A Better Man
- Автор: Пенни Луиза
- Серия: Chief Inspector Gamache #15
- Год: 2019
- Язык: английский
- Год: St. Martin's Publishing Group
- ISBN: 9781466873711
- Жанр: Другие детективы
Электронная книга - «A Better Man». Краткое содержание книги:
It's Gamache's first day back as head of the homicide department, a job he temporarily shares with his previous second-in-command, Jean-Guy Beauvoir. Floodwaters are rising across the province. In the middle of the turmoil, a father approaches Gamache, pleading for help in finding his daughter.
As crisis piles upon crisis, Gamache tries to hold off the encroaching chaos, and realizes the search for Vivienne Godin should be abandoned. But with a daughter of his own, he finds himself developing a profound, and perhaps unwise, empathy for her distraught father.
Increasingly hounded by the question, how would you feel..., he resumes the search.
As the rivers rise, and the social media onslaught against Gamache becomes crueler, a body is discovered. And in the tumult, mistakes are made.
In the next novel in this constantly surprising series that deepens and darkens as it evolves (The New York Times Book Review), Gamache must face a horrific possibility, and a burning question.
What would you do if your child's killer walked free?
Still, to be sure, she’d called up colleagues and asked opinions.
Then asked more colleagues, judges across the country, and collected more opinions.
She’d even phoned her old, now retired, law prof and gone through the case against Carl Tracey.
All, save one, said the same thing.
And now it was her turn to say it.
“There is, I’m afraid, a poisonous tree in this case.”
Jean-Guy Beauvoir stared at the judge in amazement, then turned to the prosecutor. Zalmanowitz’s mouth had fallen open. Beauvoir swiveled to look at Gamache, whose eyes were wide, his mouth also slightly open.
“It goes back to the very beginning,” said Judge Pelletier, her voice almost a monotone. “Even before Vivienne Godin’s body was found.”
“What’s she saying?” asked Homer, his voice below normal conversation, but above a whisper. “What does this mean?” He could tell, a child could tell, that something unexpected had just happened. Something bad. “What’s a poisonous tree?”
“In a minute,” whispered Gamache, glancing briefly at Homer before returning his attention to the judge.
“When Vivienne Godin’s overnight bag was found on the shores of the river—” Judge Pelletier turned to Beauvoir. “You did not have a warrant, I believe, to go onto that private property.”
Beauvoir shot to his feet. “No, Your Honor, we didn’t. But it was an emergency. The river was in flood, and it needed to be diverted. The law allows us to enter private property in an emergency. We don’t need a warrant to rescue people from a fire, for example.”
“True, but in going onto private property you didn’t just create a runoff for the flood. You discovered the victim’s duffel bag. Did you open it?”
“We did.”
Judge Pelletier nodded. “Oui. That’s what it says here.” She placed her hand on the papers in front of her. “There’s video evidence of that, too, which has been submitted. Your written statement says that upon opening it and examining the contents, you realized it belonged to the missing woman, which led you to the bridge, which led you to her body—”
“What’s happening?” Godin whispered, more urgently.
“Just listen,” said Gamache, keeping his voice low, calm, reasonable. He reached over and touched the man’s arm, feeling it so tense it might snap.
His own body was taut. He could see where this was going, though he barely believed it.
A poisonous tree? Surely not.
He’d become hyperaware of his surroundings. The world was bright and in sharp focus. Sounds were magnified. The smallest movement noted. Every word, every inflection absorbed.
It was the way he became when under attack. For this felt like an attack. Like someone had just tossed a grenade into the courtroom.
And there was nothing he could do to stop it from going off.
Off to the side, at the defense desk, he could see the court-appointed lawyer equally surprised. But unlike the prosecution, who was looking at the judge as though he’d been hit in the face, the defense was smiling.
Zalmanowitz, the prosecuting attorney, got to his feet. “If it pleases the court, there’s case law covering this. Where officers go onto private property to stop a crime being committed and in the course of that come across another crime—”
“True.” The judge stopped him there with an upraised hand. Predicting just this objection. “But no crime was being committed. A river was flooding. It was an act of nature. A violent one, potentially dangerous, granted. I have no doubt that the actions of the officers saved property if not lives. It was the right thing to do. Except when they found the duffel bag, they should have immediately applied for a warrant, before removing it. And certainly before opening it.”
Beauvoir, in near panic, looked once again at Gamache.
Gamache himself was shocked. Never had he heard such a severe, such a narrow interpretation of the law. He immediately scribbled on a piece of paper and handed it to the prosecution, who read it and said, “Your Honor, a life was at stake. As you said, Madame Godin had not yet been found. She could have been hurt, or kidnapped. They needed to search the overnight bag, to determine if it was hers and if it could lead them to her. Which it did.”
“And that might have been justified,” said the judge. “Had they not been on the defendant’s private property. Let me ask you this: Did the officers get Mr. Tracey’s permission before opening the bag?”
The prosecution turned to Beauvoir, who had gone so pale his lips were almost white. He thought and thought, glancing at Gamache once.
Beauvoir was not pausing to remember, Gamache knew. He remembered perfectly well, as did Gamache. Carl Tracey shouting at them not to open the duffel bag. That it was none of their business.
No. Jean-Guy Beauvoir was pausing to decide whether or not to tell the truth.
Judge Pelletier was giving them a potential out. A way to cut down the poisonous tree. Whose roots and branches and fruit looked to infect so much of their case against Tracey.
“While not formally sworn in, Chief Inspector,” the judge said, “you are presumed under oath.”
She could see his thoughts, his struggle. And it seemed clear to Gamache that she sympathized. This was not giving Judge Pelletier any pleasure. But it was, according to her lights, the law.
Before Beauvoir could answer, the defense got to his feet. “Your Honor, my client tells me he told them—” Tracey grabbed his arm, and the lawyer bent down to listen to his client, then straightened up. “He begged them not to open the bag. But they did, anyway.”
“I see,” said the judge. “Just out of interest’s sake, why didn’t he want the police to open the bag? If it could have helped them find his wife, which, presumably, he wanted.”
That was met with silence. It was a very good question.
Both Gamache and Beauvoir would have been amused by Tracey’s bringing this scrutiny on himself had they themselves not been so appalled by what was happening.
The lawyer consulted his client, then turned to the judge. “He says he believed his wife was alive and that the bag contained things she wouldn’t want strangers to see. Like underwear.”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” burst out of Homer. “You’re not … You can’t … This’s…”
“Homer,” said Gamache, turning to him, but Godin was already on his feet.
Gamache also rose and faced Homer, who was glaring at Tracey with all the violence a look could contain. Then Gamache turned to the judge.
“Please, Your Honor,” he said.
“For you, Monsieur Gamache, I will give you a moment to settle him. I’m assuming that is the young woman’s father?”
“He is, and thank you.” Gamache turned back to Homer. “Do you need to leave? Look at me.” He stood between Homer and Tracey, breaking Homer’s line of sight. Forcing Homer to focus on him. “You need to hold it together.” Gamache was speaking so quietly that no one else could hear. And so forcefully that Godin would not just hear but listen. “Or you need to leave. Do you understand?”
Godin nodded.
“Do you want to stay?”
Godin nodded.
“And you’ll control yourself, no matter what happens?”
“What is happening, Armand?” The man’s voice now sounded almost like that of a child.
“I don’t know, but losing control will only make it worse. You understand?”
“You promised. You promised it would be okay.”
“Please,” said Gamache. “Just sit down.”
Homer sat, and Gamache turned to the judge and gave a nod that was almost a small bow. “Merci.”
The judge looked tired, strained. Even, Gamache thought, a little sad. Which did not bode well.
She turned back to Beauvoir. “You still haven’t answered my question, Chief Inspector.”