“What do you mean?” asked Huifen.
“That’s enough, Commissioner,” warned Gamache.
“His parents were killed by a drunk driver when he was a child. The driver would’ve been just a little younger than you at the time,” he said to the students. “How old were you?” he asked Gamache, who was staring at him, barely containing his outrage. “Eight, nine?”
“Why would you bring that up?” demanded Beauvoir. “It has nothing to do with this.”
“Really?” asked Gélinas, and stared, in heavy silence, at Gamache before going on. “At the very least, the cadets need to understand that we all have burdens, don’t you agree, Commander? Some so weighty we carry them our whole lives. They can blight our very existence, or they can make us stronger. They can make us bitter or teach us compassion. They can drive us to do things we never thought ourselves capable of. Wonderful achievements, like becoming Chief Inspector and Commander. Or horrific things. Terrible dark deeds. Maybe Michel Brébeuf isn’t the only object lesson. Maybe they can learn from you too, Monsieur Gamache.”
Now the entire bistro was watching and listening.
“A discomfort of cadets,” said Ruth.
And she was right. But the students weren’t the only ones squirming. The whole bistro twisted in their seats while Gamache himself stood perfectly still.
“You see,” Paul Gélinas turned to the cadets, “you aren’t the only ones with unhappy childhoods. Some are beaten. Some are bullied. Some are ignored. And some wait at home for a mother and father who will never return.”
He considered Gamache, like a specimen.
“Imagine what that does to a child. And yet he rose above it.” He returned his attention to the students. “And you can too.”
Reine-Marie stood up and went to her husband, taking his hand.
“That is enough, monsieur,” she said to Gélinas.
“Madame,” the RCMP officer bowed slightly. “I meant no harm. But it’s important that these students understand that their burden is shared by everyone and can’t be used as an excuse for their own brutality.”
“He’s right,” said Armand, his voice bitterly cold. “We all make choices.”
He spoke directly to Gélinas, who shifted his shoulders, as though some tiny, sharp object had just been inserted between his blades.
“Bon,” said Gélinas, decisively. “This is an active police investigation. Chief Inspector Lacoste has been very kind to include you so far—”
“And I see no reason to exclude Commander Gamache now,” said Lacoste.
“Well, I do. Speaking as the independent observer, I think it’s now time for him to step aside. Had he been anyone else, he would never have been this involved. We must treat Monsieur Gamache as we would any other suspect.”
“Suspect?” asked Reine-Marie, and there was a murmur of surprise in the bistro.
“Well, yes, of course,” said Gélinas. “Your husband isn’t above the law or above suspicion.”
“It’s all right,” said Armand, squeezing her hand. “Once again, Deputy Commissioner Gélinas is correct.”
He took a small step back, away from Gélinas. Away from the cadets. Away from Lacoste and Beauvoir.
At the door to the private room, Beauvoir turned to see Gamache staring after them. No, not them, Jean-Guy realized.
He was staring at Amelia Choquet.
Beauvoir glanced at Reine-Marie, who was also watching her husband.
Perplexed.
Beauvoir followed Amelia with his eyes as she walked past him into the room. And wondered just what her relationship was with the Commander, that Gamache would look at her in such a way.
He had an idea. An unwanted one. An unworthy one.
Beauvoir closed the door, shutting out the man and the thought.
But the gate had been opened and the traitor thought had slipped in.
In loco parentis. But was it really in place of?
CHAPTER 32
“How well did you know Professor Leduc?” asked Isabelle Lacoste.
She’d placed Amelia to her right and the two men further down the table, on the cadet’s right, so that Amelia’s head was turned to her, and only her.
It was a technique Lacoste had picked up early in her career in homicide. While many of the male investigators preferred to intimidate by having two or three agents looming over suspects, shooting questions to try to push them off balance, Lacoste went in the other direction.
She created an atmosphere of extreme intimacy. A semblance of conspiracy even. Isabelle Lacoste wasn’t surprised that it worked very well with the women she interviewed. What had come as a surprise was how well it worked with the men.
They were steeled against an onslaught. But had no defenses against gentle, even friendly, conversation.
“Not well,” said Amelia. “Professor Leduc taught us crime prevention.”
“Oh, I hated that course. I wanted to learn about weapons and tactics,” said Lacoste with a laugh. “Was he a good teacher?”
“Not really. I think it wasn’t his favorite course either. He used to run the academy, didn’t he?”
“Not officially, but in every other way, yes. Until Monsieur Gamache took over.”
Amelia nodded.
Isabelle Lacoste watched her closely. She could see what Beauvoir had meant. Cadet Choquet would be striking anywhere, but especially so in the Sûreté Academy. She’d stand out. But she’d also stand apart.
Lacoste took in the piercings. The rings and studs, like bullets. A girl pierced and pieced together. Like the Tin Man in The Wizard of Oz. Looking for a heart.
Hints of tattoos flicked out of her clothing.
The eyes that watched her were bright, inquiring. Smoldering, but not burning. But where there was smoke …
This was a young woman of unusual intelligence and intensity, thought Lacoste. A girl not afraid to be different. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t afraid of something.
Everyone was, Isabelle knew. Maybe this young cadet was afraid of being the same.
How isolating that must be, she thought. But we all seek solace somewhere. Some in friendships and family and beliefs. Some in drugs, in a bottle, in food or gambling or good deeds. And some in casual sex. It masqueraded as human contact, but was closer to loathing than liking. And certainly wasn’t love.
On the far side of Amelia, Gélinas opened his mouth, but shut it quickly at one eviscerating glance from Lacoste.
Jean-Guy Beauvoir’s mouth compressed, squashing the smile. He’d received more than a few of those looks in the past. He was happy to see it worked on someone else besides him.
“Did you like the Duke?” Lacoste asked.
“I didn’t know him.”
“I don’t know you, but I like you. I like your bravery.”
And it was true. Isabelle Lacoste knew how much courage it must take Amelia Choquet to face each day. Alone.
Amelia’s eyes widened, and her small fists tightened. But she said nothing.
And Isabelle wondered when the last time was that someone, anyone, had told Amelia they liked her.
She also wondered how she was going to get this guarded girl to open up.
“Come hither, all ye empty things,/Ye bubbles raised by breath of kings,” she found herself saying, and saw Amelia cock her head to one side. “Who float upon the tide of state,/Come hither, and behold your fate.”
Beyond Amelia, Lacoste could see the faces of the two men, their expressions ranging from despair to incredulity.
“What is that?” Amelia asked.