by Louise Penny
“You never speak to me like that, do you understand?” His father stared at him until Daniel dropped his eyes. But did not apologize.
“I’m deeply, deeply sorry for what happened twenty-five years ago,” Armand went on, barely containing his own anger. “I wish with all my heart it hadn’t. I wish I’d realized what had gone wrong. I wish we hadn’t lost all that time together, but it’s happened. I’ve apologized and I’ll spend the rest of my life saying I’m sorry, if you want, but you need to set it aside for now.”
“No, you don’t get off that easily. Do you have any idea what it feels like, to have your own father not just suspect you of a crime, but spy on you?”
“I used a tracking app to find out where you were, yes. Because we were afraid. Your mother and I called over and over. When you didn’t answer, we got worried. You know why?”
Daniel scowled, and remained silent.
“Because we love you. I used that tracker not because I suspect you, but because I love you. Because the thought of anything happening to you had me terrified. I’d do anything, anything, to find you. To protect you. Anything. And if it means you’re safe, but you hate me for the rest of your life, that’s a price I’m willing to pay. I hope to God you’d do the same for me.”
He dropped his voice almost to a whisper. “If you don’t know by now, Daniel, how much I love you, then I’m afraid you never will.”
* * *
Downstairs in the living room, Jean-Guy took Annie’s hand as they stared at the stairway. No longer pretending not to listen. They’d tried small talk, but all conversation about the weather was blown away by the words tumbling down.
* * *
“You want me to say that I know? That I love you, too?” said Daniel. “You’re going to wait a long time, old man.”
Armand’s mouth opened slightly as he absorbed the blow. A sharp inhale and his hands closing tight were the only indications of the magnitude of pain.
“That doesn’t change my feelings for you,” he managed to say. Quietly. “Never will. I will love you until the day I die. And beyond.”
He held out his hand. It trembled, very slightly, as he offered it to his son.
Not to shake. But to take.
As he’d reached out to his little boy when crossing the street. Or in a crowd.
Or hiking along a trail when there was a rustle in the woods.
To let Daniel know he was not alone. His father would protect him, no matter what.
He would not lose him.
“I’m not a child,” snapped Daniel. “I don’t need you. Never have, never will.”
He turned his back on his father and left.
* * *
Annie, Reine-Marie, Jean-Guy, and Séverine got to their feet when Daniel appeared.
“Everything’s fine,” he said.
Though Reine-Marie wasn’t fooled. She knew what “fine” meant.
Armand came down a few minutes later. He’d needed the time to splash water on his face. And gather himself. He stopped in to see Honoré, and kiss the sleeping boy lightly on the forehead.
As he went down the stairs, Armand heard Daniel say to his mother, “I’m sorry I didn’t answer your call. I was with Stephen and didn’t want to be disturbed.” He turned to Séverine Arbour. “Who are you?”
“I work with Jean-Guy.”
She explained about Beauvoir coming to her home and asking for help.
Armand came down and greeted her, thanking her for joining them.
“Let’s sit at the dining table,” he suggested.
As they walked over, Reine-Marie took his arm and whispered, “Is she really here to help? You said they might try to place someone among us. Her?”
“Possible,” he whispered. “But Jean-Guy went to her, not the other way around.”
“What’re you two whispering about?” Annie asked.
“Food,” said Reine-Marie. “What to order.”
“Oh, good, I’m starving.”
The order was placed for sandwiches, patisseries, and drinks.
“There goes my other kidney,” muttered Reine-Marie.
Armand also called down for an easel, paper, and magic markers.
“In case you’re still wondering,” said Daniel, speaking to his mother and ignoring his father, “I did go to see Commander Fontaine. I told her that I knew Alexander Plessner. That he was a sort of mentor to me in the venture capital division.”
“And what was her reaction?” Armand asked.
What had happened upstairs needed to be set aside. There were far more immediate, if not more important, issues to deal with.
Daniel turned to him, and for a moment Armand thought he’d refuse to answer.
“She didn’t seem surprised.” His tone was brusque, but at least he replied.
“She probably knew already,” said Armand. “Did she ask any questions?”
“She wanted to know what we invested in.”
“And?” said Jean-Guy.
“We’ve only done one buy so far. A small company that needed capital to expand. Won’t come to much. It’s a trial run to work out any kinks in the division.”
“What’s the name of the company?” asked Jean-Guy, bringing out his pen and notebook.
“Screw-U.”
“Pardon?” Jean-Guy looked up at Daniel.
“That’s the name of the company.” When Daniel smiled, his entire face changed, as most people’s did. “It was started by a couple of recent grads from the polytechnique. Mechanical engineers. They thought it was funny. We think it’s infantile. We’re in the process of changing the name. To Screw-Up.”
“That’s better?” asked Annie.
“Well, less aggressive, more playful.”
“Right,” muttered his sister. “That’s not infantile at all.”
“What does it make?” asked Reine-Marie.
“Screwdrivers.”
“As in the tool?” Jean-Guy asked.
“Yes.”
“Why that company?” asked Armand.
“Monsieur Plessner saw potential. It was his idea, not mine.”
Daniel’s answers to his father remained curt, though they were getting slightly longer.
“And nothing since?”
“No.”
“Plessner didn’t suggest anything else?” his father prodded.
“Well, we were looking at two other small companies. One that makes washers, those metal rings you put around a screw. And one that makes screws.”
“Huh,” said Jean-Guy. “That’s interesting.”
“Is it?” asked Annie. “Really?”
“Actually, yes. There were screws in Stephen’s box. We thought they were from the desk upstairs, but maybe they were part of this venture capital research.”
Armand turned to Séverine Arbour. “Does any of this sound familiar?”
She thought, then shook her head. “I’ve never heard of the company, and never seen particular mention of screwdrivers in any of the documents. They do mention screws, but we use a lot of those. And nails. And those washers you mentioned. But not screwdrivers.”
Gamache nodded, but his thoughtful gaze lingered on her.
He’s wondering how much I know, she thought. Even as she wondered how much he really knew.
Armand turned to Daniel. “We think Stephen was behind the venture capital you and Monsieur Plessner used to invest in that company.”
“No, you’re wrong. It came from a fund, from different sources.”
“Those different sources were all Stephen. Mrs. McGillicuddy confirmed it.”
“Really?” Daniel’s surprise was complete and genuine. “But why wouldn’t he tell me?”
“To keep you safe,” said Reine-Marie.
They explained about Stephen selling his art collection and about the buy orders Mrs. McGillicuddy had found, going back years.
The investments Stephen was quietly making in diverse companies.
And the huge funds transferred
into his account with the Banque Privée des Affaires.
“But why?” asked Annie. “What’s he doing?”
“We don’t know. We hoped you could help,” Armand said to Daniel.
“Me?” said Daniel. “You don’t think—”
Armand held up his hand. “I believe you. But you know the markets. Know how these things work. What does this sound like to you?”
Just then the concierge arrived and directed a worker to put up the easel and paper, while Armand handed him an envelope.
“Do you know which companies Stephen was buying into?” Daniel asked.
“Here’s what Mrs. McGillicuddy found.”
Armand picked up a green magic marker and, consulting the email from Mrs. McGillicuddy, he wrote the names of the companies in large letters on one of the sheets of paper.
“Anything look familiar?”
Daniel was scratching his beard and leaning forward. Eyes intense.
“I’ve heard of some, but there doesn’t seem to be any cohesion, any plan. And some are numbered companies. I can’t tell from this what they might be doing and why. Or if there’s any connection.”
“It looks almost like a shotgun approach,” said Annie. “Like Stephen didn’t really know what he was looking for and was covering as wide a field as possible.”
“Or hiding the one important buy among all the others,” said Daniel.
“That’s what we wondered,” said Reine-Marie.
Armand turned to Arbour, who was studying the list.
“No, nothing,” she said.
“We need more information on these companies,” he said, drawing a streak down the paper next to the names. “Can you do that?”
“Yes, absolutely,” said Daniel. “I can go into the bank. Use my access to get information on the companies. The numbered companies will be more difficult, but I can try.”
His father gave him a nod of approval, and Daniel felt something stir.
What he saw now wasn’t the man who’d made his mother cry. It wasn’t even the fellow in the kitchen helping prepare meals, or playing with the grandkids in the garden, or sitting by the fire reading.
What Daniel saw was a senior investigator, with a clear mind and a quiet, but complete, authority.
This was, Daniel thought, someone he could get behind. He had no beef with Chief Inspector Gamache.
It was Dad he had the problem with.
“Could Stephen have been going for a hostile takeover of GHS itself?” asked Annie.
“No,” said Daniel. His answer unequivocal. “Even selling everything he owned, he’d never be able to raise enough. And a company that guarded would notice. He’d never get away with it. But if it looks like Stephen was involved in the venture capital, should I tell Commander Fontaine that? It might be important.”
“I suspect she already knows,” said Armand.
“But how? I didn’t tell her.”
“Commander Fontaine would know,” said Jean-Guy, “because she might be involved.”
“What?” demanded Daniel and Annie.
Séverine Arbour raised her hands. “Wait. Are you saying you think the Préfecture de Paris was responsible for the murder of Alexander Plessner?”
“Not the entire Préfecture,” said Jean-Guy. “But a select few, yes. It’s possible.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“What makes you think they might be involved?” Annie asked.
“When your mother and father found Plessner’s body in Stephen’s apartment,” said Jean-Guy, “they interrupted someone.”
“Yes, I know.”
“What you don’t know is that what alerted them was a scent. Still hanging in the air. A man’s cologne.”
“It’s a very unusual scent,” said Reine-Marie. “Claude Dussault, the Prefect of Police, wears it.”
“Ohhhh,” Annie moaned. “That can’t be good.”
“And you suspect this Fontaine woman just because she’s his second-in-command?” asked Madame Arbour. “Does that mean every time this guy screws up, I’m also to blame? Just because I’m his number two?” She’d waved toward Beauvoir, who glared at her.
“It’s more than that,” said Reine-Marie. “We had the Dussaults over for dinner last night. Dr. Dussault told me that the cologne was a gift from his second-in-command, after they’d been to a conference together in Germany. According to Claude’s wife, Irena Fontaine bought some for herself, too.”
“So it could’ve been either of them in Stephen’s apartment,” said Daniel.
“Yes,” said Gamache.
“Or neither,” Madame Arbour pointed out.
“True,” admitted Gamache.
“Or both,” said Jean-Guy.
Daniel had gotten to his feet and was standing beside his father, examining the list of companies Stephen had, through Plessner, invested in.
Armand watched him for a moment, knowing he’d have to drop another bombshell.
“There’s something else. When we were at your place, for the interview with Commander Fontaine, she wanted to talk privately.”
They were all listening, though it was clear that he was speaking directly to Daniel.
“Yes?”
“She had a file on Stephen, information collected at the end of the war. It questioned whether he really worked for the Resistance or was a Nazi sympathizer, even a collaborator.”
“Come on. Anyone who knows him would know that’s ridiculous,” said Daniel.
“But most people don’t know him. Not personally. All they’d have to do is raise a suspicion, and the damage is done,” said his mother. “We all know how easy it is to commit character assassination.”
She glanced at her husband, the target of many such assassination attempts.
“We think Stephen went to the company and told them, or hinted at, what he’d discovered,” said Armand. “Demanded they stop whatever it is, and that he get to speak to the board. Whatever it is, it’s enough to ruin them. So they had to stop him.”
“They thought they could blackmail him into silence,” said Reine-Marie. “When that didn’t work…”
They all knew what happened next.
What Daniel didn’t know was why they were staring at him. All except Madame Arbour, who was looking out the window.
“I was at the archives this morning, to check into that old file,” said Reine-Marie, her voice ominously gentle. “According to their records, the dossier on Stephen was requested five weeks ago. By you.”
“What?” said Daniel, his face going an immediate, and vibrant, red. “I never did that. Why would I do that? I didn’t even know there were records on Stephen in the archives.”
His voice had risen, loud and high.
“We believe you,” said Armand.
“Wait a minute,” said Daniel, and they fell silent, allowing him to think it through. “The cop Fontaine had that file. She’s the one who showed it to you, right? Is she the one setting me up? Did she put my name on the request, thinking you’d believe I was also involved?”
“She might’ve been the one who did that,” said his father. “But they’d know we’d never believe it, and we don’t. They’re playing with us. Showing us what they can do, if they want. It’s psychological warfare.”
Jean-Guy turned to Annie. “In legal jargon that’s called a mind-fuck.”
“Yet more for Honoré’s vocabulary,” she said, and Jean-Guy laughed.
Daniel was pale. “They’re predicting our every move.”
“Not all,” said his father.
Just then the doorbell chimed. It was the food and drink.
Plates of finger sandwiches, egg mayonnaise, coronation chicken, smoked salmon, and cucumber were put on the table, along with tea cakes and scones. Clotted cream and jams.
And two large bowls of seasoned frites with mayonnaise.
Armand signed for it and received an envelope from the waiter, which he opened, scanned, then placed in his pocket.
As they
helped themselves to the food and drink, Armand brought Stephen’s agenda from his breast pocket and turned to the upcoming week. As he did, the scrap of paper he’d tucked into the flap fluttered to the ground.
Séverine Arbour quickly stooped down and picked it up, beating Gamache to it. Though Beauvoir noticed he didn’t really try. And wondered if that paper had really fallen by accident.
“AFP,” she read as she placed it on the table. “Monsieur Horowitz’s writing?”
“Yes,” said Gamache.
“Agence France-Presse?”
“Alexander Francis Plessner. We think the dates are when Stephen and Plessner met. He made the same notation, AFP, in his agenda this past Friday, the day Plessner arrived in Paris.” He handed the slip to Daniel. “Do the dates mean anything to you?”
Daniel studied them and shook his head. “They’re not even in chronological order. They go from oldest to most recent, except that final one. It goes back four years.”
“Might mean nothing,” said Armand, tucking it back under the flap in the agenda. “Now, the GHS Engineering meeting tomorrow,” he said, consulting Stephen’s notes. “Stephen’s not on the board, so how would he get into the meeting?”
“He wouldn’t,” said Daniel. “Couldn’t.”
“And yet,” said Gamache, “that seems to have been his plan. So how would he do it?”
Daniel was shaking his head. “No, it’s impossible. He’d have to get a seat on the board.”
“And how would he do that?” asked Armand. “There must be a way.”
Daniel was staring into space. Thinking.
So like his father, thought Jean-Guy.
He himself tried so hard to emulate Gamache, it seemed a shame, a waste, that someone who did it naturally didn’t value it.
“Board members of corporations are often rewarded with perks,” said Daniel, finally. “Luxury trips to meetings, that sort of thing. And sometimes, rarely but sometimes, they’d be enticed with shares in the company. Nonvoting shares, so they’d never be able to band together and get control, but the shares would still be valuable enough to make them all wealthy.”
“And loyal,” said Annie.
