* * *
“You’re standing in for her parents?” asked Gélinas, half amused, half disbelieving. “Standing in for her father?”
“For all their parents,” said Gamache. “The students have been entrusted to my care.”
“I’m not a child,” snapped Amelia.
“I don’t mean to be patronizing—”
“That’s exactly what you mean to be,” said Amelia. “That’s what in loco parentis means.”
“We can contact her father, if you like, Commander,” said Gélinas. “If that would make you happy. We can probably have him here within the hour.”
“No,” said Amelia, and while Gamache didn’t speak he looked startled. For an instant. As though slapped.
Reine-Marie, across the room, noticed and wondered if anyone else had.
“Don’t be angry at Monsieur Gamache,” Gélinas said to Amelia. “He can’t help it. I suspect he has an overdeveloped sense of protection because of his own experience. He doesn’t want anyone to suffer as he did.”
“What do you mean?” asked Huifen.
“That’s enough, Commissioner,” warned Gamache.
“His parents were killed by a drunk driver when he was a child. The driver would’ve been just a little younger than you at the time,” he said to the students. “How old were you?” he asked Gamache, who was staring at him, barely containing his outrage. “Eight, nine?”
“Why would you bring that up?” demanded Beauvoir. “It has nothing to do with this.”
“Really?” asked Gélinas, and stared, in heavy silence, at Gamache before going on. “At the very least, the cadets need to understand that we all have burdens, don’t you agree, Commander? Some so weighty we carry them our whole lives. They can blight our very existence, or they can make us stronger. They can make us bitter or teach us compassion. They can drive us to do things we never thought ourselves capable of. Wonderful achievements, like becoming Chief Inspector and Commander. Or horrific things. Terrible dark deeds. Maybe Michel Brébeuf isn’t the only object lesson. Maybe they can learn from you too, Monsieur Gamache.”
Now the entire bistro was watching and listening.
“A discomfort of cadets,” said Ruth.
And she was right. But the students weren’t the only ones squirming. The whole bistro twisted in their seats while Gamache himself stood perfectly still.
“You see,” Paul Gélinas turned to the cadets, “you aren’t the only ones with unhappy childhoods. Some are beaten. Some are bullied. Some are ignored. And some wait at home for a mother and father who will never return.”
He considered Gamache, like a specimen.
“Imagine what that does to a child. And yet he rose above it.” He returned his attention to the students. “And you can too.”
Reine-Marie stood up and went to her husband, taking his hand.
“That is enough, monsieur,” she said to Gélinas.
“Madame,” the RCMP officer bowed slightly. “I meant no harm. But it’s important that these students understand that their burden is shared by everyone and can’t be used as an excuse for their own brutality.”
“He’s right,” said Armand, his voice bitterly cold. “We all make choices.”
He spoke directly to Gélinas, who shifted his shoulders, as though some tiny, sharp object had just been inserted between his blades.
“Bon,” said Gélinas, decisively. “This is an active police investigation. Chief Inspector Lacoste has been very kind to include you so far—”
“And I see no reason to exclude Commander Gamache now,” said Lacoste.
“Well, I do. Speaking as the independent observer, I think it’s now time for him to step aside. Had he been anyone else, he would never have been this involved. We must treat Monsieur Gamache as we would any other suspect.”
“Suspect?” asked Reine-Marie, and there was a murmur of surprise in the bistro.
“Well, yes, of course,” said Gélinas. “Your husband isn’t above the law or above suspicion.”
“It’s all right,” said Armand, squeezing her hand. “Once again, Deputy Commissioner Gélinas is correct.”
He took a small step back, away from Gélinas. Away from the cadets. Away from Lacoste and Beauvoir.
At the door to the private room, Beauvoir turned to see Gamache staring after them. No, not them, Jean-Guy realized.
He was staring at Amelia Choquet.
Beauvoir glanced at Reine-Marie, who was also watching her husband.
Perplexed.
Beauvoir followed Amelia with his eyes as she walked past him into the room. And wondered just what her relationship was with the Commander, that Gamache would look at her in such a way.
He had an idea. An unwanted one. An unworthy one.
Beauvoir closed the door, shutting out the man and the thought.
But the gate had been opened and the traitor thought had slipped in.
In loco parentis. But was it really in place of?
CHAPTER 32
“How well did you know Professor Leduc?” asked Isabelle Lacoste.
She’d placed Amelia to her right and the two men further down the table, on the cadet’s right, so that Amelia’s head was turned to her, and only her.
It was a technique Lacoste had picked up early in her career in homicide. While many of the male investigators preferred to intimidate by having two or three agents looming over suspects, shooting questions to try to push them off balance, Lacoste went in the other direction.
She created an atmosphere of extreme intimacy. A semblance of conspiracy even. Isabelle Lacoste wasn’t surprised that it worked very well with the women she interviewed. What had come as a surprise was how well it worked with the men.
They were steeled against an onslaught. But had no defenses against gentle, even friendly, conversation.
“Not well,” said Amelia. “Professor Leduc taught us crime prevention.”
“Oh, I hated that course. I wanted to learn about weapons and tactics,” said Lacoste with a laugh. “Was he a good teacher?”
“Not really. I think it wasn’t his favorite course either. He used to run the academy, didn’t he?”
“Not officially, but in every other way, yes. Until Monsieur Gamache took over.”
Amelia nodded.
Isabelle Lacoste watched her closely. She could see what Beauvoir had meant. Cadet Choquet would be striking anywhere, but especially so in the Sûreté Academy. She’d stand out. But she’d also stand apart.
Lacoste took in the piercings. The rings and studs, like bullets. A girl pierced and pieced together. Like the Tin Man in The Wizard of Oz. Looking for a heart.
Hints of tattoos flicked out of her clothing.
The eyes that watched her were bright, inquiring. Smoldering, but not burning. But where there was smoke …
This was a young woman of unusual intelligence and intensity, thought Lacoste. A girl not afraid to be different. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t afraid of something.
Everyone was, Isabelle knew. Maybe this young cadet was afraid of being the same.
How isolating that must be, she thought. But we all seek solace somewhere. Some in friendships and family and beliefs. Some in drugs, in a bottle, in food or gambling or good deeds. And some in casual sex. It masqueraded as human contact, but was closer to loathing than liking. And certainly wasn’t love.
On the far side of Amelia, Gélinas opened his mouth, but shut it quickly at one eviscerating glance from Lacoste.
Jean-Guy Beauvoir’s mouth compressed, squashing the smile. He’d received more than a few of those looks in the past. He was happy to see it worked on someone else besides him.
“Did you like the Duke?” Lacoste asked.
“I didn’t know him.”
“I don’t know you, but I like you. I like your bravery.”
And it was true. Isabelle Lacoste knew how much courage it must take Amelia Choquet to face each day. Alone.
Amelia’s eyes widened,
and her small fists tightened. But she said nothing.
And Isabelle wondered when the last time was that someone, anyone, had told Amelia they liked her.
She also wondered how she was going to get this guarded girl to open up.
“Come hither, all ye empty things,/Ye bubbles raised by breath of kings,” she found herself saying, and saw Amelia cock her head to one side. “Who float upon the tide of state,/Come hither, and behold your fate.”
Beyond Amelia, Lacoste could see the faces of the two men, their expressions ranging from despair to incredulity.
“What is that?” Amelia asked.
“A satirical poem. By Jonathan Swift,” said Lacoste.
Beauvoir’s eyes rolled to the back of his head.
“On the death of a duke. I understand you like poetry.”
Amelia nodded and repeated, “Come hither, and behold your fate.”
“If ever there was an empty thing, it was Serge Leduc. The Duke,” said Lacoste. “What was his fate?”
“I guess it was to die, at the hands of another.”
“But who?”
“Do you think it was me?” Amelia asked.
“Your fingerprints were on the map in his bedside table. It was your map, wasn’t it?”
“I don’t know,” Amelia admitted. “It must have been, I guess. No one else’s is missing. But I didn’t give it to him.”
“What was your relationship with Serge Leduc?” Lacoste repeated.
“He wanted to screw me.”
“And did he?”
“No. I told him I’d cut off his dick and shove it down his throat.”
Now the men’s eyes widened.
“What did he say to that?” asked Lacoste.
“He threatened to expel me.”
“And what would that mean?” Isabelle asked. Her voice steady. No hint of the outrage she felt.
“I would die,” said Amelia.
Isabelle Lacoste forced herself to be quiet. To give no easy comfort. To not dismiss the gravity of those words by saying she was sure it wasn’t true.
Because she knew it was true.
Amelia Choquet would leave the academy and go back to the streets. This time without hope. And she would die.
“Did you kill him, Amelia? To stop him from expelling you? To save yourself?”
The young woman looked at Isabelle Lacoste. Here was the woman she longed to be, hoped to be. Could be. But it wasn’t to be. Amelia knew that now.
She shook her head, and when she spoke her voice was clear, certain.
“I did not.”
“Your fingerprints were also on the case where the murder weapon was kept,” said Lacoste. “And on the gun itself.”
Amelia just stared at her. “If I killed him, I’d have wiped the gun. I’m smart enough to do that.”
“Probably true,” said Lacoste. “But I don’t think we’re looking for an exceptionally stupid person, do you?”
Amelia was quiet now.
“You don’t seem surprised that your prints were on the gun. Are you?”
She just shook her head, but was silent.
“What was your relationship with Commander Gamache?”
So she had noticed, thought Jean-Guy. That look on Monsieur Gamache’s face as they’d led Amelia away.
“I have no relationship with him.”
“Then why is he so protective of you?” asked Lacoste.
Down the table, Paul Gélinas shifted in his chair, preparing to interrupt, and once again Lacoste flicked a warning glance at him.
“He isn’t,” said Amelia. “Not more than any of the others.”
“But he is,” said Gélinas, finally ignoring Chief Inspector Lacoste. “He’s the one who got you into the academy. You’d been turned down, you know. He changed that.”
“He did?” asked Amelia, turning to look at the RCMP officer. Breaking the carefully woven connection with Lacoste. “The Duke told me Commander Gamache had rejected my application, but that he’d reversed it. And he could reverse it again.”
“Well, he was lying,” said Gélinas. “It was Monsieur Gamache. Why would the Commander do it? Especially when, forgive me, you’re so clearly unsuited to the place.”
Isabelle Lacoste stared at Gélinas. Amazed by his casual brutality.
Gélinas had ignored her wishes and destroyed an atmosphere between the two women that was clearly working. Was that his intention? Was he afraid Amelia was about to say something, reveal something?
But for all that, Lacoste had to admit the RCMP officer wasn’t wrong. It was a good question. Why had Commander Gamache reversed his predecessor’s decision and admitted the Goth Girl to the Sûreté Academy?
Isabelle Lacoste was growing more and more concerned about the answer.
CHAPTER 33
“What’re you thinking?” asked Reine-Marie.
They’d left the bistro and gone to St. Thomas’s Church, drawn by the quiet there, and the peace.
She sat next to Armand in the pew. He was staring straight ahead, and though his eyes were open, she had the impression he’d been praying.
Her question, she knew, wasn’t accurate. What she really wanted to know was what he was feeling.
Armand took a deep breath and exhaled, forcefully. As though he’d been holding it in for a long time.
“I was remembering waiting for my mother and father. Kneeling on the sofa with my arms on the back of it. Looking out the window. Batman was on the television. I can still hear the theme song.”
As he softly hummed it—dah-dah, dah-dah, dah-dah, dah-dah—Reine-Marie imagined the little boy. Who always waited when his mother and father left, for their return.
Who roused from sleep when they tiptoed into his bedroom and kissed him good night.
Who always found a treat in the fridge in some elaborate tinfoil sculpture. He’d thought his mother had made them for him. And even when, later, all evidence pointed to some stranger at the restaurant making the swans and baskets and boats that contained the treats, Armand still clung to the certainty that his mother had created them. For him.
As far as Reine-Marie knew, he still believed it.
“Batman,” Armand sang beneath his breath. “I saw the headlights from the car, but I knew it wasn’t them. It was too early. And there was something different about the lights. And then I saw the two men walking up the path. But I wasn’t afraid. I thought they were just visitors.”
Reine-Marie took his hand. She’d heard this before. Once. And only once. Early in their courtship, when he knew he loved her, and he knew she loved him. And he’d wanted her to know.
He talked about his parents quite often, relating anecdotes of vacations and celebrations. But this was only the second time in their lives together that he’d talked to her about their deaths.
Lines appeared at his eyes and mouth.
“I was excited to meet these strangers. The doorbell rang and my grandmother came out of the kitchen and opened the door.”
Now the lines disappeared. And for an instant Reine-Marie saw the smooth face of a nine-year-old boy. In pajamas. Standing by the sofa.
“She turned to me and when I saw her face, I knew. They were gone.”
They sat in silence for a moment, not even the ticking of a clock to mark the passage of time. It could’ve been a few seconds, a minute. An hour. Decades.
“My grandmother tried to comfort me, but she had her own grief. It was Michel who stayed with me. He never left my side. He took me outside after their funeral to play king of the castle.” Armand smiled. “It was our favorite game. He always won. I’m the king of the castle, and you’re a dirty rascal,” Armand sang under his breath. “I could barely walk and talk. For weeks. I just plodded along. And Michel never left me. Never went to find more fun friends. Though he could have. I miss him. And I miss them.”
Reine-Marie squeezed his hand. “Paul Gélinas shouldn’t have brought it up. It was cruel.”
“It was almost fifty years ag
o.”
“It wasn’t necessary,” she said, and wondered about the real reason Gélinas had told the cadets about the death of Armand’s parents.
“I’ve been sitting here thinking of my mother and father, but not really how much I miss them. I was wondering what it must’ve been like for the parents of those boys. It’s one thing to lose a mother or father, but can you imagine?” He paused to gather himself, to say the unthinkable. “Losing Daniel. Or Annie?”
He looked over to the stained-glass boys.
“Have you noticed their names? Not Robert, but Rob. Not Albert, but Bert. There’s even a fellow named Giddy. Their real names, the ones their parents shouted when it was dinnertime. The names their friends screamed while playing hockey. Some would’ve been lost. Missing. They’d have gone over the top and disappeared. Forever. And their parents would never have known what happened to them. They’d have waited, forever.”
He took another deep breath.
“Losing Maman and Papa was devastating, but I’ve been sitting here thinking how lucky I am that I at least knew what happened, and I could stop waiting. But some of these parents never did.”
Reine-Marie dropped her eyes to his large hand and gathered her courage to ask the question.
“Armand?”
“Oui?”
“Who’s the cadet? Who’s Amelia? There’s something special about her, isn’t there?”
Reine-Marie’s heart began to pound. But having gone this far, there was no going back. She knew she had to move forward.
Armand looked at her with such sadness that she wished she hadn’t asked. Not for his sake now, but for her own.
Armand would never … Amelia couldn’t possibly be—
“Patron?”
She felt like a woman saved from the gallows, but not grateful. Having finally found the courage to get there, who knew if she’d find it again?
Reine-Marie felt a flash of rage that was incandescent.
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” said Olivier.
He could see the backs of their heads, but neither turned to him, and he hesitated in the aisle.
Reine-Marie dropped her eyes from her husband’s face and counted.
Un, deux, trois …