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.
Though the women knew what was really being said.
This was a dangerous alliance of two powerful women. Who now held the keys to too many documents. Too much information. They wielded too much control. Which was code for power.
Refusing to end their relationship, they stared down the establishment and won.
“Okay, spill. Why do you want these, and what’s the rush?”
Reine-Marie took off her reading glasses and placed them on a manila folder bursting with thick paper. On it, in a careful hand, was written September 1944.
She told Madame Lenoir. Everything.
Archivists knew how to not just keep secrets, but keep them safe.
And none better than Madame Lenoir, who listened, nodded. Then, digging into the pile, she found a dossier and shoved it toward Reine-Maire.
“You’ll want to see this.”
On it, some long-dead hand had doodled a ship, but instead of masts it had the Cross of Lorraine.
Below it was written Lutetia.
Armand turned and held his hands, palm out, in front of him. Asking for, and offering, calm.
“Why didn’t you tell Commander Fontaine that you knew Alexander Plessner?”
His voice was gentle. Almost soothing. Trying to hold on to, and invite, civility. He was clinging to the wreckage of his relationship with his son. No longer sure if it could be saved.
But there were, now, more important things.
“Because I was shocked that he’d been killed,” said Daniel. “Because I needed time to think.”
Armand was grateful Jean-Guy wasn’t there. He could imagine what he’d say to that. And what he himself would have said, had this been any suspect in any murder investigation.
“What did you need to think about?” Armand’s voice remained reasonable. Reassuring.
“Forgive me, I’m confused. Is this my father asking, or the Chief Inspector? That is your rank now, isn’t it? It’s hard to keep track.”
The collapse had begun. Here, in this garden that had always held a special place in his heart. Another sanctuary sullied.
“No matter what my job is, I’ve always been, and always will be, your father.”
“First? Are you my father before anything else?”
“Yes.”
The answer was swift, absolute. “Were you my father in the meeting yesterday when you humiliated me?”
“I was trying to help, to protect you.”
“I’m a grown man. I don’t need your help.”
“We always need help.”
“Maybe, but not yours. If I’m in trouble, it’s because of you.”
They were alone in the garden, enclosed by old mansions on all sides, and one of the ancient towers of the wall of Philip Augustus, built during the Crusades.
Once formidable, it was now crumbling.
Armand took a deep breath. He could see that Daniel was lashing out. And he could see the pain behind the words, even if he had no idea where it came from.
“Why didn’t you say something about Monsieur Plessner after you’d had time to think?”
“Because his death has nothing to do with me or his work with us.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because I know the work. He and I’d only met a few times. We’d barely started.”
“What were you working on?”
“Venture capital.”
“Oui. But was there a particular project?”
“That’s confidential.”
Fighting words once again, but Armand chose not to pick up the gauntlet. He hadn’t lived to be an old warrior by responding every time someone wanted to fight. Even his son. Especially his son.
“I can find out,” said Armand.
Daniel smiled. Satisfied. “Yes. The father might trust me, but the cop will find out.”
“You seem to think the two are separate. They aren’t. Any more than they are with you. You’re a banker. I expect that extends to looking after your family’s finances. You and Roslyn make sure they’re safe. I’m doing the same thing. Yes, I’m a cop. And I’m just trying to make sure you’re safe.”
“I’m not a child. Stop treating me like one. I can look after myself. And I can provide for my family. So stop trying to protect me, and stop giving me money.”
“What do you mean?”
“Like you don’t know. You’re always slipping me envelopes with money.”
“I honestly don’t know what you mean. I haven’t done that since you were at college.”
“Really? That day on Mount Royal, a few years ago? I was already a banker, already in Paris. Making good money. Way more than you ever made. And what do you do? You shoved an envelope into my hand, like I’m some broke teen working at McDonald’s. Do you have any idea how insulting that was?”
“Did you open it?”
“No. I threw it away.”
Armand fell silent and glanced at the wet grass at his feet.
“I don’t want, or need, your money,” Daniel was saying. “I can look after my own family. And I don’t need you to keep me safe. Never did. And this—” Daniel raised the half-eaten crêpe. “What’s this? More patronizing? Treating me like a child?”
“What’re you talking about?” Far from being angry, Armand was completely confused. “Coming here was your idea, not mine.”
But Daniel was beyond rational thought.
“I’m not the only one who lied yesterday.” Daniel’s voice was raised. Almost shouting. “You did, too.”
“Me?”
“Don’t. Just don’t. I know the truth. Mom knows the truth. And I at least didn’t betray you to the cops. Didn’t humiliate you. Neither did she.”
“What do you mean?”
“You said you weren’t in the special forces. Because to admit it would be to admit you could’ve killed Monsieur Plessner. But you were, weren’t you.”
“Non. Never. Why do you say I was?”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Daniel shouted, and threw his crêpe at his father. It hit his jacket and fell to the grass, but Armand didn’t move. “I heard. That’s how I know.”
“Heard?”
“You and Mom talking, downstairs. It was Christmas Eve. I was excited about Père Noël, so I crept onto the landing. And I heard.”
“What?”
“You told Mom about taking a job with the special forces. You told her about the hostage takings, the terrorists, the raids on organized crime. All the terrible things. You said it was dangerous, that the death rate was high. But it was something you had to do.”
Armand’s eyes widened, and his mouth opened slightly. He remembered that conversation. Years ago. But that wasn’t how it went.
“I never accepted the job. The job I agreed to do was to train recruits. That’s all. To try to get them as prepared as possible for whatever they’d face. You have to believe me.”
“Right, like you believe me? I know you’re lying. I know what I heard. I saw Mom crying. You made her cry. And every day after that, when you went to work, I knew you weren’t coming home. I hated you for that.”
“Oh, my God, Daniel, is that why you shut me out? Because you thought I was going to be killed?”
“Because you cared more for others than you did for us. For me. And yes, because you were going to die. And I couldn’t … How could I love you … how could I care … when…” The words came out haltingly, as a wail. The same sound he’d made as a boy, hurtling down from too great a height. “How could I…?”
“All these years?” Armand whispered, unable to find his voice. His eyes burning. “All this time?”
Who hurt you once, so far beyond repair / that you would greet each overture with curling lip?