Glass Houses (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #13)(115)

“The only person he didn’t recognize was you. But then, he’d never met you. Not at university anyway. Your brother would never take you with him to buy drugs. He knew how you felt.”

Jacqueline, Edouard’s sister, nodded.

“I’m going to have to arrest you,” he said to her, and she nodded.

“For the cobrador thing,” she said.

“For the murder of Katie Evans.”

“But that’s insane,” said Lea. “Anton killed her. You know that. If he told you all that this afternoon, it was just to cover his ass. He probably only recognized us after the murder. This afternoon, when we were all waiting in the bistro. And he only admitted the Edouard thing because he knew you’d find out anyway.”

“Manipulation?” asked Gamache, his sharp eyes on her.

“He’s smart,” said Matheo. “For God’s sake, don’t be fooled. You have no idea what he’s like. He’s not what he appears.”

“And you are?” said Gamache.

Lea Roux stared at Gamache, holding his eyes. She didn’t like what she saw there.

“I’m sorry,” he said, getting to his feet. “I think you meant well. This started off fairly innocently. No one would be hurt, not even Anton. You just wanted justice for Edouard. You wanted the drug dealer to know that you knew. But you didn’t realize you were being used. Didn’t see what was really happening.”

“And you do?” demanded Lea.

“What’s happening?” asked Patrick, as the S?reté officers led Jacqueline away. “What does it mean? Did she kill Katie? I don’t understand.”

Once outside, Chief Superintendent Gamache turned to Jacqueline.

“You need to put up a strong defense.”

“What’re you saying? You’re not really going to arrest me.”

“I am. For the murder of Katie Evans.”

Even Lacoste and Beauvoir looked surprised, but not nearly as shocked as Jacqueline.

“But you know Anton did it. You know I didn’t kill Katie, but you’re arresting me anyway?” she said. “Why?”

And then her panic seemed to clear.

“I know why. Because you don’t have enough to convict him. You want Anton to think he got away with it. It’s my turn to be the cobrador. To stand up for what I believe in, no matter the risk. Is that what you’re asking of me?”

“Is your conscience clear?” he asked.

“It is.”

And he believed her. But he wasn’t so sure about his own.

*

Chief Inspector Isabelle Lacoste sat in the bistro, her back to Matheo Bissonette and Lea Roux. Avoiding their stares. Partly because of the accusation their glare contained. That an innocent woman was being tried for a murder she hadn’t committed. And that Lacoste knew it.

Yes, there was no mistaking the ire in their eyes.

But also because she needed to concentrate on the American and his lieutenant. Sitting there so confidently, in full view.

Was he there for a friendly parlez? Dividing territory with his Québec counterpart, now that the S?reté was out of the equation? Celebrating the launch of their new commodity, krokodil?

Or was he staking his claim? Why share, when he could have it all?

Was this a meeting of confrères, or the start of a brutal, short-lived, bloody turf war?

And they were sitting in the middle of the turf, the middle of the war.

Isabelle looked at Madame Gamache, and Annie, and Honoré. And she knew something that Chief Superintendent Gamache must’ve realized as soon as she’d told him the head of the American cartel was in Three Pines.

If the battle was fought in this little border village, whoever won would make an example of the villagers. And mostly of Monsieur Gamache and his family.

They would lay waste to Three Pines, so that the population of other border villages would be in no doubt what would happen to them if they didn’t play along. The cartels would never rule by loyalty and affection. It would always be terror.

She could feel the long, slow progress of perspiration down her spine.





CHAPTER 32

“What’re you doing?” asked Beauvoir.

Though it was obvious what Gamache was doing. The question Jean-Guy was really asking was why.

As the car slowed down to a reasonable, even leisurely, pace and descended into the village of Three Pines, Gamache twisted in his seat and came away with the automatic pistol in its leather holster, taken off his belt. Opening the glove compartment, he put it in, first removing the bullets.

“You can be seen with a gun,” said Gamache, as he locked it and put the key in the pocket of his slacks. “I can’t. Reine-Marie and Annie will notice, and ask. We can’t have that.”

The sun was still up, though the unrelenting sheen of the summer day had softened. The village had never looked more beautiful. More at peace with itself. The gardens in full bloom. The children, having eaten dinner, were playing on the village green. Squeezing out every last moment of a perfect summer day.

“And what happens if the exchange is made in the bistro and you’re standing there with a spoon in your hand?”

“I hope I’d at least grab a fork,” said Gamache, but Beauvoir didn’t smile.

“I have this,” he said, his face serious again as he showed Jean-Guy what he’d taken out of the glove compartment, in exchange for the gun.