Penny, Louise - All the Devils Are Here

“Dad!” shouted Daniel, but Loiselle turned the weapon on him.

“Come on, kid. Do it.” Then he turned back to Gamache. “That’s for making me look like an asshole in front of my team.”

“Okay,” said Girard, reaching out to stop Loiselle from taking it further, while Dussault watched from the sofa, amused. “What happened?”

Loiselle described Gamache’s escape from the archives, and heard the Prefect laugh.

“Admit it, Loiselle, he got the better of you.”

Gamache, on one knee, struggled to his feet, holding the side of his head. His hair matted with blood. “It wasn’t difficult.”

“You fucker.” Loiselle started forward again.

“All right,” said Dussault, like a grandfather calming a child who’d had too many sweets. “More important things now.”

He went back to reading. Armand watched Dussault closely. Putting his hand in his pocket, he felt the gun there.

But it wasn’t time yet. Almost. Almost. But not quite.

Instead, he brought out his handkerchief and pressed it to his head.

“Did you find the Arbour woman?” Girard asked.

“She was hiding in the museum,” reported Loiselle, bringing himself under control. “I took care of her.”

“And the others?”

“In the subbasement.”

“How many?”

“Three bodies. So far. The commander’s there overseeing the wet work.”

Three, thought Gamache. Arbour. Two others. Who’d escaped? Lenoir? De la Granger?

Pinot?

“They were unarmed,” Gamache said, glaring at Loiselle. “Hiding. No threat to you. Is it just a game to you? Hide-and-seek? Is that it? Like Daniel here used to play? Right here in this apartment. Remember, Daniel?”

Daniel, in a daze, nodded. Not sure why his father shot him such an intense look.

“When you have children of your own, young man,” Gamache said to Loiselle, his voice now uncommonly mild, “and they play hide-and-seek with you. Remember this day. Remember what you did.”

“Ah, you’re back,” said Claude Dussault. “Good.”

Their eyes shifted to the door.

Alain Pinot walked in. A little rumpled, but not as dead as he might have been.

Seeing his father’s expression, Daniel said, “Dad, what’s happening? Who is this?”

“Go on,” said Dussault. “Tell him.”

Gamache was staring at Pinot, glaring at him. “This’s the piece of merde who betrayed Stephen.”

“You know, I’m not sure I’ve ever heard you swear, Armand,” said Dussault. Then he turned to Pinot. “You better hope he’s never in a position to get at you. I doubt you’d survive.”

“Alain Pinot owns Agence France-Presse, Daniel,” said Armand. “He’s on the board of GHS Engineering. He’s behind all this.”

“Well, I had some help,” said Pinot. “Including from Stephen himself.”

“He came to you with his suspicions,” said Gamache.

“He did.”

“He trusted you,” said Armand. “And you betrayed him. Ordered him and Plessner killed.”

“No. I handed those decisions over to my security company.” He nodded to Girard. “I had nothing to do with it.”

“He’s the one Stephen approached?” asked Daniel. “To buy his seat on the board?”

“Yes,” said Armand.

“I see the evidence was in that file after all.” Pinot nodded toward the dossier.

Dussault held it up. “All here. Memos, emails, notes in the margins of schematics. Reports by accident investigators, suppressed of course. Damning, to say the least.”

“And you brought it here, knowing what we’d do with it,” said Pinot. “I doubt your godfather would’ve approved. He was willing to die to protect it, and you just hand it over. If I betrayed him, so did you. Good thing you weren’t in the Resistance, Armand. You’d have given them all away.”

“What makes you think you won’t end up in some Parisian landfill?” Gamache asked him. “Just another piece of toxic waste.”

“Because I hold the purse strings. Those hundreds of millions Stephen paid me for the seat on the board.” On seeing Gamache’s raised brows he smiled. “Yes. He actually gave me the money on the understanding that when we met this morning, I’d sign over the board seat. Like you, he had no idea what was actually happening.”

“Are you so sure?” asked Gamache.

“Well, he’s dying, and you and your son are standing here at gunpoint. This can’t be going according to plan.”

“True. But neither is it going according to your plan. I did suspect you, but hoped I was wrong.”

“That’s bullshit,” said Pinot. “You never suspected me.”

“I did, you know. Why do you think I asked Madame Lenoir to lock you in the basement?”

“Now this is interesting,” said Girard, who clearly had little time for Alain Pinot. “What gave him away?”

“The attack on Stephen Friday night,” said Gamache, speaking directly to Pinot. “Someone had to know where he’d be. He was very careful. He knew he’d be targeted, which was why he wasn’t staying here, in his own apartment. But someone found out he’d be at Juveniles. You. You were the one he met for drinks earlier Friday evening. In his agenda he’d written AFP. Stands for Agence France-Presse, but they’re also your initials. That confused us for a while. We thought AFP stood for Alexander Francis Plessner. And those notes he made, with dates? They were ones he asked you to look up from your files.”

“True,” said Pinot.

“But of course, you told him you found nothing. And that was your mistake. Stephen knew there was something there. That’s when he, too, began to suspect you.”

“Impossible,” said Pinot. “I’d have known. When we met Friday afternoon, he was his usual self. I’d asked him to bring the evidence with him so that I could see it before committing.”

“And did he?”

“Well, no. He said he’d left it here, in his apartment.”

Gamache gave him a contemptuous look.

“Just an old man’s memory lapse? You really are a fool.” Gamache turned to Girard. “Is that when the wheels started coming off your plans? Was he supposed to have an unfortunate accident leaving his meeting with Pinot? But when he didn’t bring the evidence, you had to scramble.” He turned back to Pinot. “Did Stephen tell you about his dinner plans? No, I doubt he’d do that. So how did you know? His agenda?”

“I saw it there,” said Pinot.

“What did you do then?” Armand sounded calm, but his mind was whirring. Trying to keep them engaged, trying to stay one step ahead. “Wait, don’t tell me. You came to the apartment, thinking Stephen would be here, changing for dinner. You could force the evidence out of him, then kill him. But once again, things didn’t go to plan. Instead of Stephen, you ran into Plessner. But …” His mind skidded to a halt and changed direction. “… No, I have that wrong, don’t I?”

He turned to Daniel. “Girard here couldn’t have come to the apartment because he was in the George V, having tea with you”—he looked at Dussault—“and the head of GHS Engineering.”

Girard’s eyes narrowed and his lips compressed. But Dussault looked almost amused.

“I told you it was a mistake to underestimate him.”

“Did Madame Roquebrune want to know why your operation was such a dog’s breakfast?” Gamache asked.

“No, not that exactly. She didn’t want any details, just that it was being handled.”

“But it wasn’t. In fact, it was about to get even worse,” said Gamache. “You didn’t find the evidence, one of your operatives shot Plessner, making it impossible to claim accident, and then your attack on Stephen was bungled. Must’ve been some pretty stressful hours, sitting there with me in the hospital. Is that why you hung around? To see what I knew?”