Glass Houses (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #13)(112)

Only one thing wouldn’t wait until morning, and they both knew what it was.

*

“Shall we sit?” Gamache asked, gesturing toward the armchairs and sofa.

Beauvoir remained standing, positioning himself by the fireplace. Not coincidentally, he also blocked any way out to the door. It would be futile for any of them to try to run away, but cornered people did desperate things.

So far only Lea had spoken. She’d whispered, “Finally,” when she’d seen the officers. Though it was Jacqueline she’d been staring at when she’d spoken.

Lacoste began.

“Jacqueline came to us tonight with an extraordinary story.” She glanced at the baker, who was sitting bolt upright and staring defiantly at the others. “Extraordinary to us, at least, but not, I think, to you.”

And yet, Gamache thought, it shouldn’t have been a complete surprise. Once said, it seemed obvious and he’d wondered how he could not have seen it sooner.

And much like Anton’s confession earlier in the day to Jean-Guy, Gamache knew Jacqueline’s visit to them had been preemptive. Even as she’d told her story, he knew that she wasn’t telling them anything they wouldn’t have discovered within hours anyway. And she knew it too.

“She told you everything?” Matheo asked, his eyes moving from Jacqueline to Lacoste and back again.

“She confessed, yes,” said Lacoste.

“To the murder?” asked Patrick, staring in shock at the baker. “You killed Katie?”

“She told us about the cobrador,” said Lacoste. “And now it’s your turn. Tell us what you know.”

They looked at each other, and then, naturally, it was Lea who spoke.

“Jacqueline came to us with the idea.” Lea turned to her husband, who nodded agreement. “She’d heard about the cobrador while working for that Spanish guy. At first we thought she was kidding. It sounded ridiculous. A guy stares at someone and it magically does the trick?”

“No one took Jacqueline’s suggestion seriously,” said Matheo. “Désolé, but you know that’s true.”

Jacqueline gave one crisp nod.

“But it gave me an idea for a story,” Matheo continued. “So I wrote that piece about the cobrador del frac, the debt collector in the top hat and tails, and thanked Jacqueline for the idea. That’s when she said it wasn’t that cobrador she was thinking of. It was the original.”

“She sent us links from Spain,” said Lea. “That cobrador was very different. Terrifying.”

“And yet,” said Lacoste, “when you spoke to Monsieur Gamache about it that first time, you said the only thing you knew about the original came from that old photograph. You said sightings were rare.”

“Well, they are rare,” said Matheo. “But—”

“But we didn’t want to spoon-feed you,” Lea said, speaking frankly to Gamache. “We knew you’d pursue it and find out what you needed. And you’d be more invested, if you came to it yourself.”

At the fireplace, Jean-Guy bristled. No one liked being manipulated, and Lea Roux had done it perfectly. She was clearly very, very seasoned at controlling, maneuvering. And he wondered how much of it was happening at that moment.

Though Gamache didn’t seem upset or angry. He simply nodded agreement. But kept a thoughtful eye on her.

“That’s when we began to consider what Jacqueline was suggesting,” said Matheo. “We’d tried everything else. There seemed nothing to lose.”

“It took longer than we thought to get everything organized,” said Lea. “For one thing, we had to find a costume. Finally, we decided to make one. Didn’t Jacqueline tell you all this?”

She looked at the baker, sitting pale and contained on the sofa between Gamache and Lacoste.

“She did. But we need to hear it from you,” said Lacoste. “Who made the costume?”

“Jacqueline,” said Lea. “Even when it was finished, we weren’t all in. It just seemed stupid. Katie was the one who convinced us. She’d been the closest to Edouard. She wanted him to pay.”

“Even after all these years?” asked Lacoste. “Edouard died almost fifteen years ago.”

“When you see your best friend jump off the roof, it never goes away,” said Matheo. “Especially when the person who did it hasn’t paid any price. Hasn’t even apologized.”

“Is that what you wanted?” asked Gamache. “An apology?”

They looked at each other. It seemed possible they hadn’t really discussed what they wanted. What would be enough.

“I think so,” said Lea. “We’d fuck with him, scare him a bit, and then go back to our lives. What more could we do?”

“You said ‘him,’” said Lacoste. “Who’s he?”

“Didn’t she tell you?” asked Matheo.

“Again, I need to hear it from you.”

“Anton,” said Lea. “We’d begged him to stop selling to Edouard, and he agreed, but the shit was lying to us. He kept doing it. More drugs. Stronger.”

“We didn’t know,” said Matheo. “Until—”

Matheo was staring at Lacoste, but seeing the leap.

It was no accident. No stumble. Edouard had stood on the ledge while around him everyone partied. And below him, in some dorm room, his great love, Katie, and his friend Patrick had sex.