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.
“Oui.”
At that moment there was a tap on the door and Dominique carried in a tray with a teapot, coffeepot, milk and sugar and mugs.
“Pardon.” Without looking into anyone’s eyes, she put the tray down and left. Fled, really. Never to forget the look in Abigail Robinson’s eyes.
Hands plastered to her face, she was staring at Gamache. In horror. As though he’d done it. As though he’d killed Debbie.
And then the dam burst.
She began to cry. Sob. She was choking. Sputtering. Gasping for breath as the grief heaved out of her.
Colette rubbed Abigail’s back and made soothing sounds, as a mother might to a child. Until the sobbing slowed to gasps and hiccups.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
Having already found a box of Kleenex, Gamache handed her tissues.
Off in the corner, the young agent was staring. Terrified by what she was seeing. A grief so great it threatened to swallow them all. She glanced at the Chief and saw sympathy. But she also saw that he was completely focused, his eyes shrewd.
She double-checked that her phone was recording and leaned forward.
Abigail balled the Kleenex in her hand and looked around. For her friend. Who would take the damp tissues from her. Who would always take any unpleasantness away.
Then her hand dropped to her lap and her eyes came to rest on Gamache. “How?”
“We can’t tell you that,” said Gamache.
“Can’t,” said Colette Roberge, “or won’t?”
“Won’t. But we believe death was quick.”
He nodded toward Beauvoir, who took over the questioning.
“When was the last time you saw Madame Schneider?”
Pausing for a moment to gather her thoughts, Abigail turned to Colette. “Before midnight. You went out for a walk. I saw you both by the bonfire.”
“When was this?” Beauvoir asked the Chancellor.
“After the, umm, the discussion with Dr. Gilbert,” said Colette. “Debbie and I got the coats. We were going to go home. We waited for you”—she looked at Abigail—“outside.”
“In the cold?” asked Beauvoir.
“It seemed more hospitable than the party. Besides, we were getting hot in our coats.”
“Did you join them?” Beauvoir asked Abigail.
“No. I’d wandered over to a group and got caught up in a conversation about my work and the pandemic.” She focused on Beauvoir, as though seeing him for the first time. “You were there.”
“Yes.”
“You’re a police officer?”
“He’s my second-in-command at homicide,” said Gamache. “And my son-in-law.”
Abigail’s mind, mired in shock, tried to work that out. “So, the young woman’s your daughter?”
“Yes,” said Gamache.
“And the older woman I was talking to about the rainbow drawings? Your wife? That would make the child your granddaughter.”
“Yes.”
“I see,” said Abigail, nodding. “I understand.”
“Understand?”
“Your objections to my findings.”
“Abby…” Colette warned.
But Gamache wouldn’t be drawn. If anything, he was curious. It crossed his mind that Abigail Robinson had instinctively, or perhaps intentionally, moved the conversation away from the murder of her friend and into a territory she understood. Had, in fact, mastered. The endless debate about her work.
Beside him, he could feel Jean-Guy stiffen.
Up until that moment Jean-Guy had managed to separate Abigail Robinson, the grieving friend of a murder victim, from Professor Robinson.
But now the two collided.
“Idola isn’t an objection,” Armand said before Jean-Guy could respond. His tone was calm, reasonable. Firm. “She’s my granddaughter and has no place in this conversation. Let’s move on.”
“Are you so sure?” asked Colette Roberge.
“What do you mean?” demanded Beauvoir. There was a warning there no one in that room could miss.
“Do you think the attack on Debbie was random?” the Chancellor asked Beauvoir.
“Of course it was,” Abigail interrupted. “What else could it be?”
She glared at Colette. Hating her in that instant for putting what they were all thinking, the unthinkable, into words.
“You know,” said Colette, quietly, then turned to Gamache. “So do you. Why would anyone kill Debbie? It makes no sense. But something else does.”
“No,” snapped Abigail. “It was a random attack, maybe even an accident. A drunk kid, fooling around. There were lots of them. And somehow Debbie got in the way. Or she slipped and fell. Or … or…”
“Or you were the intended victim,” said Beauvoir. Getting his swipe in. He was honest enough with himself to admit it felt good.
“No.” Abigail shook her head decisively. “Not possible.”
“Why not?” he asked, feeling his emotions, so well controlled up until Idola had been mentioned, spinning out of control.
“It was dark,” he continued. “She was in a big coat, with a hat. No one could tell.”
“No.” Abigail folded her arms, viselike, across her body.
“Yes,” snapped Beauvoir. “That should’ve been you out there.”
“Inspector!” Gamache’s voice acted as a slap, and Beauvoir’s cheeks reddened, but he continued to glare at her, before turning blazing eyes on Gamache.
He took a deep breath and managed, “Désolé.”
Gamache took over the questioning. Turning to Chancellor Roberge, he asked, “When did you last see Debbie Schneider?”
“As I said, we were outside waiting for Abby, but we could see through the window that she was deep in conversation, and we both knew that could take a while, so we decided to take a walk.”
“Where did you go?”
“Just around the house. We stopped at the bonfire, then looked at the stables. It was getting colder. I wanted to go back in, but Debbie said she’d wait for you.” She looked at Abigail. “She was sure you’d come outside and she didn’t want to miss you.”
Abigail was staring at her hands gripping each other in her lap. “I forgot.”
They all imagined Debbie Schneider, alone in the dark and cold. Waiting for a friend who’d forgotten her.
“Was there anyone else out there?” Gamache asked.
“Just some older kids. I think they were drinking in the woods.”
“What did you do then?”
“I came inside.”
“What time was that?”
“I think it was a few minutes before midnight. The TV was on and tuned to Bye Bye.”
“I didn’t see you,” said Gamache.
“No. You two were out at the bonfire by then. I decided it was so close to midnight, I might as well stay. I went outside briefly to see the fireworks, then came in here. I always find the company of books soothing.”
“Why did you need to be soothed?” Gamache asked.
“Couldn’t you feel the tension, the animosity in that room? And it wasn’t just aimed at Abigail. Debbie and I also felt it. Guilt by association. I just wanted to relax for a few minutes before going out to find Abigail and Debbie and heading home.”
“When did you leave the room?” Gamache asked.
“When I heard the commotion. I guess about ten past midnight.”
“Not before?”
“No. I was only here for a few minutes.”
Gamache noted the pile of split logs by the hearth. “Was a fire lit?”
“Yes. I was cold, so I put another couple of logs on.”
“What were you reading?”
She smiled. “Does it matter?”
“It might.”
“It’s over there.” She looked toward a table beside the wing chair closest to the fireplace.
Gamache got to his feet and walked over. Picking up the book, he raised his brows.