The Madness of Crowds
- Автор: Пенни Луиза
- Серия: Chief Inspector Gamache #17
- Год: 2021
- Язык: английский
- Год: St. Martin's Publishing Group
- ISBN: 9781250145284
- Жанр: Другие детективы
Электронная книга - «The Madness of Crowds». Краткое содержание книги:
You're a coward.
Time and again, as the New Year approaches, that charge is leveled against Armand Gamache.
It starts innocently enough.
While the residents of the Québec village of Three Pines take advantage of the deep snow to ski and toboggan, to drink hot chocolate in the bistro and share meals together, the Chief Inspector finds his holiday with his family interrupted by a simple request.
He's asked to provide security for what promises to be a non-event. A visiting professor of statistics will be giving a lecture at the nearby university.
While he is perplexed as to why the head of homicide for the Sûreté du Québec would be assigned this task, it sounds easy enough. That is, until Gamache starts looking into Professor Abigail Robinson and discovers an agenda so repulsive he begs the university to cancel the lecture.
They refuse, citing academic freedom, and accuse Gamache of censorship and intellectual cowardice. Before long, Professor Robinson's views start seeping into conversations. Spreading and infecting. So that truth and fact, reality and delusion, are so confused it's near impossible to tell them apart.
Discussions become debates, debates become arguments, which turn into fights. As sides are declared, a madness takes hold.
Abigail Robinson promises that if they follow her, ça va bien aller. All will be well. But not, Gamache and his team know, for everyone.
When a murder is committed, it falls to Armand Gamache, his second-in-command Jean-Guy Beauvoir, and their team to investigate the crime as well as this extraordinary popular delusion.
And the madness of crowds.
“I disobeyed orders,” Beauvoir pointed out.
“I know that. Look, do you want to be fired?” When Beauvoir shook his head, Gamache said, “Bon, then stop arguing. Just accept.”
“Merci.” Then something occurred to Jean-Guy. “Is Serious Crime going to take over? It’s not a homicide. Not our department.”
“Non. I’ve asked to be given the investigation. They’ve agreed.”
Jean-Guy began to ask why Gamache wanted this dog’s breakfast of an investigation but stopped himself. He knew why.
If Serious Crime took over, they’d dig into what exactly had happened. And they’d discover Beauvoir’s dereliction of duty.
Gamache was doing it to protect him. But Jean-Guy suspected it went further than that.
Armand Gamache wanted to know more about this Abigail Robinson. Knowledge was power, and he needed as much power as he could get, to protect his granddaughter and others like her. And unlike her.
Jean-Guy glanced toward the hearth and Haniya Daoud, the extraordinary woman sitting there. Who’d, at great peril to herself, led so many to safety. Especially children. Leaving her own behind.
He tilted his head toward the fireplace.
Armand, understanding what he meant, stood up and pulled the table from the corner, releasing his prisoner.
As Jean-Guy slipped by, Armand laid a hand on his arm.
“You don’t look anything like me,” he said. “But you’re still my son.”
Olivier and Gabri had joined the women, and now all got up to greet Armand and Jean-Guy. Even Ruth.
As he embraced her, Jean-Guy could feel the birdlike bones beneath the moth-eaten sweater, and marveled that maybe the mad old poet was Rosa’s mother after all.
“We made a mess, patron,” Armand said to Olivier, pointing to the pile of pie on the floor. “We can clean it up.”
“No worries. I can do that. I have a disposal system.” He looked over at Ruth.
The only one who’d remained seated was the guest, in her bright fuchsia-and-gold caftan and hijab.
“I’d like to introduce you to Haniya Daoud,” said Myrna. “Haniya, these are our friends Armand Gamache and Jean-Guy Beauvoir.”
Now that he was closer, Jean-Guy could see that she was actually quite young. The scarring on her face and her large, worn eyes had made her look much older.
Haniya Daoud stared at them. “You’re police.”
“Yes. And neighbors,” said Armand. “It’s an honor to meet you, Madame.”
He bowed slightly, not offering a hand he knew she would refuse.
“I don’t like police,” she said after staring at him for a moment.
“I don’t blame you. I wouldn’t either if I’d been through what you have.”
She smiled at him. “I’ve met people, men, like you. Dignified. Thoughtful. Powerful. A natural leader, no?” She looked around, and the others nodded. She dropped her voice and leaned forward, so that he had to bend further to hear her. “I also know what you do with that power, and what you’d do to hold on to it. You don’t fool me.”
“I’m not trying to,” he whispered back. “You don’t know me, Madame Daoud. I hope that might change in the next few days.” He straightened up. “It’s late and we’re all tired. I hope you have a good night’s rest. Perhaps this will all look different in the morning.”
“Will the snow be gone? Will there be flowers and grass?” She glanced toward the window. “I’ve never seen a bleaker landscape.”
“No,” said Armand. “The outside won’t change, but the inside might. We can but hope.”
“We can do more than that, Chief Inspector, if we choose. Hope on its own is rarely enough.”
Her smile only deepened the scars, the slashes down her face.
“So you do know who I am,” said Gamache. “You called me Chief Inspector.”
“I know your rank, and yes, after watching the news reports I think I have a pretty good idea who you are. And what you are.”
Haniya Daoud muttered something into the hearth.
“Excusez-moi?” said Gamache.
“Was my French not good? I said”—she raised her voice for all to hear—“faible.”
She looked into the surprised faces of the friends and neighbors. “Am I pronouncing it right?”
“Oui,” said Gabri, and got sharp elbows in both sides from Olivier and Clara.
“Good. I’m just learning. Beautiful language, French. I think ‘faible’ sounds better, softer, than the English word. And is more nuanced.”
She was speaking directly, and exclusively, to Gamache now, having disappeared the others.
“It’s what came to mind when I watched you on the news tonight, Chief Inspector. It means weak. Small. Feeble. Am I right?”
“That is the translation,” he agreed, more curious than insulted. Why would Haniya Daoud bother to insult him? To what purpose?
Haniya pushed herself up from the depths of her chair, and said, “I’m going to bed.” She looked at Clara. “I believe I’m staying with you. There’s a luxury Inn and Spa, just up the hill.”
“The Auberge, yes,” said Clara.
“Good. I will move there tomorrow. And now I give the smug-faced crowd the traditional gesture of endearment and wish you all a bonne nuit.”
She raised her middle finger.
As Gamache stepped back to let her pass, she stopped dead in front of him.
“You want to know why I call you weak.”
“To be honest, I don’t really care.”
“I wonder if that’s true. I think you care about a lot of things, including how you’re perceived. You know what that woman is preaching.”
“Abigail Robinson?” said Gamache. “Oui.”
“Mass murder. I watched the report, several times. I recognized the look in your eyes when you were watching her. It was loathing, wasn’t it.”
When he didn’t disagree, she continued.
“And yet you not only failed to stop her event, you actually saved her life. You made it look like heroics, but I know better. I know you, Chief Inspector. Met thousands of you. You’ll give money. I imagine you even donated to my cause. You’ll serve food to the needy and collect coats for the homeless. You’ll give impassioned speeches, but you won’t actually lift a finger to stop a tyrant. You want others to do it. You want me to do it. You’re small. Feeble. A hypocrite. I think…” She looked at him more closely. Her eyes running over his face, pausing at his own scar, at his temple. “Yes, I think you’re probably a good man, at least you like to think so. Decent. But you’re also faible. I, on the other hand, am not. I’m neither decent nor weak.” When Armand didn’t reply, she lowered her voice. “Best to get out of my way.”
“They’re thinking of giving her the Nobel Peace Prize?” said Ruth, watching her leave. “Who else is on the list? Kim Jong-un? Putin?”
Myrna turned to Armand. “You okay? Looks like she hit a nerve.”
Armand gave a short laugh. “My fault for leaving it exposed.”
The nerve she’d hit, either by a good guess or some strange insight, was his own earlier thought. Of what would have happened had he moved just a little bit slower …
And part of him, part of him, wished he had. And part of him wondered if maybe Haniya Daoud, the Hero of the Sudan, was right. He lacked courage.