commander Fontaine filled me in on what happened last night and this morning.” He dropped his voice. “Please forgive Agent Calmut. He’s young and, frankly, just a little stupid. I’m having him flogged as we speak. How can I help?”

Gamache could actually see the young officer going through the pile of books flung onto the floor.

“We’d like to take a look around the apartment, if you don’t mind. I know it well. It might be some help to you.”

“Absolutely. Are you looking for something in particular?”

“Not really. I was here earlier, but I thought it might be helpful to come back. Get a better look. Have you spoken to the neighbors yet?”

“Yes. No one heard or saw anything. The concierges are next on my list.”

Gamache and Beauvoir were given gloves and the freedom to roam the apartment.

“It looks worse now than this morning,” said Beauvoir as they picked their way through the mess in the living room.

Beauvoir watched as his father-in-law took several photos of the room, then moved aside a chair to get at a large oil painting. Leaning it against the wall, he stared at it. Then he turned it around and looked at the brown paper, slashed to expose the canvas behind.

Another painting was examined, the front and back photographed by Gamache.

“We did wonder if the intruder found something hidden behind the paintings,” said Juneau, joining them.

“I don’t think so,” said Gamache as he put a Rothko back on the wall.

“Why not?” asked Juneau.

“Because the intruder kept searching after he’d slashed them,” said Beauvoir.

He pointed to the remaining art on the floor. Some almost hidden beneath splayed books and pillows.

“Good point,” said Juneau. Though he didn’t sound so happy that the Québec guy had seen it and he hadn’t.

Gamache spent the next few minutes digging out the paintings, photographing them, and replacing them on the wall.

Juneau walked over to Beauvoir. “Is he okay?”

Gamache was just standing there, staring at the paintings.

“?a va, patron?” asked Beauvoir.

“Yes, yes,” said Gamache. “Everything’s fine.”

Though he sounded distracted. Not exactly upset, but definitely preoccupied as he returned to the art.

Then he looked at his watch and turned abruptly. “I’m afraid I haven’t been any help. I can’t see that anything’s missing.” He stripped off the gloves and held out his hand to Juneau. “We need to be going. Thank you for your understanding.”