Glass Houses (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #13)(82)

“Someone didn’t believe it,” said Lacoste.

“She was acquitted on a technicality,” said Beauvoir. “One of the cops fucked up.”

It was the dread most investigators carried. To make a mistake, and set a predator free among the prey.

Lacoste turned back to the screen. The monster had changed. It was no longer the cobrador. It was the nicely dressed woman, so much like everyone else on that street.

Lacoste’s gaze shifted to the now empty root cellar.

“You’re wondering if Katie Evans knew this woman,” said Lacoste. “That maybe they met at Carnegie Mellon.”

“It’s a long shot, but…” He lifted his hands in a “might as well try” gesture. “If Madame Evans knew this woman, it’s possible the cobrador came for them both. First one, then the other.”

“See what you can find out.”

“Oui, patron.”

Chief Inspector Isabelle Lacoste returned to her laptop and the transcripts of that day’s interviews. She clicked on the next interview and groaned slightly.

Ruth Zardo.

Lacoste closed that screen. Interviewing the demented old poet once was bad enough. Having to read over that mess again was too much, even for the head of homicide. Besides, there was nothing there. She went on to the next transcript, reaching for her coffee and settling in.

“Oh, merde,” she sighed and, closing that, she brought up Ruth Zardo, smiling slightly at the thought.

Ruth certainly resembled something brought up.

*

Clara and Reine-Marie were deep in conversation when Armand and Myrna returned with the wine and more sliced baguette for the cheese.

“Ahhh, merci,” said Reine-Marie, reaching for the bread first.

“What were you talking about?” asked Myrna. “Nazis?”

“Pinocchio,” said Clara.

“Of course.” Myrna turned to Armand. “I see we’ve returned just in time to elevate this conversation above nursery school.”

“By talking about Nazis?” asked Clara. “That elevator is descending.”

“No, by telling you about the experiment,” said Myrna. “Eichmann’s defense was that he was just following orders, right?”

The women nodded. They’d all heard that. It was the classic defense for the indefensible.

“The prosecution, and the court of public opinion, said that was absurd. That any decent person would’ve refused to participate in the Holocaust. It became a talking point of the day, around water coolers and at cocktail parties. Wouldn’t a person of good conscience refuse? That’s what the experiment was set up to test.”

“But how can you possibly test such a thing?” asked Reine-Marie.

“Well, I know I’m forgetting all sorts of details, but the gist of it was that the subject was put in a room with two other people. One was introduced as the head of the experiment. A scientist. Someone, they’re told, who’s very senior and very well respected. Now, the point of the experiment, they’re told, is to teach the third person in the room how to better learn. It is, the subject is assured, not only a valuable experiment for that learner, but one that will help all of society.”

Armand leaned back, crossed his legs, and stared into the fire. Listening to Myrna’s deep, comforting voice. Like listening to a bedtime story, but one that, he knew, was more Grimms than Milne.

“Now, the learner is strapped into a chair,” said Myrna.

“Strapped in?” said Reine-Marie.

“Yes. The subject is told that some learners want to leave when things get difficult, so they’re strapped in. Like seat belts. Just a gentle restraint. They’re paid for the experiment and so have to see it through, the scientist explains.”

Myrna looked at them, to see if they were following. Both Reine-Marie and Clara were nodding. So far, while a little odd perhaps, it did not sound unreasonable.

They’d probably have gone along with it. So far.

“The subject is then told that for each wrong answer the learner gives, the subject is to give him a small electric shock.”

“Like invisible fencing for dogs,” said Clara. “They get a small shock and learn where the boundary is.”

“Right. We do it all the time. Aversion therapy,” said Myrna. “Now, what the subject doesn’t know is that both the scientist and the learner are in on it.”

“There is no electric shock?” asked Reine-Marie.

“No. He’s an actor. He just pretends to get the jolt. The first time he gets a wrong answer the shock is mild and the subject easily continues on. But the shocks get stronger and stronger with each wrong answer. As the experiment goes on, and he gets more things wrong, the learner acts more and more upset. The shocks are obviously causing him real pain now. He asks that the experiment be stopped, but the scientist says it can’t and orders the subject to continue on.”

“Is he upset?” Clara asked. “The subject, I mean.”

“Now there’s an interesting question,” said Myrna. “From what I remember, he’s confused and uncertain, but is reassured by the scientist that everyone else had seen this through, and he needs to as well.”

“So he continues?” asked Clara.

“Yes. Finally, the learner is crying and begging and screaming and struggling to get away. The scientist orders the subject to administer another shock. One that would, the subject knows, be excruciating. Perhaps even fatal. The scientist tells him he’s doing nothing wrong. And reminds him that everyone else has done it.”