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.
Gamache had sat at that same table with Stephen. Eating ice cream as a child, sipping scotch as an adult. Perhaps the very same drink, from the same glasses, in the very same chair, as that creature.
“After the war, when questioned, Horowitz claimed to have taken a job at the Lutetia to spy on the Germans and pass the information on to his comrades in the Resistance,” said Fontaine.
“That makes sense,” said Armand, struggling to regain his equilibrium.
In the photo Stephen was in uniform, but not that of the Abwehr, or any German unit. It was the crisp uniform of a Lutetia waiter.
“It’s what every collaborator claimed, monsieur, as you must know.”
“And it’s what members of the Resistance actually did. How else would they get information except to cozy up to the Nazis? And Stephen, being German, would be in a perfect position to get information. He was telling the truth. The man I know wouldn’t do what you’re suggesting.”
“Help the Nazis? He was one.”
“He was German. There’s a huge difference.”
“I agree. I meant that he was raised in a house that supported the Nazi party. His family were members. Senior officers. They rounded up men, women, children and sent them to camps. Death camps this man”—she thrust a finger onto Himmler’s face—“created.”
“And that’s why Stephen escaped to France and fought the Nazis,” said Armand, raising his voice again, before pulling it back so far he was almost whispering. “Because he couldn’t support that.”
Even to his own ears, he’d begun to sound like an upset child insisting on something that might not be true.
“You could be right,” she admitted. “Monsieur Horowitz was investigated. The Allies decided, with his perfect German and French and his smattering of English, he could be of more use to them free than as a prisoner. And they had far worse criminals to go after. After your father helped Horowitz get to Canada, the dossier was closed and buried.”
She paused, almost hating to take this next step. Almost.
“Your father was a conscientious objector, is that right? He refused to fight?”
“Pardon? My father? What’s he got to do with it?”
“Just answer the question, please.”
Gamache glared at her, and composed himself before answering.
“He didn’t believe in killing people in a war so far from home. But he volunteered as a Red Cross medic.”
Would she know what that meant? Unarmed, their job was to drag wounded soldiers, often under intense fire, back to safety.
The casualty rate among medics was the highest of any unit except paratroops. The commandos.
“My father came to regret his opposition to the war. He was deeply scarred by what he saw in the camps. He spent much of his time after the war trying to make amends.”
“By bringing the woman Zora to Québec and into your family.”
“Oui. And by helping Stephen, among other things. He wouldn’t have done that if there was any suspicion that Stephen was a collaborator. I heard him and my mother talk about it. I remember clearly.”
“You were a child, sir. Eight, nine years old? Children can mishear, misunderstand.”
“What? That my godfather was a Nazi collaborator who my father essentially helped escape justice? You think I’d misunderstand that? You think he’d do that?”
“I didn’t know your father.” She held his intense stare. “And neither did you.”
Below the table, below everyone else’s line of sight, Jean-Guy saw Gamache’s hands clutching each other so tight his knuckles were white.
But Gamache held his outrage. Held his tongue. Held his horses. Just.
“Why bring this up now? What can this possibly have to do with the attack on Stephen and the murder of Alexander Plessner?”
“It speaks to Horowitz’s character. You might not want to see it, and I don’t blame you, sir, but that’s who your godfather is. All his life Stephen Horowitz has betrayed friends in exchange for freedom. He betrays colleagues in exchange for wealth. It’s how he stayed alive. It’s how he got to Canada. It’s how he made his billions.”
“He made his fortune by being smart and working hard,” said Armand. “By being more ethical, having more integrity and courage, than anyone else out there.”
“That’s what he wants you to believe, but the truth is Stephen Horowitz is out only for himself. Why do you think he’s left a trail of enemies? He sat on boards collecting confidential information, then used it against the very people he sat beside. He went to their weddings and baptisms and bar mitzvahs, then turned on them. Betrayed their trust, just as he betrayed his comrades in the Resistance. He’s a traitor. It’s in his nature.”
“It is not.” Gamache leaned toward her.
“The only thing that changed after the war was his location,” Fontaine said, leaning toward him. “Horowitz was, and is still, interested in only one thing. Himself. A snake sheds its skin, but nothing else changes. It’s still exactly the same creature.”
“Stephen Horowitz fought against the Nazis in his youth. And in his career he’s fought against corruption, against wrongdoing. He never betrayed anyone. They betrayed themselves, by cheating and stealing from investors, many of them small. Many in danger of losing life savings. He was, is, ruthless. Yes. But he’s on the side of the angels.”
Beauvoir couldn’t believe Gamache had just brought angels into the argument, but the Chief Inspector did not look at all embarrassed. And for her part, Commander Fontaine didn’t laugh.
In fact, what she said next surprised him.
“Angels? Are you so sure? Is it possible that Hell is empty, and all the devils”—she brought her index finger down again on the grainy photograph, this time on top of Stephen’s face—“are here?”
Gamache leaned back, slowly, almost casually, and continued to regard her. When he spoke, his voice was calm, reasonable. Thoughtful.
“Dussault told you about Stephen’s favorite saying?”
“He did.”
“Did he also tell you that he called Stephen an avenging angel?”
“Non.”
“But I think now he was wrong, and you’re right,” said Gamache, to everyone’s surprise. “Stephen’s actions during the war were a prelude to what he did all his life. He tracked down the devils among us. He’s not an avenging angel. He’s an exorcist. I’m going to join the others in the park, unless there’s another member of my family you’d like to attack.”
He got up.
“No, I think that does it,” said Fontaine.
They all rose. Gamache gave a curt nod and left.
Beauvoir waited until the door closed, then turned to Fontaine. “Give me the dossier. I’ll pass it along to him.”
“I don’t have it on me. I only brought the photograph. But we can get it to you.”
“Do. And by the way, just so you know, you’re wrong. About Stephen, for sure. But you’ve made another mistake.”
They’d walked to the door, and now he paused. “Monsieur Gamache might look old to you. Did you call him a hundred? Over a hundred?”
“It was a joke.”
Beauvoir nodded. And smiled. Then leaned closer to her. “Just a word of warning. You don’t want to fuck with him.”
“Oh, really? And what’s he going to do?”
“Not him. Me.”
CHAPTER 19
Armand stood in the bright sunshine of the small park. He knew he should read his emails, make some phone calls.
But he needed this more. This moment watching his grandchildren play. Watching his own children be parents. Turning his back on life as it was, he watched life as it should be.