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.
“Bon,” said Gamache. “Can you back up what’s left so we don’t lose more?”
“Already have, Chief Inspector. I’ll send you a link.”
“Merci. And please don’t tell anyone about this.”
“The investigators from the Préfecture might ask to see the security video. I’m actually a little surprised they haven’t.”
So were Beauvoir and Gamache.
“Can you show them without volunteering this information?” Beauvoir asked.
She thought, then nodded. “But if they ask outright, I’ll have to tell them.”
“Understood, but keep it to yourself if you can,” said Gamache. “The firm who does your security, who is that?”
“SecurForte.”
“That sounds familiar,” said Gamache.
“Stephen’s apartment,” murmured Jean-Guy. “The flic.”
Gamache nodded. Yes, the investigator in charge had asked Jean-Guy if he’d joined SecurForte. It was obviously well-known to the Paris police.
After she left, Gamache looked at the time. Almost six. Far later than he’d thought.
“We need to go,” he said.
“I forgot to ask her one question,” said Beauvoir.
“We can stop in on the way out,” said Armand.
“Not important. I was just surprised that the George V uses Ikea furniture.”
“Why do you say that?”
He looked at his father-in-law with amusement. “Have you never put together an Ikea bookcase or desk?”
“Actually, yes. For both Daniel and Annie when they went away to university. Clever design but almost drove us mad.”
“Then you must’ve recognized the screw and Allen wrench. They’re Ikea.”
“Huh, you’re right. Though others use Allen wrenches.”
They were at the door, but Armand stopped, turned, and walked up the stairs to the office area. Beauvoir followed.
“It’s certainly not Ikea,” said Armand, and even Jean-Guy could see that.
It was a fine original Louis XV desk.
Armand pulled out the drawer and looked under it. But there was nothing there.
“Have you ever actually found anything taped under a drawer?” Jean-Guy asked.
“Non. But wouldn’t it be nice?”
“A note, maybe, saying, The murderer is…”
Gamache laughed. “Seems we’ll have to do this the hard way.”
“You mean I do all the work while you sit on a bench sipping Pernod?”
“Good God, young man. What’ve you been reading? Pernod? Never had one in my life. Now, a nice lager…” He looked at Beauvoir. “Shouldn’t you be doing something useful?”
“Come along, old man. I have to get you home to your wife.”
“And I to yours.”
Beauvoir wasn’t fooled by this. In the taxi back, he could see Armand staring out as the wide boulevards slid past. A slight furrow between his brows.
Thinking. Always thinking. Though it wasn’t the thoughts that had created the lines in his face, Jean-Guy knew. It was the feelings.
Then Armand roused himself and sent off a few emails, including, Jean-Guy noticed, one back home to their neighbor in Three Pines, Clara Morrow. Checking on the dogs and whatever little Gracie was, thought Beauvoir, as he went back to his phone and got caught up on his own messages.
Armand got out at the hospital, while Beauvoir continued on home.
After sitting with Stephen for a few moments, reading the news and telling him about the day, Armand put on his coat, wrapped the scarf around his neck, and walked out into the fresh air and gaiety of Paris on a Saturday evening. He passed young couples, arms linked, on their way to a brasserie. Or to a tiny walk-up apartment. A hot plate, a small table by the window. A bed. And Paris.
All they could possibly need.
Ah, yes, he thought. I remember it well.
Armand paused in front of Notre-Dame, and tried to see beyond the scaffolding to the remarkable face of the cathedral. He could see the huge rose window that had, incredibly, survived the fire. It looked, behind the works, like a giant third eye. Gazing perpetually out at the City of Light and its citizens, while also gazing inward, at their motivations, their characters, their hearts and souls.
He wondered if that was why the great cathedral had burst into flames.
Then he placed the call he was loath to make.
“Mrs. McGillicuddy? No, he’s still with us. Holding on. Yes. But I need to know something. The terms of Stephen’s will.” He listened while she protested, then said quietly, “I agree. It’s an awful thing to ask, but I need to know. Yes. I’ll wait.”
The early evening was growing chilly as the sun set. The spires and monuments and museums were outlined against the soft shifting pinks of the sky.
“Oui, I’m still here.”
He listened. Then, thanking her, he dropped his head and sighed. Before lifting his gaze to the rose window.
Once home, Jean-Guy could see right away that Annie was stressed.
“What is it? The baby?” His voice rose on the last two words.
“No. I think someone’s watching the apartment, Jean-Guy.”
He took three quick strides over to the window. There was no one there. But it was getting dark, and the shadows between the buildings hid all sorts of things. And people.
“A cop has been assigned to protect you. It’s probably them. But I’m going to make sure.”
From the window, Annie saw her husband run across the narrow street, darting in and out of alleys and looking into doorways.
Then he looked up at her and shook his head.
“Nothing,” he confirmed when he got back. “Not even the goddamned flic.”
“Why would one be protecting us?”
“Just to be extra safe. You’re kinda important, you know.”
She smiled. “I’m sorry. I must’ve been imagining things.”
“Well, you’re not the only one,” he said, holding her close.
Her next words came to him muffled by his jacket.
“There’s something else. Something I didn’t imagine.”
CHAPTER 23
“A hostess gift?” Reine-Marie asked, eyeing the familiar hospital box Claude Dussault held. “Too kind.”
“Yes, Madame, but I need it back,” said Dussault.
“That’s the gift part,” said Monique Dussault, who was standing just behind her husband.
Armand took the box from Claude as Reine-Marie laughed.
She kissed Monique, who was carefully holding a much smaller box. This one had the familiar logo of Pâtisserie Pierre Hermé.
“Is it…?” she began.
“An Ispahan? Oui.”
Both women sighed.
“You’d have thought George Clooney was in the box,” said Claude.
“Better,” said Monique. “Oh, something smells delicious.”
The Gamaches’ small apartment, with its wooden beams, fresh white walls, and large windows, was already welcoming, but the scent of garlic and basil made it even more so.
“Just a simple pasta dinner,” said Reine-Marie. “As I said, en famille.”
“I also brought these, Madame.” The Prefect of Police pulled two wine bottles wrapped in brown paper out of his deep pockets.
“Ahhh,” said Reine-Marie. In a regal voice she pronounced, “You may stay.”
Claude laughed, then turned to his wife. “Just wait until she realizes the pastry box is empty. Sauve qui peut.”
Now it was Reine-Marie’s turn to smile. They didn’t see the Dussaults socially all that often, and now she wondered why not. She liked them. A lot. And so did Armand.
But when she leaned in to kiss Claude on both cheeks, it all came flooding back. And she remembered why they were actually there. Not as friends, but—