How the Light Gets In (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #9)

How the Light Gets In (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #9) Page 8

Everyone in the homicide office had been watching, waiting for the explosion. Waiting for Chief Inspector Gamache to rip into the offending agent. Even Lacoste waited, and wanted it.

But nothing had happened.

The other agents exchanged glances, no longer bothering to hide their satisfaction. The legendary Chief Inspector Gamache was a straw man after all. Not quite on his knees, but close.

Gamache looked up from his reading when Lacoste knocked.

“May I come in, patron?” she asked.

“Of course.” He got up and indicated the chair.

Lacoste closed the door, knowing some, if not all, of the agents in the large room would still be watching. But she didn’t care. They could go to hell.

“They wanted to see you tear into him.”

The Chief Inspector nodded. “I know.” He looked at her closely. “And you, Isabelle?”

There was no use lying to the Chief. She sighed.

“Part of me wanted to see that too. But for different reasons.”

“And what were your reasons?”

She jerked her head in the direction of the agents. “It would show them you can’t be pushed around. Brutality is all they understand.”

Gamache considered that for a moment, then nodded. “You’re right, of course. And I have to admit, I was tempted.” He smiled at her. It had taken him a while to get used to seeing Isabelle Lacoste sitting across from him, instead of Jean-Guy Beauvoir.

“I think that young man once believed in his job,” said Gamache, looking through the internal window as the agent picked up his phone. “I think they all did. I honestly believe most agents join the Sûreté because they want to help.”

“To serve and protect?” Lacoste asked, with a small smile.

“Service, Integrity, Justice,” he quoted the Sûreté motto. “Old-fashioned, I know.” He lifted his hands in surrender.

“So what changed?” asked Lacoste.

“Why do decent young men and women become bullies? Why do soldiers dream of being heroes but end up abusing prisoners and shooting civilians? Why do politicians become corrupt? Why do cops beat suspects senseless and break the laws they’re meant to protect?”

The agent that Gamache had just been speaking with was talking on the phone. Despite the taunts of the other agents, he was doing what Gamache had asked of him.

“Because they can?” asked Lacoste.

“Because everyone else does,” said Gamache, sitting forward. “Corruption and brutality are modeled and expected and rewarded. It becomes normal. And anyone who stands up to it, who tells them it’s wrong, is beaten down. Or worse.” Gamache shook his head. “No, I can’t condemn those young agents for losing their way. It’s a rare person who wouldn’t.”

The Chief looked at her and smiled.

“So you ask why I didn’t rip him apart when I could have? That’s why. And before you mistake it for heroics on my part, it wasn’t. It was selfish. I needed to prove to myself that I hadn’t yet fallen that far. I have to admit, it’s tempting.”

“To join Chief Superintendent Francoeur?” asked Lacoste, amazed at the admission.

“No, to create my own stinking mess in response.”

He stared at her, seeming to weigh his words.

“I know what I’m doing, Isabelle,” he said quietly. “Trust me.”

“I shouldn’t have doubted.”

And Isabelle Lacoste saw how the rot started. How it happened, not overnight, but by degrees. A small doubt broke the skin. Then an infection set in. Questioning. Critical. Cynical. Distrustful.

Lacoste looked at the agent that Gamache had spoken to. He’d put down the phone and was making notes on his computer, trying to do his job. But his colleagues were taunting him, and as Inspector Lacoste watched, the agent stopped typing and turned to them. And smiled. One of them, again.

Inspector Lacoste returned her attention to Chief Inspector Gamache. Never, ever, would she have believed it possible for her to be disloyal to him. But if it could happen to those other agents, who’d been decent once, maybe it could happen to her. Maybe it already had. As more and more of Francoeur’s agents were transferred in, as more and more of them challenged Gamache, believing him to be weak, maybe it was seeping into her too, by association.

Maybe she was beginning to doubt him.

Six months ago she’d never have questioned how the Chief disciplined a subordinate. But now she had. And part of her had wondered if what she’d seen, what they’d all seen, wasn’t weakness after all.