All the Devils Are Here
- Автор: Пенни Луиза
- Серия: Chief Inspector Gamache #16
- Год: 2020
- Язык: английский
- Год: St. Martin's Publishing Group
- ISBN: 9781250145253
- Жанр: Другие детективы
Электронная книга - «All the Devils Are Here». Краткое содержание книги:
On their first night in Paris, the Gamaches gather as a family for a bistro dinner with Armand's godfather, the billionaire Stephen Horowitz. Walking home together after the meal, they watch in horror as Stephen is knocked down and critically injured in what Gamache knows is no accident, but a deliberate attempt on the elderly man's life.
When a strange key is found in Stephen's possession it sends Armand, his wife Reine-Marie, and his former second-in-command at the Sûreté, Jean-Guy Beauvoir, from the top of the Tour d'Eiffel, to the bowels of the Paris Archives, from luxury hotels to odd, coded, works of art.
It sends them deep into the secrets Armand's godfather has kept for decades.
A gruesome discovery in Stephen's Paris apartment makes it clear the secrets are more rancid, the danger far greater and more imminent, than they realized.
Soon the whole family is caught up in a web of lies and deceit. In order to find the truth, Gamache will have to decide whether he can trust his friends, his colleagues, his instincts, his own past. His own family.
For even the City of Light casts long shadows. And in that darkness devils hide.
“Didn’t we just talk about that?” said Roslyn. “That company benefits, if he had something on it.”
“She means the will, don’t you?” said Annie. “If Stephen dies, who gets his money.”
“Yes. He’s a billionaire with investments, property, impressive collections of art, rare first editions. And no one to leave it all to. Except you. Oh, come on, you can’t tell me you haven’t thought about that. You’re his family. Who else is he going to leave his fortune to? Chief Inspector?”
“Stephen never spoke about it,” said Armand. “And I never asked.”
“Neither did I,” said Daniel. “If I thought about it—”
Be quiet, be quiet, his father thought. For God’s sake, be quiet. But it was too late.
“—it was that he’d use his wealth to set up a foundation,” said Daniel. “He wouldn’t leave it to us. We don’t need it.”
“It sounds as though you have thought about it,” said Fontaine.
And there it was, thought Gamache with dismay.
“And you don’t need the money?” she continued. “Not even to buy an apartment that must cost several million euros? And put your children into private school?”
“I’ve had a promotion at work,” said Daniel, red spreading up his neck and across his cheeks.
“You can’t possibly think—” began Reine-Marie, then stopped, unable to say the words out loud.
But Beauvoir could. “You think one of us tried to kill Stephen? For money?”
“You don’t need to look so shocked,” said Fontaine. “You’d ask the same question if this was your case. Wouldn’t be the first time greed was a motive for murder. And as magnificent as you might think you all are, you’re still human.”
But it was Gamache’s reaction that interested her the most.
Instead of exploding, as she’d expected when she’d deliberately and clearly accused his family, attacked his family, he’d grown even calmer.
Claude Dussault, had he been there, would have recognized the warning signs.
But Irena Fontaine did not.
“It’s a legitimate question,” he said. “But let me make this clear. No one in this family would ever hurt someone, not for personal gain.”
The tone might be polite, but the force of his personality was almost overwhelming. The outrage so much more powerful for being contained. It was, Fontaine thought, like watching a centurion control a team of snorting and stamping warhorses. Prepared for battle, but holding back. Choosing, with infinite patience, his own time to take to the field.
“Not personal gain, you say. But there are other reasons they might kill?” Fontaine continued to provoke.
It seemed everyone else had faded into the furniture. And they were alone. Locked in a duel. This senior cop from Québec, with the strange accent. And her. The second-in-command of the cops in all fucking Paris.
She would outrank him, had they been in the same force. She tried to find comfort, and confidence, in that. Even as she felt herself wavering. Wondering if it had been such a good idea to cross that line.
But she had to know. Had to push him. The Prefect had instructed her to do all she could to find out what this man knew. And the best way was to hit him where it hurt.
“No,” said Gamache. “Nothing could make anyone here try to kill Stephen. At least”—his stare was unrelenting—“not any member of this family.”
Had he really just insinuated that she could be involved? she wondered. And that, by extension, the Préfecture could be involved?
Maybe even the Prefect himself?
He’d hit back, and hard.
She could now see why Monsieur Dussault had warned her about this man.
“Do you know the contents of his will?” she asked, trying to modulate her tone to match his.
“I’m one of the executors. Mrs. McGillicuddy and his personal lawyer are the others. But I haven’t seen the will.”
“He never mentioned any bequests to you or your family?”
“No.”
“Though it wouldn’t be unreasonable”—with great effort, she held his stare—“to expect something. Maybe even something substantial.”
“It’s certainly possible that Stephen’s left his billions to us. And it would be only human to imagine what that would be like.” He smiled. “Wouldn’t you?”
“Would you?”
“Me?” His smile faded until he looked almost wistful, and shook his head. “No. I never wanted anything from Stephen except his company.”
A snort of derision escaped her. But he continued to look at her, unapologetic. Almost, she saw now, in a kindly way.
Inviting her, it seemed, to understand. What it meant to love so completely that all you wanted from that person was companionship.
She remembered what he’d said while in Horowitz’s apartment.
Dead parents. Godfather. Nine-year-old boy.
And for a moment she understood what the crotchety financier must’ve meant to the boy. To the man.
She found that she believed him. But that didn’t mean his lawyer daughter and his banker son with the expensive new apartment hadn’t dreamed of riches beyond belief. And maybe even done more than dream.
Now Gamache leaned forward. “No one in this family had anything to do with the attacks. Think about it. Even if, even if”—he stressed the “if”—“we had a motive to kill Stephen, why murder Monsieur Plessner?”
“Mistaken identity,” she said, not yet willing to give up her theory. “None of you knew Monsieur Horowitz was staying at the George V and not at his apartment.”
“For God’s sake—” Reine-Marie began, then stopped when she heard her husband laugh.
“I’m sorry,” he said, sitting back in the sofa. “But are you really suggesting that one of us went to the apartment, mistook Monsieur Plessner for a man we’d known all our lives, then shot him in the spine and head?”
He’d been specific for a reason. Hadn’t said “back.” Had said “spine.” And he could see that his logic had landed. Except.
Now Commander Fontaine turned slightly. Until she was looking at Jean-Guy Beauvoir.
“Oh, come on,” said Beauvoir, clearly following her thinking. “Me? You think I did it? This’s bullshit.”
“It was, as you pointed out, a commando-style hit,” she said, turning back to Gamache. “I understand, sir, you were a member of the Canadian special ops unit, Joint Task Force Two.”
“Do I look like a commando?” Gamache said, opening his arms.
Fontaine had to admit he looked more like her history prof at the Sorbonne. If you didn’t look into his eyes.
Elite forces were led by people like this. Who thought as well as acted. Who thought before they acted. And who could be ruthless if need be.
“Now?” she said. “Maybe not. But a hundred years ago…”
Gamache laughed and shook his head.
“You deny it?” she said. “But then, aren’t commandos sworn to secrecy, even after they’ve left? To say, if pressed, that they washed out, or were simply an instructor?”
“Really? If I admit it, then I’m a member. If I deny it, I’m still a member? You’d have done well in the Inquisition, Commander.” His smile had disappeared. “Now, this’s a little awkward, but I was actually an instructor for JTF2. Not a member.”
“Really? That’s your official statement?”
“That’s the truth.”
“I see. That means you probably also train your own people in commando tactics. Why wouldn’t you? As the Sûreté, your people are often first in.”
“Then you must know, Commander,” said Gamache, “that anyone schooled in those tactics is also trained to make sure the person they’re killing is the actual target. Not an innocent bystander.”
“Mistakes happen.”