A Better Man
- Автор: Пенни Луиза
- Серия: Chief Inspector Gamache #15
- Год: 2019
- Язык: английский
- Год: St. Martin's Publishing Group
- ISBN: 9781466873711
- Жанр: Другие детективы
Электронная книга - «A Better Man». Краткое содержание книги:
It's Gamache's first day back as head of the homicide department, a job he temporarily shares with his previous second-in-command, Jean-Guy Beauvoir. Floodwaters are rising across the province. In the middle of the turmoil, a father approaches Gamache, pleading for help in finding his daughter.
As crisis piles upon crisis, Gamache tries to hold off the encroaching chaos, and realizes the search for Vivienne Godin should be abandoned. But with a daughter of his own, he finds himself developing a profound, and perhaps unwise, empathy for her distraught father.
Increasingly hounded by the question, how would you feel..., he resumes the search.
As the rivers rise, and the social media onslaught against Gamache becomes crueler, a body is discovered. And in the tumult, mistakes are made.
In the next novel in this constantly surprising series that deepens and darkens as it evolves (The New York Times Book Review), Gamache must face a horrific possibility, and a burning question.
What would you do if your child's killer walked free?
Vivienne’s father sank, slowly, slowly to his knees. Then slowly, slowly he folded over. His head in the muck. His hands clutching the ground. The big man curled himself around his heart.
As Vivienne Godin approached the shore, her father lifted his head, sensing more than seeing her close by. Then he raised his body. Sitting back on his heels. And, with the help of Gamache and Beauvoir, he struggled to his feet.
They kept their hands under Homer’s arms. Supporting him. Holding him upright.
Homer was swaying, openmouthed. Eyes glazed. As Vivienne was lifted onto a stretcher.
Dr. Harris bent over the body. Glancing at Gamache and Beauvoir, she shook her head. Confirming what was painfully obvious.
“I need to see her,” said her father.
Dr. Harris whispered to Gamache. “It isn’t good. She’s been in the water at least two days.”
“We need an identification,” said Beauvoir.
Lysette Cloutier, who’d just arrived, said, “I’ll do it.”
“Me,” said Vivienne’s father. “Me.”
“I’ll take you over,” said Armand quietly. “But you must promise not to touch her. If we’re going to get enough evidence to convict, no one but the investigators must touch Vivienne. Do you understand?”
Homer’s heavy head bobbed up and down.
“Are you ready?” Armand asked.
He nodded again.
They escorted Vivienne’s father to Vivienne’s body.
He stared down at her. With the eyes of a man who’d reached the end of a long tunnel and realized there was no light there.
He gave one curt nod. And mouthed, “That’s Vivienne.” Then, with more effort, he said it out loud. “That’s Vivienne.”
He brought his hand up to his face, covering his mouth, in a grotesque imitation of Reine-Marie’s joy just hours earlier.
Gamache looked down at the body.
Her blue eyes were open, not in fear but in that surprise they often saw in those suddenly, prematurely meeting Death. He wondered if Death had been just as surprised.
Gamache swiftly, expertly took in the condition of her body before meeting Beauvoir’s eyes. And nodding.
“Come away.” He spoke softly to Homer. “We’ll let the officers do their job.”
“No,” said Homer. “I need to stay. With her. Until … Please. I won’t make trouble. I promise.”
He motioned toward a tree stump, and Gamache nodded. “Of course.” Then turned to Cloutier. “Stay with him, please.”
Gamache noticed then a uniformed agent walking down the path toward them.
“What’re you doing here?” Gamache asked. “You’re supposed to be guarding Carl Tracey.”
“I was relieved.”
“By whom?”
“Agent Cameron.”
“He’s there with Tracey? Alone?”
“Well, there’re others. The owners of the bistro—”
“Come with me.”
Through the windows of the bistro, Gamache could see Bob Cameron. He was standing within feet of Carl Tracey, who was crammed into a corner. His chair overturned at his feet.
Cameron held something in his right hand. Something black.
His gun?
No, Gamache took in quickly as he made for the door. Not a gun. Too big. It was a fireplace poker. As lethal as a gun, if swung at a person’s head.
And it looked, by his stance, that that was exactly what Cameron was preparing to do.
Tracey was raising his arms to protect himself.
Gamache opened the bistro door with a bang, and Cameron turned around.
“He’s going to kill me,” shouted Tracey. “Stop him.”
“Shut up, you stupid shit.”
“Cameron,” snapped Gamache. “Step away. Now.”
After a slight pause, Cameron threw the poker onto the floor in disgust. And stepped back.
“I wasn’t going to hit him,” he said. “I just wanted to scare him.”
“Get over there,” said Gamache, pointing to the far corner.
The former left tackle jerked toward Tracey, who squeezed tighter into the corner. Then Cameron marched away, shoving a table as he passed Gamache.
“What’s happening?” asked Gabri, coming cautiously out of the swinging door between the bistro and the kitchen, followed by Olivier, who was holding up a frying pan.
“Nothing,” said Cameron.
“Nothing?” demanded Tracey. “He was going to hit me with that.” He pointed to the poker.
“Did you see anything?” Gamache asked Gabri and Olivier.
Both men shook their heads.
“He told us to go into the kitchen and stay there,” said Olivier.
“He’d picked up the poker,” said Gabri. “We didn’t need to be told twice. I tried to call you, but of course your phone didn’t work.”
He held up the receiver, still clutched in his hand.
Gamache turned to the agent who’d accompanied him and gestured toward Tracey. “Watch him.”
Then he led Cameron farther away from the others.
“What were you thinking?” he demanded.
“What’re you saying?” demanded Tracey. “I have a right to know. He was going to kill me.”
“Be quiet, please,” said Gamache, and while his tone was polite, anyone who saw the man would not be fooled by the courtesy.
Even as he turned back to Cameron, Gamache admitted that what Tracey said might very well be true. It certainly looked like that.
But how things looked and how they really were, were often two very different things in a murder investigation.
He waited for an answer.
“I wanted to get a confession out of him,” said Cameron. “I wanted to scare him, not beat him. I had my phone on, recording. I can show you.”
“You recorded yourself threatening a suspect with a fireplace poker?” asked Gamache, incredulous. “You know that any confession you might’ve gotten would’ve been inadmissible, and the whole case thrown out.”
“I would’ve erased the beginning,” said Cameron.
Now Gamache stared, clearly dumbfounded. “You say that as though you expect me to go along with you. I warned you about this just hours ago, and now you do exactly the same thing?”
“Not the same. You warned me about hitting a suspect. I never laid a hand on him.”
“Threatening a beating is still brutality,” said Gamache. “If you were under my command, Agent Cameron, I’d relieve you of duty right now.”
“I’m happy to leave.” He took a step away.
“You’ll leave when I tell you to. What’re you even doing here? This isn’t your assignment.”
“You think my responsibility stops at the end of my shift? Does yours?”
“Don’t question me, young man. This isn’t about me, it’s about your behavior—”
“Yeah, well, you’re quite a role model. Sir.” Cameron glared. “I’ve been following the Twitter feed about you. Have you?”
“I asked you a question. What’re you doing here?”
“How can you lead, sir, if you don’t have the support of the population? Wasn’t that the whole point of your lecture to me? Trust? Looks like you’ve lost it. Have you lost it?”
And the inflection made it clear that Cameron was talking about more than trust.
“Answer my question now, Agent Cameron, or I’ll charge you with interfering in a murder investigation.”
Gamache knew exactly what Cameron was doing. He was trying to throw him off balance. Put him on the defensive. Get control of the narrative and take focus away from the real question.
Why was Agent Cameron there? Why was he threatening Tracey for a confession?
This spoke of more than a cop going off the rails. Emotionally het up about the horrific crime. It spoke, and smelled, of personal involvement.
“Tell me,” said Gamache. “You know I’ll find out.”