The Madness of Crowds
- Автор: Пенни Луиза
- Серия: Chief Inspector Gamache #17
- Год: 2021
- Язык: английский
- Год: St. Martin's Publishing Group
- ISBN: 9781250145284
- Жанр: Другие детективы
Электронная книга - «The Madness of Crowds». Краткое содержание книги:
You're a coward.
Time and again, as the New Year approaches, that charge is leveled against Armand Gamache.
It starts innocently enough.
While the residents of the Québec village of Three Pines take advantage of the deep snow to ski and toboggan, to drink hot chocolate in the bistro and share meals together, the Chief Inspector finds his holiday with his family interrupted by a simple request.
He's asked to provide security for what promises to be a non-event. A visiting professor of statistics will be giving a lecture at the nearby university.
While he is perplexed as to why the head of homicide for the Sûreté du Québec would be assigned this task, it sounds easy enough. That is, until Gamache starts looking into Professor Abigail Robinson and discovers an agenda so repulsive he begs the university to cancel the lecture.
They refuse, citing academic freedom, and accuse Gamache of censorship and intellectual cowardice. Before long, Professor Robinson's views start seeping into conversations. Spreading and infecting. So that truth and fact, reality and delusion, are so confused it's near impossible to tell them apart.
Discussions become debates, debates become arguments, which turn into fights. As sides are declared, a madness takes hold.
Abigail Robinson promises that if they follow her, ça va bien aller. All will be well. But not, Gamache and his team know, for everyone.
When a murder is committed, it falls to Armand Gamache, his second-in-command Jean-Guy Beauvoir, and their team to investigate the crime as well as this extraordinary popular delusion.
And the madness of crowds.
“What was he trying to say, Colette? I think you know.”
“All I know for sure, as I said before, is that Paul Robinson loved his children. Everything he did, he did for them.”
“Including killing himself?” asked Jean-Guy. “How could that be for his one remaining child? To be left alone, and then told everything that happened was partly her fault?”
Colette shrugged. Not dismissively, but to show she had no answer.
“How does Debbie Schneider figure into this?” asked Armand. When Colette said nothing, he pressed. “Did Paul Robinson kill Maria?”
“He says he did.”
“No, he doesn’t,” said Armand. “We’ve just been through this. As a precise man, he is shockingly, glaringly imprecise in his final letter. And yet I think his message is clear. To someone.”
“Well, when you figure it out, Armand, you let me know.”
“I’ll let that go, Madame Chancellor, because I know you’re not used to your work having real-world consequences. But ours does. A little girl was killed decades ago, and then days ago a grown woman was murdered. The two are connected, and I think you know how.”
“Are you sure you haven’t stumbled into a spurious correlation?”
He leaned forward. “Why was Paul Robinson eternally grateful to you? What were you doing for him? Keeping his secret? Protecting his daughter? Are you still protecting her?”
The color rose up Colette’s neck and into her cheeks. “I need to make sure Jean-Paul’s all right.”
She got to her feet.
Gamache also rose. “You saw the vague wording of the letter and knew it wasn’t really a confession. He couldn’t possibly put a pillow over his daughter’s face. But someone else could. Someone else had. And he thought he knew who.”
“What I know is that Paul Robinson loved his children.”
“More than life itself.”
“Yes.”
Gamache considered the calm, serious woman in front of him, and weighed his options, considered the consequences. And made his choice.
“When Paul Robinson returned home from that conference, he found Maria already dead, isn’t that right? And all his subsequent energies, including that letter, went into covering up what happened.”
“And that was?” But they could see that she knew. Or suspected.
“That Paul Robinson believed his other daughter had done it.”
Colette Roberge gave a single whoop of laughter. “You’re kidding. That’s nonsense. Abigail loved Maria.”
“Yes. I agree. I’m not saying he was right.”
“What are you saying?”
“He could see that Maria had not died naturally. Suppose in his shock he leaped to the worst possible conclusion, and had to act on it. In case it was true.”
He knew he’d hit the open wound that Colette Roberge had gauzed over for decades. But that had continued to weep, to seep, until it became septic.
“The coroner at the time noted petechiae on Maria’s face. Tiny—”
“I know what that is, Armand.”
“Then you know what they indicate. I think the coroner might have suspected. But there was the overwhelming evidence of the sandwich lodged in the girl’s throat.”
“Wait.” Colette put up her hand to stop him. “You said suppose Paul got home, found Maria dead, and assumed Abby had done it. But you also said suppose he was wrong. So if not Paul, and not Abby…”
Her voice trailed away, and her eyes drifted out the window to the acres of snow, just beginning to catch the first light.
Then she turned back and searched Gamache’s face. And found a disconcerting quietude. A patient man waiting. His hand holding a worn thread.
“Debbie?” she asked.
She began to nod. Began to see.
“Debbie was so devoted to Abigail. She could see that Maria would always hold her back. But no. I think if she did such a thing, it would be far more personal. They were fifteen. It’s a difficult age. She had complex, maybe even confusing feelings for her best friend…” She looked at Armand. “Jealousy. She was devoted to Abby, but Abby was devoted to Maria.”
“Perhaps.”
“Is that why Paul sent not just the letter, but the book? Extraordinary Popular Delusions. Was he telling me that what he’d written was a lie? That he hadn’t killed Maria? He thought Abby had done it in a moment of madness, and he wanted me to protect her.” She hesitated, working her way through this. “But you’re saying he got it wrong? It was Debbie? But there’s no evidence, is there? Why would you think Debbie killed Maria?”
“Because she’s dead.”
“And you think Abby found out what happened and killed her?”
The sun was just up now, the sky a soft morning blue behind Chancellor Roberge. Armand stepped toward her and shook his head.
“Me?” she said, in astonishment. “Why would I do that?”
“So that Abigail wouldn’t have to. I think you’re still working to earn that eternal gratitude.” He paused. “Go check on Jean-Paul, then get dressed and call someone to be with him. You’re going to have to come with us.”
“Are you arresting me?” she asked, half laughing.
“Not yet.”
Like Paul Robinson before him, he’d chosen his words carefully. To be both clear, and ambiguous.
CHAPTER 45
It was just after half past six when Jean-Guy Beauvoir went over to the Sûreté agent in the vehicle outside the Auberge.
“Has anyone gone in or out?”
“Non, patron. Only the staff. Day shift starts at six thirty.”
“If anyone comes out, stop them. It might not be from the front door. They could come around the side. Your partner?”
“Patrolling the outside, like you ordered. We’re taking turns.”
“Bon.”
Once in the lobby Isabelle had the front desk clerk call Haniya, Abigail, and Vincent in their rooms. And invite them down for breakfast.
The receptionist got through to Haniya, but there was no answer from the other two.
“Probably in the dining room,” said Isabelle. But she returned a minute later. “Not there.”
“Did anyone come down?” Gamache asked the receptionist.
“No.”
“Can we have the keys to their rooms, please.”
Beauvoir took the stairs two at a time while Lacoste asked, “Is there a staff entrance?”
“Yes, around the side.”
She went off quickly to check it and returned at the same time as Beauvoir.
“Not in their rooms,” he reported.
“There’re back stairs, for the staff,” said Lacoste. “And an exit. Gilbert would know about both.”
“Search the place,” commanded Gamache.
While they did, he made some calls. His first was to the bistro, to make sure neither Vincent Gilbert nor Abigail Robinson was there. Olivier answered and said they were not.
Next, Gamache called Gilbert’s son, Marc, who had a home a couple of kilometers away.
As he listened to the phone ring Armand saw Haniya descend the sweeping stairway into the lobby, wearing a royal blue abaya and embroidered hijab.
“Marc? It’s Armand Gamache. I’m wondering if your father’s with you.”
“No, he should be at the Inn. He said he’d be leaving this morning but not until later.”
“Leaving for where?”
“His cabin. Why? Is there a problem?”
“Did you speak to him last night?”
“Yes, we had dinner there. Why?” Now his voice had risen.
“How did he seem?”
“How does Dad ever seem?”
“So the same as always?” asked Armand.
“Yes. What’s this about? Is something wrong?”
“I just need to speak to him.”
“At”—there was a pause—“twenty to seven in the morning?”