by Louise Penny
“What is wrong with you?” asked Olivier. “Is it just him or are you rude to everyone?”
“You don’t know him,” said Jacques. “You think you do, but you don’t. You know the nice neighbor. You don’t know the real man.”
“And you do?”
“Professor Leduc did. He told us all about Gamache.”
“Really? And what did he say?”
“That he was caught up in the corruption scandal. That he resigned one step ahead of being fired. That Gamache is a coward. He ran away from the mess he made and now he’s trashing the academy.”
“Enough.”
Behind them, the old poet and the bookstore owner had risen to their feet. But it wasn’t Ruth Zardo who’d spoken. It was Myrna.
“It’s all right, dear,” said Ruth. “They don’t know what they’re saying.”
Beside her, Myrna was so angry she was actually shaking. Her face so filled with rage, she was almost unrecognizable.
Jacques stood abruptly and faced her.
“You’d defend him? Do you know how many agents died while he was Chief Inspector? Do you know he murdered his own superior? You think we don’t know that he killed Professor Leduc? Of course he did. A shot to the head of an unarmed man. It has coward written all over it. It has Gamache written all over it.”
“You stupid, stupid man,” was all Myrna could get out, while Ruth’s hand held her arm. The human contact, if not her strength, restraining Myrna from going further.
“You—” said Jacques. Huifen had gotten to her feet and put her own hand on his arm, stopping him from saying what everyone in the room heard anyway. It throbbed out of him. What he was thinking. What he was seeing.
A big, fat black. Not a woman. Not a person. Just a black. Though he was clearly longing to shoot another word at her.
And now Myrna did step forward, and Ruth went with her.
Jacques Laurin glared and dared them to go further.
Myrna Landers had seen that look many times. When stopped for traffic tickets. While walking in civil rights marches through Montréal. She’d seen it in reports of riots and police shootings. She’d seen it in color and in black and white. In recent news reports and in old newsreels. And archival photographs. Of the Deep South. And the enlightened North.
And now it was here. In Three Pines.
He didn’t just loathe her. He dismissed her, as subhuman.
And in just a few months, Myrna knew, he’d have a gun and a billy club and permission to use them. On anyone he wanted.
“Well,” said Olivier. “That little contretemps makes this even more difficult.”
“What?”
“Monsieur Gamache has handed out billeting assignments.”
“Aren’t we staying in the B and B?” asked Huifen.
“All of you at our place?” said Olivier. “I don’t think so.”
“Then where’re we staying?”
Amelia looked over at Ruth Zardo.
Please, let me stay with her.
Ruth sneezed and wiped her nose on Myrna’s caftan.
Please let me stay anywhere else.
“Cadet Huifen Cloutier will be billeted with us in the B and B.”
Huifen smiled and looked at her fellow cadets, who didn’t even pretend to be happy for her.
“Cadet Amelia Choquet—”
Ruth. Not Ruth. Please, please, not Ruth. Please, Ruth.
“—with Clara Morrow.”
Amelia looked at Ruth. Did the old poet seem surprised? Maybe even a little disappointed?
Ruth scowled at her and gave her the finger.
Perhaps not.
“Cadet Nathaniel Smythe will be staying with Ruth Zardo.”
“Oh, shit,” they both said at once.
“Now, Cadet Laurin.” Olivier turned to Jacques. “Can you use your superior skills to work out where Commander Gamache has billeted you?”
Jacques looked at him. In the background, Myrna was staring wide-eyed at Olivier.
“He didn’t,” she said, and saw Olivier nod.
“Cadet Laurin will be staying with Myrna Landers.”
“I won’t do it,” said Jacques.
“It’s either that, or that.” Olivier gestured toward the bench on the village green, glistening with melting snow.
“Or I could leave. We don’t have to stay.”
“Absolutely,” said Olivier. “I can’t imagine anyone here trying to stop you. But it’s a long walk back to Saint-Alphonse.”
“Now who’s the coward?” asked Myrna. Her horror had turned to a certain satisfaction.
He squared his shoulders. “I’m not afraid.” Then he turned to Huifen and whispered, “Can we trade?”
Huifen shook her head.
“Nice,” said Myrna.
“Yeah, like you wouldn’t trade me in an instant.”
“Trading isn’t what I have in mind for you.”
“Why do I get him?” Ruth demanded. “He’s like a hole in the room.”
She pointed a gnarled finger at Nathaniel.
“Hey,” said Nathaniel. “I’m a great guest.”
“Right, if I want to play an endless game of hide and seek. Come out, come out, wherever you are.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Nathaniel demanded.
“Oh, go fffff—”
Now it was Myrna’s turn to lay a hand on her arm.
“Who’s Clara Morrow?” asked Amelia.
“The artist,” said Huifen, and gestured toward her head, mimicking abandoned hair. “She drove us down. Seems nice.”
Olivier, somewhat more helpful, gestured out the window to where Clara was walking her new puppy, though it looked from a distance like she was dragging an empty leash through the thin layer of snow on the village green.
Amelia sighed. Nice. In her world, it was code for dim-witted.
* * *
Armand Gamache waved at Clara, who picked up the puppy and walked over.
“Who’s that?” asked Gélinas. “She looks familiar.”
“Yes, it’s hard to mistake Clara Morrow for anyone else.”
“Clara Morrow, the artist? The one who does portraits? She did the old and forgotten Virgin Mary. An incredible work. I could barely look at it and I could barely look away. Though I think my favorite is The Three Graces. I saw her solo show at the Musée d’art contemporain.”
“She lives over there.” Gamache pointed to a small house across the green.
They walked forward, meeting Clara halfway. After putting the puppy down, she was introduced to Paul Gélinas, who seemed more than a little starstruck.
“Have you met Leo?” Clara asked Armand.
“Non. Bonjour, Leo,” said Armand, kneeling down.
Leo was, he had to admit, just about the most adorable puppy he’d ever seen. He had light brown fur, almost yellow, and rounded ears that seemed made of felt. They were perked forward. His tail wagged and he stood with his legs firm and straight. Eager and bright-eyed.
Like a very, very small lion.
Was it possible Clara got a lion and they got a weasel?
But no, Leo was definitely a dog. Of unknown breed, but a dog.
“How’s Gracie?” Clara asked, and Armand searched her face for any hint of a smile.
It was not an exhaustive search. There was more than a little amusement.
He got to his feet as Gélinas squatted down and played with Leo.
“She’s wonderful,” said Armand.
“Really?”
“Well, she’s peeing everywhere. But then, so did Daniel and Annie when we first brought them home. Granted, we were pretty sure they were human. It’s not totally clear what Gracie is.”
“Does it matter?” asked Clara.
“Obviously not to you,” said Armand. “Are they really litter mates?”
He looked down at the very handsome Leo.
“Well, they were all found in the same bin. I guess it’s possible a little raccoon cub crawled in the
“Right,” said Armand. “How did we end up with Gracie? Was she the only one left?”
“Not at all. Reine-Marie was given the pick of the litter. I think Billy Williams is a little sweet on her. She chose Gracie.”
Of course she did, thought Armand. The runt. He’d have done the same thing.
“How’s Henri adjusting?” Clara asked.
“He looks at her as though she’s an hors d’oeuvre we dropped on the floor.”
Clara grimaced, then turned to leave. “Well, good luck.”
“Good luck to you.”
Something in his voice made her turn around. “What have you done, Armand?”
“Oh, you’ll see.”
Clara scowled at him.
Behind her, in the bistro window, Gamache could see the four young people also scowling at him.
A litter of cadets. But who was the lion? Who was the runt?
* * *
Gamache drove back to the academy while Gélinas read the Commander’s private file on Serge Leduc.
They’d discussed the broad strokes of the dead man’s career, what was publicly known. What wasn’t.
And his personal life, of which little was known.
“Both parents are dead. I spoke to his sister this morning,” said Gamache. “She lives in Chicoutimi. They weren’t close. She was shocked, of course, but I didn’t get the feeling Leduc’s death would leave a hole in her life.”
“No friends among the other professors?”
“Not that I could see. Serge Leduc was hierarchical. He would never think of socializing with lower ranks. Not unusual in closed communities,” said Gamache. “Where status is power and takes on an almost mystical quality.”
“Which would make you…?”
Gamache smiled thinly and chose not to step into that trap.
“Any special students?” Gélinas asked.
“By special, you mean did he have sex with any of the students? I hope not, but the truth is, I don’t know. I tried to take opportunities away by, among other things, stopping the practice of freshmen cadets bringing professors their meals in their rooms. That reinforces the power professors have over students. It can lead to abuse.”
“But you think he might have had affairs anyway?”
“He kept up the practice, despite my ban. And it wouldn’t have been an affair,” said Gamache. “That makes it sound consensual.”
“Well, at least they’d both be over sixteen.”
“Do you really think a freshman cadet is going to choose to have sex with Serge Leduc? If he was in any other position, they’d never give him another thought. Nor should they. No. If they had sex with him, or more accurately, he with them, they were forced. By their own fears and insecurities. Seduced by his promises and frightened by what would happen if they refused.”
“Motive for murder,” said Gélinas.
“It is a possibility.”
“So you do think a student could have done this?”
“They’re not children. And I’m sorry to say, even children kill. These are young men and women, more than capable of killing.”
“Killing, perhaps,” said Gélinas. “A police officer must be capable of it. But murder? We hope not.”
Gamache said nothing and Gélinas went back to reading, finally looking up and letting the dossier drift closed on his lap. He thought for a moment before speaking.
“Why didn’t you use this against him? There’re all sorts of allegations. Hidden bank accounts, contract fixing. Intimidation.”
“Allegations. But not enough proof,” said Gamache. “I needed hard evidence before taking a run at Serge Leduc.”
Gélinas looked down at the dossier. “I had no idea it was this bad. I was in Paris when the scandal in the Québec government and the Sûreté broke. I followed it, of course. And heard the rumors even there about the academy. But didn’t know if they were true or the degree.” He shook his head. “A second scandal.”
“Non. Not a second. It’s all part of the same one. Where did the corrupt agents come from? Why did Chief Superintendent Francoeur transfer Leduc to the academy? Francoeur was the head of the Sûreté, the architect of all that went wrong. He placed Leduc in the academy for a reason. What was happening in the school wasn’t a separate scandal but the necessary first step for all that happened later.”
“Did you know that when you took over?”
“I suspected. Ill-prepared, insolent young agents were showing up in the lowest ranks of the Sûreté, and being promoted. One or two could be considered normal in a population, but there were too many. The academy had become a nursery, a factory, a training ground and a conduit for brutality. It created and fostered an environment where that sort of behavior was normal, valued and rewarded.”
“By Serge Leduc.”
Gamache nodded. “He was their first role model for what a Sûreté agent should be. His nickname, you know, was the Duke.”
“Not exactly original. Leduc. The Duke.”
“But it was at least accurate,” said Gamache. “A pretender to the throne. A tyrant.”
“Then you show up, replace most of the professors with your own, make substantial changes. But you had to keep Leduc on, to get at the core of the problem. Did he know you were on to him?”
“Oui. I showed him the file.”
“You did what? Why?”
“To rattle him.”
Gélinas absorbed what he’d heard. “Did it work?”
Gamache opened his mouth, then closed it again. And finally he spoke. “How closely have you read that file?”
“Well, I’ve just skimmed it, but close enough to understand that Serge Leduc was on the take, at the very least.”
“Read it more closely, and then we’ll talk.”
“Can’t you just tell me?”
“No. I don’t want to impose my thoughts on you. I want to see if you come to the same conclusion. I could be wrong.”
While Gélinas reopened the file, Gamache drove, keeping his eyes on the road. Snow was drifting across the autoroute, leaving a thin layer beneath which there could be, he knew, ice.
Finally Gélinas looked up. There was silence for a moment as the RCMP officer thought.
“It doesn’t say this anywhere,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “But I don’t think Leduc could have done all this himself, with lower-level accomplices. There must’ve been someone else. Someone smarter. Someone higher up. Maybe someone on the outside. And that’s what you think too.”
Far from being pleased that Deputy Commissioner Gélinas had come to the same conclusion, Gamache looked grim.
“Someone removed,” Gélinas continued, “who could act without fear of being caught because no one would be looking in his direction.”
Gamache was nodding. It was his thinking exactly, though there was no proof.
“Judging by this”—Gélinas looked down at the file—“Leduc was nothing if not shrewd. He must’ve known once the mess at the Sûreté was cleared up, the focus would turn to the academy. To him.” He looked at Gamache. “If you showed this to him, isn’t the wrong person dead?”
“You think it should have been me lying there?” asked Gamache.
“Don’t you? If what you’re describing is true, you were a threat. A man who’d already arrested or killed most of the others involved. From what I hear, those involved in the Sûreté scandal weren’t just corrupt. They beat and murdered at will. You were a clear threat to Leduc and his accomplice. They were facing ruin. Prison.”
He looked at Gamache’s face in profile as he drove.
“If they’ve threatened and killed before, why stop at you?”
“They were weakened. Most of the agents they could count on for support and protection had been rooted out of the Sûreté. No, I was never in danger. Murdering me would bring the full weight of scrutiny crashing down on them.”
“So you showed Leduc what you had,” said Gélinas, tapping the file. “To spook him. Did it work?”
“Perhaps better than I thought,” said Gamache.
“You think the accomplice killed Leduc? Because you were getting close?”
“It’s possible. Whoever the accomplice is, he must’ve worried that Leduc, when cornered, would try to cut a deal.”
“And so he shut him up. Then who is he? It would have to be someone in the academy now. One of the professors? Assuming for a moment it’s not you—”
“For a moment?”
“There is someone who fits. Michel Brébeuf.”
Gamache stared straight ahead. Then gave a curt nod.
Gélinas watched Gamache, the full implication dawning on him.
“You brought Brébeuf back. You put the two together, in the academy. Knowing that if Leduc was the Duke, Brébeuf was the king. You knew all this—”
“I suspected.”
“—and you did it anyway. What were you thinking, man? That’s lunacy.”
“It could prove to be.”
“What more proof do you need?” Gélinas all but shouted, then hauled himself back. “There’s been a murder in the Sûreté Academy. Because you put two criminals together and gave them the run of the place—”
“That’s not true.”
“Near enough. You’re just lucky one of the students wasn’t hurt or killed.”
They’d turned in to the parking lot, but when Gamache switched off the car Gélinas didn’t move.
“Why did you leave the academy, Commander Gamache?”
“Last night? I didn’t. I normally would have, but I stayed because I had late meetings.”
“No, today. One of your professors is murdered and you suspect another professor. Instead of staying and making sure everyone is safe, you jump ship.”
“You think I abandoned them?”
“I think it’s strange in the extreme that a man who is responsible for hundreds of young lives would leave them locked in a building with a killer while he goes home and enjoys sandwiches in his kitchen. What’s going on?”
CHAPTER 18
The body of Serge Leduc was removed, like a stain, from the Sûreté Academy. He’d arrived headstrong and left feet first.
On Commander Gamache’s order, the cadets and professors lined the long, long marble hallway and stood at attention as the body was wheeled out. They were quiet, respectful. And not a single tear was shed.
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