The Cruelest Month (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #3)

The Cruelest Month (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #3) Page 123

Well, he was back.

‘Alors,’ said Superintendent Paget, their titular leader. ‘You’ve asked us here, Armand, and we’ve come.’

He sounded so matter-of-fact, as though they were about to discuss vacation schedules. Gamache had seen this moment coming from a long way off, like a storm at sea. He’d been an anxious mariner, waiting. But the wait was finally over.

‘What do you want?’ Superintendent Paget asked.

‘This must stop. The attacks on my family must stop.’

‘That’s nothing to do with us,’ said Superintendent Desjardins.

‘Of course it is,’ said Brébeuf, turning to the man beside him. ‘We can’t stand by while a senior officer is attacked.’

‘The Chief Inspector has always made it clear he doesn’t need our advice or help.’ The voice was deep and reasonable. Calming even. Most of the men turned to look at the speaker, a few stared down at their notes.

Superintendent Francoeur sat next to Gamache. As Gamache knew he would. It was, after all, Francoeur’s place, and Gamache had chosen the seat right next to him. He hadn’t come this far to hide. He was damned if he’d cower in a corner or behind Brébeuf.

He’d taken the seat right next to the man who wanted him gone. Preferably right off the planet. Pierre Arnot’s best friend, confidant, protégé. Sylvain Francoeur.

‘I’m not here to fight old battles,’ said Gamache, ‘I’m here to ask that these attacks stop.’

‘And what makes you think we can stop them? The press has a right to print what it wants and I can’t imagine they’d actually print anything they haven’t thoroughly researched,’ said Superintendent Francoeur. ‘If they’ve done something wrong maybe you should sue them.’

A few guffaws were heard. Brébeuf looked furious but Gamache smiled.

‘Perhaps I will, though I don’t think so. We all know they’re lies—’

‘How do we know that?’ Francoeur asked.

‘Voyons, what are the chances Armand Gamache would prostitute his daughter?’ demanded Brébeuf.

‘What were the chances Pierre Arnot was a killer?’ asked Francoeur. ‘But according to the Chief Inspector, he is.’

‘According to the courts, you mean,’ said Gamache equably, leaning in to Francoeur’s personal space. ‘But perhaps that’s a part of our system you’re not familiar with.’

‘How dare you?’

‘How dare you attack my family?’

Both men stared at each other. Then Gamache blinked and Francoeur smiled, throwing himself back comfortably in his chair.

Gamache looked steadily at Francoeur. ‘I’m sorry, Superintendent. That wasn’t called for.’

Francoeur nodded as a knight might to a peasant.

‘I haven’t come here to fight with any of you. You’ve all read the papers, seen the television reports. And it’ll only get worse, I know. As I said before, they’re lies, but I don’t expect you to believe me or trust me. Not after what I did in the Arnot case. I crossed the Rubicon. There’s no going back.’

‘Then what do you expect, Chief Inspector?’ Superintendent Paget asked.

‘I’d like you to accept my resignation.’

Those not already sitting up did so now. All chairs tipped forward, some so quickly they threatened to spill their distinguished contents onto the table. Now all eyes were on Gamache. It was as though Mont Royal had begun to subside, to sink into the earth. Something remarkable was about to disappear. Armand Gamache. Even those who loathed him recognized he’d become legend, had become a hero both inside and outside the Sûreté.

But sometimes heroes fall.

And they were witnesses to that now.

‘Why should we?’ asked Francoeur. All eyes swung to the Superintendent. ‘Wouldn’t that let you off the hook? It’s what you want, isn’t it? You want to run away just as you did from the Arnot decision. As soon as things get difficult that’s what you do.’

‘That’s not true,’ said Brébeuf.

‘You believe one of us is responsible for planting those stories in the paper, don’t you?’ Francoeur said, comfortable and in command, the natural, if not assigned, leader of the group.

‘I do.’

‘Voilà. See what he thinks of us?’

‘Not all, only one.’ Gamache stared back at Francoeur.

‘How dare you—’

‘That’s the second time you’ve asked me that and I’m tired of it. I dare because someone has to.’ He looked around the room. ‘The Arnot case isn’t over, you all know that. Someone in this room is continuing his work. Not quite to the murder stage, but it won’t be long. I know it.’