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.
“Her name means ‘inner truth,’” said Jean-Guy.
He looked into the irregular eyes and the flat facial features of their daughter with Down syndrome.
They’d known since early in the pregnancy. And had made a choice. For life. Just as Armand had just made a choice. To end a life.
There was, at that moment across Paris, a chorus of pings as, one after the other, board members received urgent messages.
Daniel looked at Claude Dussault, who nodded.
It was done.
The buy order Daniel had discovered at the bank had gone through.
The pings were the sound of a torpedo rapidly approaching the great conglomerate.
Armand brought out Stephen’s favorite book of poetry and began reading.
In order to save their skins, if not their souls, the board members voted to kill GHS Engineering themselves.
They had to be seen to be on the side of right. The side of the angels.
It would have to be made clear, to the regulators, to the public, that as soon as they found out what GHS Engineering had been doing—the murders, the cover-up, the thousands of people killed in accidents that could have been prevented—the board members had themselves acted swiftly and decisively.
They voted to contact the authorities and regulators.
To shut down the nuclear power plants.
To ground affected aircraft and stop affected trains.
To inspect bridges and elevators.
While the CEO, Eugénie Roquebrune, was led away, they voted to set up a genuine compensation fund for the victims and their families.
And to make Carole Gossette the acting head of GHS, to oversee its demise.
“That in the midst of your nightmare,” Armand read, softly. “The final one, a kind lion will come with bandages in her mouth—”
Outside the boardroom, Xavier Loiselle approached Daniel.
“That was incredibly brave of you, to come out of hiding for your father.”
“Brave? I was scared shitless.”
“But you did it.”
“I can’t believe my father let me think he was dead.”
“He wasn’t playing dead. Being hit at close range, even by cartridges, is no joke. He was knocked out. I know the difference between someone pretending and someone who’s actually out cold. And just so you know, he couldn’t have known Girard had picked up his gun. When he jumped in to save you, he had no idea the bullets were the fake ones. He expected to die.”
Loiselle shifted his gaze to the Prefect, supervising the arrests, before returning to Daniel. “Don’t shy away from the truth. It’s an amazing thing, to be willing to die for each other.”
Claude Dussault came over and, patting Loiselle on his arm, said, “Come see me later in the week. We can discuss your future.”
“Oui, patron.”
“—And lick you clean of fever,” said Armand. No longer reading. He’d memorized the poem, by their neighbor Ruth, long ago. One of his favorites, too.
Stephen was still and silent.
Armand leaned close to his godfather, reciting so softly no one else heard, “And pick your soul up gently by the nape of the neck, and caress you into darkness and paradise.”
He kissed him on the forehead and whispered, “Thank you. Safe travels, dear man. I love you.”
“Excusez-moi,” said the doctor and, bending over Stephen, he used his stethoscope to listen for a heartbeat.
Then he straightened up.
CHAPTER 44
It did seem appropriate that a garden named for a man who hid Jews in the war should itself be almost hidden.
But the Gamaches knew how to find it, just off rue des Rosiers.
The jardin Joseph-Migneret was quiet this Thursday morning in mid-October, and they had it almost all to themselves.
The girls ate crêpes, bought from Omar, and now ran like dervishes between the trees and benches, chasing each other and shrieking with laughter.
Annie rocked Idola in her arms, while Honoré tugged at his father’s hand, trying to break free. Eventually, Jean-Guy let go and watched him race into the walled garden, to play with his cousins.
The adults had paused in the passageway, between the busy street and the garden. Standing in a semicircle before the plaque, they read each name. Noting the ages of those Monsieur Migneret had not managed to save.
The children of the Marais, sent away. Who never came home.
Then the Gamaches joined their children.
Armand and Reine-Marie stopped, by habit, at the exact spot where he’d proposed, and she’d accepted, more than thirty years earlier. And watched their grandchildren play.
There was a chill in the air this October morning, and Armand adjusted the blanket around the knees of the elderly man in the wheelchair and got a “Fuck off, I’m fine” from Stephen for his trouble.
Smiling, Armand straightened up in time to see a woman, about his own age, approach.
“Excusez-moi,” she said, pulling a sweater tighter around her. “I live in that apartment”—she pointed to a series of tall windows on the second floor—“and saw you here.”
“Désolé,” said Daniel. “Are the children disturbing you?”
“Oh, no. Not at all. Just the opposite. This garden was created with children in mind.”
She knelt down and, bringing a photograph from her pocket, she placed it on Stephen’s knees.
After examining it, Stephen lowered it to his lap and looked into the woman’s eyes.
“Arlette?”
“Arlette’s daughter. She died four years ago, but kept this by her bed. My father never minded. He knew he owed all he had to the man in the photo. And so do I.”
The cracked and faded picture showed a young woman, in coat and slacks, smiling. But her eyes were grave. And beside her was a young man. Arm across her shoulder.
“That’s you, isn’t it?” said the woman. “You’re Armand?”
“Non,” Annie began, but Stephen interrupted her.
“Oui. That was the name I used in the war.”
Reine-Marie looked at her Armand, who was staring at Stephen, dumbfounded. He never knew that he’d been named after him.
“My mother told me that ‘Armand’ means ‘warrior,’” said the woman. “And she said you were.”
“We both were. My real name is Stephen. And your mother? I only knew her as Arlette.”
“Hélène,” she said. “She looked for you after the war, but you’d gone.”
“Oui. To Canada. This’s my family.”
“Your son?” she asked, turning to Armand.
Stephen began to explain, but this time Armand cut him off and said, “Oui. And these are his grandchildren, and great-grandchildren.”
“You’ve done well with the life you were given,” she said and, kissing his cheek, she left them.
The next day they boarded the flight to Canada.
Daniel and Roslyn’s furnishings were being shipped back to Montréal.
They were going home.
As was Stephen. But his home was now with Armand and Reine-Marie, by choice but also necessity. He’d lost everything.
Stephen was ruined. Stephen was happy.
After the doctor had removed the life support, Armand had sat with him for hours as color returned to the old man’s face and his breathing became deeper and steadier.
Then he and Reine-Marie had gone to Stephen’s apartment, where Irena Fontaine was directing the forensics.