The Brutal Telling (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #5)

The Brutal Telling (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #5) Page 147

“How would we know?”

“We think he might have stolen them from people back in Czechoslovakia.”

“And because they came from Czechoslovakia we’d know about it?”

“If he’d stolen the things do you really think the first thing he’d do is come to a potluck dinner with the Czech Association?” Hanna demanded. “We don’t know this Jakob.”

“What did you do before you came here?” Gamache asked them.

“We were both students. We met at Charles University in Prague,” said Hanna. “I was studying political science and Roar was studying engineering.”

“You’re a councilor for the area,” said Gamache to Hanna, then turned to Roar. “But you don’t seem to have pursued your interests here. Why not?”

Parra paused, then looked down at his large, rough hands, picking at a callus. “I was fed up with people. Wanted nothing to do with them. Why do you think there’s a huge Czech community out here, away from cities? It’s because we’re sickened by what people can do. People goaded by others, emboldened. Infected by cynicism and fear and suspicion. By jealousy and greed. They turn on each other. I want nothing to do with them. Let me work quietly in a garden, in the woods. People are horrible creatures. You must know that, Chief Inspector. You’ve seen what they can do to each other.”

“I have,” Gamache admitted. He stopped talking for a moment, and in that moment lived all the terrible things the head of homicide might see. “I know what people are capable of.” He smiled then, and spoke quietly. “The bad, but also the good. I’ve seen sacrifice, and I’ve seen forgiveness where none seemed possible. Goodness exists, Monsieur Parra. Believe me.”

And for a moment it seemed Roar Parra might. He stared wide-eyed at Gamache as though the large, calm man was inviting him into a home he longed to enter. But then he stepped back.

“You’re a fool, Chief Inspector,” he laughed derisively.

“But a happy one,” smiled Gamache. “Now, what were we talking about? Ah, yes. Murder.”

“Whose car’s in the driveway?” The young voice floated to them from the mudroom and a moment later a door slammed shut.

Beauvoir stood up. Hanna and Roar also rose and stared at each other. Gamache went to the door of the kitchen.

“It’s my car, Havoc. Can we have a word?”

“Sure.”

The young man walked into the kitchen, taking off his cap. His face was sweaty and dirty and he smiled disarmingly. “Why so serious?” Then his expression changed. “There hasn’t been another murder, has there?”

“Why’d you say that?” asked Gamache, watching him.

“Well, you all look so glum. I feel like it’s report card day.”

“In a way it is, I guess. Time to take stock.” Gamache pointed to a chair next to Havoc’s father and the young man sat. Gamache also sat.

“You and Olivier were the last people in the bistro last Saturday night?”

“That’s right. Olivier left and I locked up.”

“And where did Olivier go?”

“Home, I guess.” Havoc looked amused by the question.

“We know now that Olivier visited the Hermit late at night. Saturday nights.”

“Is that right?”

“That’s right.” The young man’s composure was a little too perfect. A little too practiced, Gamache thought. “But someone else knew about the Hermit. Not just Olivier. There are a couple of ways Jakob could have been found. One was to follow the overgrown horse trails. The other was to follow Olivier. To the cabin.”

Havoc’s smile faltered. “Are you saying I followed Olivier?” The young man looked from Gamache to his parents, searching their faces, and back again.

“Where were you just now?”

“In the woods.”

Gamache nodded slowly. “Doing what?”

“Cutting wood.”

“And yet we heard no saw.”

“I’d already cut it and was just stacking it.” Now the boy’s eyes moved more quickly from Gamache to his father and back.

Gamache got up, walked a couple of steps to the door to the kitchen, bent down and picked something up. He sat back down and placed it on the polished table. It was a wood chip. No. A shaving. It curled back on itself.

“How did you afford this house?” Gamache asked Roar.

“What do you mean?” Roar asked.

“It would cost hundreds of thousands of dollars. The materials alone are worth that. Add in designs and specifications for such an unusual house, then labor? You say you built it about fifteen years ago. What happened then that allowed you to do it? Where’d you get the money?”