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.
They liked her, if not her goals.
Though there was one other person in the room who’d managed to turn the crowd equally quickly, just in the opposite direction. Haniya Daoud had managed to turn almost everyone away.
From down the hallway there came a commotion, young voices raised in excitement.
It was 11:25. The rehearsal was over. The main event was about to begin.
“What is this?” Haniya asked Roslyn as the village kids excitedly shoved the adults off the raised foyer and took their places on what had become a stage.
“It’s a Québécois tradition,” Roslyn explained. She was watching her daughters take their places. “I did it when I was a child.”
Roslyn hadn’t noticed that Haniya was staring at Abigail Robinson when she’d asked, What is this?
Now Haniya Daoud refocused on Roslyn. “Did what?”
“Les Fables de La Fontaine. Each New Year’s Eve the children choose one of his stories and act it out.”
“God,” said Haniya. “More torture.”
Clara caught Haniya’s eye and, just before Haniya turned away, Clara saw a smile. She’d, unexpectedly, made a joke. For just that moment Clara saw the young woman behind the scars. Whose wounds had momentarily healed at the sight of children in homemade costumes, pushing and shoving each other on the “stage.”
And then the moment passed, and the scars reappeared, deeper than ever.
Clara shifted her gaze to see what Haniya was now looking at.
Who she was looking at.
Abigail Robinson was making her way through the crowd, which parted as though the professor wore a tattered cloak and carried a scythe.
“Oh, this’s one of my favorites,” said Myrna, elbowing Clara. “‘Les Animaux Malades de la Peste.’”
“‘The Animals Sick of the Plague,’” Roslyn translated for Haniya.
Not with the plague, Haniya noted as she followed Abigail’s progress across the room, but of it.
She too was sick of it.
“Vincent Gilbert, is it not?” said Abigail Robinson, smiling.
He inclined his head but did not offer his hand. “Professor.”
“This’s my assistant, Deborah Schneider, and Colette Roberge—”
“The Chancellor of the University,” said Gilbert. “We’ve met.”
A commotion onstage caught their attention, and they turned toward it.
It generally took at least two minutes for the annual Fable de La Fontaine to descend into debacle, but this one had got there in record time.
The little girl playing the donkey was in tears. Despite Gabri’s reassurance that it was just an act, still the child took the dialogue personally as the other animals blamed her, or rather the donkey, for the outbreak of plague.
She was howling, “It’s not my fault.”
They paused while Gabri and the girl’s parents sorted it out.
In the unexpected intermission, Chancellor Roberge said, “I’m not sure if you know that Dr. Gilbert did landmark studies on the mind-body connection.”
“I know who he is,” said Abigail. “And I know about his research.”
“And I know about yours,” he said. “You’re making quite a splash in the scientific community. Maybe we can talk about it sometime.”
“Are you interested in endorsing my findings, Dr. Gilbert? We seem to have a lot in common.”
“How so?”
“I’ve often thought you didn’t get the proper recognition, especially for your early work. I’d be happy to try to get you what you deserve.”
Armand had positioned himself close to Professor Robinson. His back was to them, and while he listened closely to the conversation, his eyes remained on the stage, watching his grandchildren.
Honoré, in his first Fable, was wearing huge bunny ears and had dragged his toboggan onstage with him. Florence and Zora were both dressed as piglets and were trying to comfort the donkey. Saying the plague wasn’t her fault. They were just pretending.
“I’m retired now,” said Gilbert. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”
“The truth always matters,” said Professor Robinson.
“Truth?” Gilbert’s tone was amused. “No real scientist talks about the truth.”
There was a pause. “Are you saying I’m not a real scientist?”
The chilly undercurrent had reached the surface.
“But then,” Abigail was saying, “I understand why you wouldn’t be a fan of the truth.”
“Actually,” said Gilbert, “I am. Now I have more time on my hands, I’m finding the truth far more interesting than facts. The truth is, no serious scientist is taking your conclusions seriously. The Royal Commission won’t even let you present them. And for good reason. It might not be intellectual madness, but it is moral insanity.”
There was a pause as a pit opened in the conversation.
Abigail filled it with a single hoot of laughter. “Moral insanity? You, of all people, would say that?”
Listening to this, Armand was trying to work out what exactly was happening. What was really being said. What was really going on. Because something was.
“You need help,” said Gilbert. “Look at those faces. Half the people here, given a chance and a gun, would pull the trigger.”
Professor Robinson looked at the crowd, then back to him.
“And the other half, Doctor? They know that what I’m saying is rational and realistic. What scares people like you is that I’m just voicing what most are thinking.”
“Most?” said Gilbert. “I don’t think so.”
“You’re right. Not yet. But give it time. The Royal Commission might not listen to me, but others will. Others are. I have an appointment with the Premier next week. Now, you know my calculations are right. If you’d like to endorse what I am saying—”
“Your statistics might be right—”
“They are.”
“—but your conclusions are wrong. Don’t you care about that?”
“Right? Wrong? Suddenly you’re the arbiter? Such hypocrisy, Dr. Gilbert. After all, there were some pretty controversial studies out of your own university, I believe. Didn’t Ewen Cameron work at McGill?”
Now Armand did turn around and saw the surprise on Vincent Gilbert’s face.
“He was a monster,” said Gilbert.
“True. But monstrosities live a long time. And monsters beget other monsters.” She looked again at the other guests, including Jean-Guy and Annie, who were watching them. “All that’s missing are pitchforks and torches. But maybe I’m not the one they should be coming for.”
Now Armand was confused. Had she just called Vincent Gilbert a monster?
“What’s that supposed to mean?” demanded Gilbert.
Up onstage the play had resumed. A lion was reciting, “By history we find it noted / That lives have been just so devoted. / Then let us all turn eyes within, / and ferret out the hidden sin.”
“Abby Maria, maybe we should—” Debbie began but was interrupted by Gilbert’s laugh.
“Abby Maria? As in Ave Maria?” he said.
“I’m sorry,” Debbie began but was ignored.
“You call yourself Abby Maria?” Gilbert sneered. “You are out of control.”
“Come on,” said Debbie. “No one cares what he thinks.”
Though Armand thought that wasn’t true. He thought Abigail Robinson cared. She cared so much that she’d traveled thousands of miles to meet him.
He looked over at Colette, who’d been silent through all this. Was silence agreement? And if so, who did the Chancellor agree with?
“You have no moral authority to judge me.” Abigail Robinson’s voice was low, and it dropped further as she said, “Don’t think I don’t know.”
Up on stage, the Fable de La Fontaine was wrapping up, with all the animals turning to the audience and reciting the final lines.