The Madness of Crowds

Stephen leaned against the doorjamb into the study. “You wanted to speak with me.”

Armand got up from his desk. “I do, thank you. How are you doing?”

“Like everyone else,” said the elderly man, walking stiffly to the straight-backed chair he always chose. “Sad and tired. It doesn’t seem possible that actually happened.”

He sat with a groan, then pointed to the desk. “I haven’t seen that book in years. Is it the one I gave your father?”

“You gave it to him?”

“I did. Given what he was going through, I thought he might find it comforting.”

Armand picked up the volume he’d found that morning in the bookcase in their living room. Extraordinary Popular Delusions and the Madness of Crowds.

“Chancellor Roberge was in the library of the Auberge last night reading it,” said Armand. “I remembered seeing the same one in our collection. I was curious.”

Opening it, he saw on the title page, For Honoré, who knows a lot about the madness of crowds. Stephen.

It was dated the year Armand had been born.

Honoré Gamache, Armand’s father, had been a conscientious objector when Canada declared war on Germany. He gave impassioned speeches against conscription, arguing that Quebeckers shouldn’t give up their lives to protect far-off imperial powers. He became the face of Québec resistance to the war.

He did, however, join the Red Cross and worked as a medic and ambulance driver.

But after going into the concentration camps, seeing what had happened, Honoré Gamache deeply regretted his stand.

Profoundly ashamed of himself for not recognizing his moral duty sooner, he spent the rest of his short life making amends. Including sponsoring two refugees. The woman, Zora, who would become Armand’s de facto grandmother, and raise him after his parents died. And Stephen Horowitz, Armand’s godfather, who defended Honoré at every turn. Pointing out to his detractors the great courage it took to be a medic. To be on a battlefield without a weapon. There to save lives, not take them.

And the great courage it took to admit a mistake.

Still, the name Honoré Gamache remained for a generation synonymous with cowardice, and Armand’s father was often heckled when he gave speeches in support of the Red Cross and refugees. He took his son to the events, knowing what would happen.

He’d bend down and assure little Armand that ça va bien aller. That these people had a right to their opinion, and many had died for that right.

Armand, from a young age, knew a lot about courage, and a lot about the madness of crowds.

“I’ve never read it.” Armand handed the book to Stephen.

“You should. It’s about what happens when gullibility and fear meet greed and power.”

“Nothing good?” said Armand, with a small smile.

“You’re smarter than you look, garçon.” Stephen tapped the cover. “People will believe anything. Doesn’t make them stupid, just desperate. Interesting that the Chancellor would be reading this. She’s friends with Professor Robinson, right?”

“It seems so.”

“Delusion and madness,” Stephen said, and handed the book back.

“I just need to ask you a few questions about last night,” said Armand. “We believe Madame Schneider was killed between ten to midnight and a few minutes after.”

“When we were all focused on other things,” said Stephen.

“Exactly. Where were you?”

“In the living room, then Ruth and I went outside to watch the fireworks.”

“In the cold?”

“Well, you never know.”

Armand finished the thought. When it will be for the last time.

“Did you see Debbie Schneider in that time?”

“To be honest, Armand, I really don’t know what she looked like. I knew the professor had arrived with Colette and someone else, but I didn’t pay attention to the someone else.”

“Did you notice anyone going into the woods?”

“No. We got back inside pretty quick once the fireworks were over.”

They went over Stephen’s impressions of the party. Like everyone else, he hadn’t seen anything specific, but he had noticed the tension, erupting at times into acrimony.

“She and the Asshole Saint sure went at it,” said Stephen. “You don’t suppose he did it?”

“At this stage, everyone’s on the list.”

“Including me?” Stephen said with a laugh. But when Armand didn’t laugh with him, he studied his godson. “You don’t really think I’d kill Madame Schneider, do you?”

“Not her, no. But do I think you’d murder Abigail Robinson? Possibly.”

Instead of taking it as an insult, as a slight on his moral character, Stephen Horowitz seemed to see it as a compliment.

“She needs to be stopped, it’s true.”

Armand leaned back and stared at his godfather. “Are you—”

“—confessing? No. Would I if I’d done it?” Stephen stopped to consider. “Yes, I probably would.”