“But why a revolver?” asked Gélinas. “Why did Leduc have one, and why did the murderer use it instead of an automatic?”
“Well, the revolver had the advantage of already being there,” said Gamache. “And couldn’t be traced back to the murderer. And it has another advantage.”
“What’s that?” asked Lacoste.
But now Beauvoir smiled and leaned forward. “That we’re talking about it. And spending time wondering about it and investigating it. The revolver’s an oddity. And oddities eat up time and energy in an investigation.”
“You’re thinking the revolver is both the murder weapon and a red herring,” said Lacoste.
“Not a red herring, a red whale,” said Beauvoir. “Something so obviously strange we have no option but to focus on it, and maybe miss something else.”
“It bears considering,” said Gamache.
“Too much speculation,” said Lacoste. “Let’s move on. I see there’s a preliminary report on the DNA at the crime scene.”
“A lot of different DNA was found,” said Beauvoir, returning to his screen. “It’ll take a while to process.”
“Quite a few fingerprints too.” Gélinas scanned ahead. “And not just in the living room.”
“True,” said Beauvoir, and tapped the tablet again.
A schematic of Leduc’s rooms came up on everyone’s screen. It was a floor plan showing the layout of furniture and the body. Then another tap, and the image was overlaid with dots. So many they obliterated almost everything else.
“The red dots are Leduc’s own prints,” said Beauvoir, and hit a key. They disappeared, leaving black dots. There were far fewer of those.
“As you can see, the other prints are mostly in the living room, but some were found in the bathroom and a few in the bedroom.”
“Have you identified them?” asked Lacoste.
“Not all, but most. The majority belong to one person. Michel Brébeuf.”
“Huh,” said Gamache, and leaned closer to his screen, bringing his hand up to his face. “Can you show us just his prints?”
Beauvoir tapped again, and again the screen changed. The dots were in the living room, in the bathroom. In the bedroom.
Gamache studied them.
Gélinas hit an icon on his own screen and the forensics report replaced the floor plan. He found computer imaging of limited use. It helped to visualize, but it could also confuse. It was both too much information and too narrow.
Instead, he preferred to read the report.
“There’re other professors’ fingerprints, I see, besides Brébeuf’s,” he said. “Professor Godbut, for example. It looks like the three of them, Leduc, Godbut, and Brébeuf, spent some time together.”
“It does,” said Beauvoir. “But of course we can’t tell if the prints were made at the same time or separately.”
“How often were the rooms cleaned?” the RCMP officer asked.
“Once a week,” said Beauvoir. “Leduc’s was cleaned three days before the murder.”
“But it wouldn’t be thorough enough to wipe out all the prints,” said Gamache. “Some of these might be quite old.”
“I can see Leduc and Godbut getting together,” said Gélinas. “But how does Michel Brébeuf fit in? I honestly can’t imagine him having a few beers with Leduc and watching the game.”
Gamache smiled at that image. The refined Brébeuf and the pug that was Leduc, kicking back. Then he remembered that evening in his rooms early in the semester. Reine-Marie, the students. The fire lit and drinks handed around. The snowstorm pounding the windows, just feet from where they sat.
The first informal gathering with the cadets. It seemed ages ago now, but was only a couple of months.
Michel Brébeuf had arrived late and Serge Leduc went over to him, all but genuflecting. Clearly recognizing the man, and admiring him despite, or probably because of, Brébeuf’s disgrace.
Jean-Guy Beauvoir had also noticed, and been afraid that that was the beginning of some unholy alliance. And he might have been right.
“They seemed friendly,” said Gamache, “though I doubt you’d call them friends. I’ll talk to him about this.”
“Perhaps it would be better if I did,” said Gélinas.
The implication was obvious, and Gamache raised his brow but could hardly object. This was, after all, the reason the outsider was there. To assure a fair investigation. And it was well known that Gamache and Brébeuf had a history, as great friends and colleagues, and as near deadly adversaries.
“With your permission, I’d like to be there,” said Gamache, and when Gélinas hesitated he went on. “There’s an advantage to knowing him well.”
Gélinas gave a curt nod.
Beauvoir and Lacoste exchanged glances before Lacoste said, “What about the mayor? Any of his prints?”
“No, none.”
“Then who do these other prints belong to?” she asked, pointing to the unclaimed dots in the bathroom and bedroom.
“Some aren’t identified yet,” said Beauvoir. “But most belong to cadets.”
“In a professor’s bathroom and bedroom?” asked Gélinas. “That would be unusual, wouldn’t it?”
“I encouraged the professors to meet with students casually,” said Gamache.
“Just how casual did they get?”
“That, unfortunately, is a good question,” said Gamache. “My instructions were to meet in groups.”
“You were afraid of something happening?”
“It seemed wise,” said the Commander. “For everyone’s protection.”
“And did they?”
“Oui,” said Beauvoir. “Most met once a week with students. My group came over on Wednesday evenings. We had sandwiches and beer and talked.”
“A sort of mentorship?” asked Gélinas.
“That was the idea,” said Gamache.
“Were they assigned or did they choose the professors?”
“They chose.”
“And a few went with Serge Leduc?” asked Gélinas, looking down at the black spots on Lacoste’s screen, then back up again. Incredulous.
“I expected that,” Commander Gamache admitted. “For the seniors especially, he was their leader.”
“He wasn’t a leader, he was a bully,” said Gélinas. “Surely they’d welcome the chance to get out from under his thumb.”
“When police first started intervening in child abuse cases,” said Lacoste, “they developed a simple test. It was often clear the child was being abused, but it wasn’t clear which parent was doing it. So they put the child at one end of a room and the parents at the other. And they watched to see who the kid ran to. The other was obviously the abuser.”
“Can we get back on topic?” asked Gélinas.
“It took a while before they realized they were wrong,” Lacoste continued quietly. “The child ran to the abuser.”
That sat like a specter in the room, the revelation nesting comfortably among the photographs of a murdered man.
“How could that be?” asked Gélinas. “Wouldn’t they run as far as possible from the parent who hurt them?”
“You’d think. But abused children become desperate to please the abuser, to appease them. They learn early and quickly that if they don’t, they pay a price. No child would risk upsetting the parent who beat them.”
Gélinas turned to Gamache. “Is that what happened with Leduc?”
“I think so. Some cadets no doubt gravitated to him because they’re cut from the same cloth. He offered a free pass to cruelty. But some went to him because they were afraid.”
“But they’re adults, not children,” said Gélinas.
“Young adults,” said Gamache. “And age isn’t a factor. We see it in adults all the time. Those desperate to please a powerful, even abusive, personality. At home. At work. On sports teams. The armed forces, and certainly in police forces. A strong, often brutal, personality, takes over. He’s followed out of fear, not respect or loyalty.”