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.
“None of this happened,” snapped Abigail.
“Did she try to explain that it was done for love? Did she beg forgiveness?” Gamache studied her. “I don’t think so. I think she genuinely believed you’d be pleased. Grateful even. You might even thank her. Is that what pushed you over the edge? That there was no remorse? No recognition of what she’d done?”
“No! This’s absurd.”
And in a flash he saw she was right. He’d made another mistake. His mind had traveled too quickly and overlooked one vital detail.
The murder weapon.
The scenario he’d just described depended on Debbie confessing, and Abigail lashing out. But if so, how did she get a fireplace log in her hand? As Beauvoir said, no one was likely to have been walking around with one.
And no one had a chance to get one. Except …
He looked at Vincent Gilbert, who was staring at Abigail and gripping the poker.
Gamache’s mind rapidly backtracked. Going back over images. Statements. And then he had it.
“Your coat,” he said to Gilbert.
“What of it?”
“You had it on. You came outside during the fireworks and you were wearing your coat.”
“Yes. So?”
“How did you get it?”
“What’s this got to do with anything?” asked Haniya. “Did she kill her friend or not?”
But Gamache wasn’t listening. He was staring at Gilbert.
“I went up to my room, of course.”
“When?”
“Just before midnight.”
“But you told us you only left the library at midnight.”
“Well, I guess it was a couple of minutes before.”
“And you”—he turned to Colette—“say you got to the library just after midnight?”
“Yes. The fireworks were already going off.”
That was the window, the time when the murderer could get the weapon.
But that would mean …
Almost there.
“No,” Gamache said, taking another step forward. “I was wrong. When Debbie read your father’s letter, she saw it wasn’t a confession. She knew that your father hadn’t killed Maria. But she also knew that she hadn’t.” He stared at her. “That’s it, isn’t it.”
He’d finally stuck the landing. It took the rest of them an elongated moment to see it.
“You?” said Gilbert, staring at Abigail.
“That’s the answer to our question,” said Gamache. “Why your father would confess to a terrible crime, and one he didn’t commit. He didn’t believe it was you. He knew it was. He knew you. Where he was selfless, you were selfish. Where he was sincere, you were manipulative. Where he put family first, you put your ambitions first.”
“Far from the tree,” said Beauvoir.
Armand nodded. “You fell far from the tree. But he loved you and wanted to protect you. When Debbie found the copy of his suicide letter and finally read it for herself, she could see what he was really saying. When did she tell you that she knew? Was it before you even traveled to Québec? Did she promise your secret was safe with her?”
“My God,” said Abigail. She looked at the others. “Can’t you see what he’s doing? He wants me to be guilty.”
“Is that why Debbie kept repeating ‘Abby Maria’?” said Gamache, ignoring her outburst. He took another small step toward Abigail. On solid ground at last. “It was meant as reassurance. A sort of code between you. A secret you shared. But each time she said it, you heard a threat. A warning.”
“This’s bullshit. You’re setting me up.” She appealed to Colette. “He hates me because of my study. Can’t you see that?”
“When Debbie said that your father believed that the truth should come out, no matter how unpleasant, that must have really set off alarms,” Gamache continued. Unrelenting now. “Did panic set in?”
Abigail’s face hardened. She was, he could tell, steeling herself to act. And he thought he knew what it might be. He’d seen that expression before. From men and women standing on a bridge, high over a river. Just before …
Abigail’s breathing was steady now. Quiet.
“I don’t think you woke up that morning intending to kill Debbie.” Gamache’s voice was calm now, reassuring. “I don’t think you even went to the party with that in mind. But it was simmering. And then Debbie mentioned Abby Maria in front of Dr. Gilbert. It was a step too far. You knew then that you couldn’t trust her. Whether intentionally or not, Debbie would let out too many hints and eventually someone would start digging.”
“Armand,” warned Gilbert. He could see that she was about to snap.
But Gamache had to keep pushing. They had no real evidence. His theory fit the facts, but an even moderately competent defense lawyer would get her off. They needed a confession. He could see that while Jean-Guy had the gun in his hand, Isabelle had her phone out. Recording.
“You’re wrong, Armand,” said Colette. “Debbie killed Maria. I know because she told me on our walk.”
Gamache turned and looked at her. “Are you saying you then killed Debbie Schneider?”
“Yes.”
“Non.” He shook his head. “You didn’t. You’d never risk Jean-Paul’s future like that. What would become of him, if you were arrested? No.” He held her eyes. “You can stand down now. You’ve earned Paul Robinson’s eternal gratitude. He just didn’t realize what he was asking.”
He turned back to Abigail. “You killed her.”
“No.” But her voice held little conviction.
Putting up his hands, he said softly, “Abigail—”
And then she did what he had feared. She swung the rifle away from Gilbert. To Jean-Guy.
“No!” shouted Gamache.
Beauvoir braced himself and pulled the trigger. But not all the way. Almost. Almost. Another hair …
“Do it,” she shrieked. “Do it. Take the shot.”
And he wanted to. With every fiber. Now was his chance. It wouldn’t be murder, it would be self-defense. Everyone would see that. And then Idola would be safe. They’d all be safe.
“You want to,” shouted Abigail. “I knew it from the start. You hate me because you agree with me. Your daughter should’ve been aborted.”
“Abigail!” Colette made to move forward, but Gamache stopped her.
It was all Armand could do not to step between Jean-Guy and Abigail himself. But it was up to Beauvoir now. To resolve this. He held his breath, his eyes wide. His heart pounding.
“It’s me or your daughter,” Abigail screamed, and thrust the rifle forward.
Tears were streaming down Jean-Guy’s face and he made a sound like a mortally wounded animal.
“Shoot, you fucking coward!”
He lowered his gun and shook his head. Isabelle stepped forward and grabbed the end of the rifle, lifting it to the ceiling.
“Do it,” Abby begged, even as the rifle was twisted out of her grip and she slumped to the floor. “Please.”
“Abigail Robinson,” Jean-Guy began, “I’m arresting you—”
He could go no further. His knees began to buckle.
Armand grabbed him, holding him up. Holding Jean-Guy in his arms as he sobbed.
CHAPTER 47
“The chamber was full,” Isabelle reported. “She meant to kill you.”
“No,” said Jean-Guy. “She meant for me to kill her.”
He was slumped in the back of the car, utterly drained and still trembling. Not from the cold, but from exposure.
“Suicide by cop,” said Gamache. It was one of the nightmares. One few cops had come out of without being forced to actually do it.