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.
“Yes. And that became the problem. Identifying those pretending and those who really were helping the Nazis.”
Reine-Marie sorted through the small pile of photos in front of her until she came to the one of Himmler. Repulsive. Toad-like at the table. And behind him? An impossibly young and impish Stephen in a waiter’s uniform. Beaming.
Putting her hand to her face, she stared at it. Thinking.
She knew Stephen wasn’t a collaborator. The question was, how to prove it. They couldn’t let the smear mar a courageous man’s legacy. And they sure couldn’t let a lie undermine whatever truth Stephen and Alexander Plessner had discovered.
But there was another question that came to mind as she stared at the photos.
“The police investigating the murder of Monsieur Plessner had copies of some of these documents within hours of his death. Is that possible?”
“Non.” The answer was unequivocal.
“Why not? It didn’t take you long to find them.”
“I’m the Chief Archivist. I was practically born in a file drawer. I know this place, these files, better than I know my own family.”
“But Allida, you can’t know all the documents in the archives. Even just the ones on the war. There must be hundreds of thousands.”
“Which is why I know there’s no way anyone could’ve put their hands on that”—she pointed at the file in front of Reine-Marie, with the doodle of the ship in peril—“so quickly. It would take weeks, months, to dig through all the documents. I think they found what they needed, then left them here, to be used when needed.”
“Which means—”
“Someone must’ve been planning this for a while.”
Not just someone, thought Reine-Marie. The file was in the possession of the police.
She felt physically sick. Her head was spinning with the effort of trying to grab hold of something too immense to grasp.
“When was this file last requested?” she asked.
Madame Lenoir got back on the electronic catalog. It didn’t take long before she looked up, meeting Reine-Marie’s eyes.
“Five weeks ago.”
“Does it say by whom?”
Madame Lenoir was no longer able to make eye contact.
“Daniel Gamache.”
Armand stood outside Daniel’s apartment and stared at the door.
Then he knocked.
It was opened by Roslyn, who stepped outside into the corridor and closed the door behind her.
“I’m sorry, Armand. He doesn’t want to speak with you. What happened? I’ve never seen him so upset.”
“He’ll have to be the one to tell you. But please, Ros, I need to speak with him. It’s urgent.”
Roslyn looked at her father-in-law. Normally so well-groomed, he was disheveled, his eyes red and his hair messy. Dark strands, mixed with gray, were plastered across his forehead, and his coat was smeared with something brown.
It looked like merde, but smelled, thankfully, of chocolate.
“Stay here. I’ll see what I can do.”
A few minutes later the door opened again and Daniel stepped out.
Armand took a deep breath.
“I can understand that you won’t believe me, but I want you to know that I love you. With all my heart. Always have. Always will. I didn’t join Task Force Two because I wanted to be there for my family. For you. I didn’t want you to go through what I did. But I did agree to train them, and I am so, so sorry that wasn’t clear. This’s my fault and I’m sorry for all the pain I’ve caused you.”
“I don’t care anymore. You’re twenty-five years too late.”
Armand nodded. “Oui.”
The truth, too late.
He took another deep breath, exhaled. And took the plunge.
“If you don’t believe I’m saying this as your father, then please believe that I’m saying this as a homicide investigator. I know how these things work. How an investigator’s mind works. You need to go to the police and tell them everything you know about Alexander Plessner. They’ll find out anyway.”
“From you?”
“No. Not from me. I won’t tell Commander Fontaine anything. I know you had nothing to do with Plessner’s murder, and I know for sure you’d never ever do anything to hurt Stephen. But there’s a sophisticated, powerful organization behind this, and what they need is someone to take the blame. Someone to set up. And I’m very afraid it’s you.”
“Thanks for your advice, Chief Inspector. I’ll consider it.”
Armand nodded and held out his son’s umbrella, which he’d picked off the grass in the garden. Daniel looked at him then closed the door in his face.
Resting the umbrella against the wall, Armand left.
Jean-Guy waited in the shadows.
Pedestrians glanced at him, then moved along. Not wanting to draw the attention of this tightly coiled man.
And then, there he was.
Loiselle paused for just an instant at the opening to the narrow side street, but it was all Beauvoir needed.
He grabbed him, swinging the much larger man around. With his knee he dropped Loiselle to the pavement and knelt on his back as he patted him down, coming away with a Sig pistol.
People shouted, some screamed, all leaped away. But before anyone could raise their phone and take photographs, Beauvoir hauled Loiselle to his feet and shoved him into a boutique.
“I’m a cop. I need your back room.”
The wide-eyed manager pointed. Then, rushing ahead, he unlocked a door.
“Lock it after us,” commanded Beauvoir.
“Should I call the police?”
“No. I’ve already done that,” he lied.
When the door slammed shut, he pushed Loiselle against the wall and put the gun to his throat.
But something was wrong. The man wasn’t struggling. Wasn’t fighting back. This was far too easy.
Then Loiselle did something unexpected. He put up his hands.
They stared at each other. Beauvoir’s adrenaline was so strong, his anger so great, it was all he could do not to pistol-whip the man anyway, surrender or no.
Then Loiselle did something even more unexpected.
“You said you were a cop, in Québec,” he said. “You were Inspector Beauvoir, with the Sûreté du Québec. That was you, in the factory. I’ve been wanting to talk.”
Armand’s phone rang. It was Reine-Marie.
“Can you meet me at the archives?” she said.
“I’ll be there in five minutes.”
Armand walked quickly, and tried to get his thoughts straight. He’d told Daniel that he wouldn’t say anything to Commander Fontaine, and he wouldn’t. But still, he had to find out what Daniel and Plessner were working on. And whether it had anything to do with Plessner’s murder.
He checked his emails as he walked. Finally clicking on the one from Mrs. McGillicuddy that had come in during the night. Far from being long and convoluted it contained only two words.
Call me.
He looked at his watch and did the calculations. It was six hours earlier in Montréal. That made it five thirty in the morning. She’d be asleep.
He’d wait and call after he’d met with Reine-Marie.
“I recognized you from the video, the one in the factory,” Loiselle said, an urgency to his voice. “I saw what you did. You and the other agents. I saw what your boss did. I saw what happened.”
Loiselle was whispering, as though what had happened that terrible day a few years earlier was a secret. Instead of leaked and splashed across the internet. Seen by millions.
The Sûreté raid, to free a hostage. To stop heavily armed gunmen. It had been a desperate fight to prevent something even more horrific from happening. But it had been a bloodbath. They’d prevailed. Barely. And at a terrible price.