Glass Houses (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #13)(127)

“I haven’t told you everything.”

Now Barry Zalmanowitz turned to stone. “What?”

“Anton Boucher did not kill Katie Evans.”

Zalmanowitz gripped the arms of the chair, in a sort of spasm.

“What’re you saying?”

“I lied to you. I’m very sorry.”

“Tell me what you’re saying.”

“You’re prosecuting the right person. Jacqueline killed Katie Evans.”

Zalmanowitz’s mind both froze and raced. Like a car chained to the wall. Spinning its wheels.

He was trying to understand these words. And trying to work out if this was good news, or a further disaster.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he finally got out. Not sure if that was the most pressing question, but it was the first out of the gate.

“Because I only completely trusted a small group of my own officers,” said Gamache. “Though I’d never have approached you if I’d had serious doubts.”

“But you did have doubts,” said Zalmanowitz.

“Yes. I had no proof that you were corrupt. But neither did I have proof that you weren’t.”

“So what made you approach me?”

“Beyond desperation? Your daughter.”

“What about her?” he asked, his voice, and his expression, filled with warning.

“Our son, Daniel, has had experience with hard drugs,” said Gamache, and Zalmanowitz’s eyes narrowed. This was news to him.

“So have I,” said Beauvoir. “Almost killed me. Almost destroyed the people I care most about.”

“We know what it does to a family,” said Gamache quietly. “And I thought if anyone would do anything to stop the trafficking, it would be you. So I took the chance, and approached you. But I knew that even if you were clean, that didn’t mean your department was.”

“You arrogant shithead.”

Gamache held his glare.

“If it helps, I didn’t trust my own service either. That’s why only a handful of officers knew what I was doing. The entire S?reté was involved, but each department, each detachment had a very small role. So small, none could see clearly what was happening. To the extent, as you know, that there was eventually open revolt. They also felt I was incompetent and didn’t flinch from saying it. But only a few saw the whole picture.”

Like Clara’s paintings, thought Beauvoir. Tiny dabs that in themselves were nothing. But when combined added up to something completely unexpected.

“You think that excuses it?” said Zalmanowitz. “Do you know what you’ve done? You made me betray all my training, all my beliefs. You made me lie and suppress evidence. You made me believe I was trying the wrong person for a capital crime. You know what that does to a person? To me?”

His clenched fist hit his breastbone so hard they heard the thump across the room.

“Do you regret what you did?” Gamache asked.

“That’s not the issue.”

“It’s the only issue, today,” said Gamache. “Yes, I led you to believe all those things, and yes, you did it. And because you did, we have the cartels across the nation on the run. Not just here, but across the country. The head of the largest syndicate in North America is dead, the other is in prison.”

“You played me for a fool.”

“No. I realized I’d been wrong about you, and that you’re not a coward. Far from it. You were and are a very brave man.”

“You think I care what you think of me?” demanded Zalmanowitz.

“No. Nor do I care, really, what you think of me. What I care about today are the results. I don’t regret what I did. I wish with all my heart it hadn’t been necessary. I wish there’d been another way. But if there was one, I couldn’t think of it. Do you regret it?” Chief Superintendent Gamache asked again. “Burning our ships?”

Chief Crown Prosecutor Zalmanowitz took a deep breath, and regained control of himself.

“No.”

“Neither do I.”

“That doesn’t excuse you,” he said. “That doesn’t mean I forgive you. You could have told me.”

“You’re right. I know that now. I made mistakes. You were brave and selfless and I treated you like an outsider. I’m sorry. I was wrong.”

“Shithead,” Zalmanowitz muttered, but his heart didn’t seem in it. “What were you keeping from me? What was so important?”

“The bat.”

“The murder weapon?” asked the judge.

“Yes. Do you remember in the testimony, in Reine-Marie’s statement, she said she hadn’t seen the bat when she found the body?”

“Yes. But it was there when Chief Inspector Lacoste arrived,” said Zalmanowitz. “You testified that Madame Gamache must’ve made a mistake.”

“I lied.”

He looked at Reine-Marie, who nodded.

Maureen Corriveau wished she’d chosen that moment to use the bathroom, but it was too late. She’d heard.

And, to be fair, while the specific lie was news, she already knew this trial was rife with half-truths and outright perjury.

“Well then, what did happen?” asked the Crown, slipping naturally into prosecutor mode. Cross-examining a possibly hostile witness.