A Trick of the Light (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #7)

A Trick of the Light (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #7) Page 99

After giving up on an elevator she climbed the three flights, trying not to notice the stale smells of tobacco and dope and urine.

She stood in front of their closed door. Staring. Catching her breath from an exertion not wholly physical.

Clara closed her eyes and conjured up little Lillian, standing in green shorts and a T-shirt, framed by her door. Smiling. Inviting little Clara in.

Then Clara Morrow knocked on the door.

*   *   *

“Chief Justice,” said Gamache, offering his hand.

“Chief Inspector,” said Thierry Pineault, taking it and shaking.

“There can be too many chiefs after all,” said Suzanne. “Let’s grab a table.”

“We can join Inspector Beauvoir,” said Gamache, ushering them toward his Inspector, who’d gotten up and was indicating his table.

“I’d rather we sat over here,” said Chief Justice Pineault. Suzanne and Gamache paused. Pineault was indicating a table shoved up against the brick building, in the least attractive area.

“More discreet,” Pineault explained, seeing their puzzled expressions. Gamache raised a brow but agreed, waving Beauvoir over. Chief Justice Pineault sat first, his back to the village. Gabri took their orders.

“Will this bother you?” Gamache asked, pointing to the beers Beauvoir had brought over.

“Not at all,” said Suzanne.

“I tried to call you this morning,” said Gamache.

Gabri put their drinks on the table and whispered to Beauvoir, “Who’s this other guy?”

“The Chief Justice of Québec.”

“Of course he is.” Gabri shot Beauvoir an annoyed look and left.

“And what did my secretary say?” asked Pineault, taking a sip of his Perrier and lime.

“Only that you were working from home,” said Gamache.

Pineault smiled. “I am, sort of. I’m afraid I didn’t specify which home.”

“You’ve decided to come down to the one in Knowlton?”

“Is this an interrogation, Chief Inspector? Should I get a lawyer?”

The smile was still in place but neither man was under any illusion. Close questioning the Chief Justice of Québec was a risky thing to do.

Gamache smiled back. “This is a friendly conversation, Mr. Justice. I’m hoping you can help.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Thierry. Just tell the man what he wants to know. Isn’t that why we’re here?”

Gamache regarded Suzanne across the table. Their lunches had arrived and she was shoveling terrine of duck into her mouth. It was a gesture not of greed, but of fear. She all but had her arm around her plate. Suzanne didn’t want someone else’s food. She wanted just her own. And she was willing to defend it, if need be.

But, between mouthfuls, Suzanne had asked an interesting question.

Why, if not to help his investigation, was Thierry Pineault there?

“Oh, I’m here to help,” Pineault said, casually. “It was an instinctive reaction, I’m afraid, Chief Inspector. A lawyer’s reaction. My apologies.”

Gamache noticed something else. While the Chief Justice seemed happy to challenge him, the head of homicide for the Sûreté du Québec, he never challenged Suzanne, the sometime artist and full-time waitress. In fact he took her little mocking jabs, her criticisms, her flamboyant gestures, all with great equilibrium. Was it manners?

The Chief didn’t think so. He had the impression the Chief Justice was somehow cowed by Suzanne. As though she had something on him.

“I asked him to bring me down,” said Suzanne. “I knew he’d want to help.”

“Why? I know Suzanne here cared about Lillian. Did you too, sir?”

The Chief Justice turned clear, cool eyes on Gamache. “Not in the manner you’re imagining.”

“I’m not imagining anything. Just asking.”

“I’m trying to help,” said Pineault. His voice was stern, his eyes hard. Gamache was used to this, from court appearances. From high-level Sûreté conferences.

And he recognized it for what it was. Chief Justice Thierry Pineault was pissing on him. It was delicate, sophisticated, genteel, mannerly. But it was still piss.

The problem with a pissing contest, as Gamache knew, was that what should have remained private became public. Chief Justice Pineault’s privates were on display.

“And how do you think you can help, sir? Do you know something I don’t?”

“I’m here because Suzanne asked me, and because I know where Three Pines is. I drove her down. That’s my help.”