All the Devils Are Here

CHAPTER 21

“Oh, God,” said Annie, lowering herself into the armchair in her living room. “That feels better.”

She and Honoré had had their naps, then invited Daniel and Roslyn and the girls around for tea.

“Okay,” she said, looking at her brother. “What’s going on?”

“What do you mean?”

“Your answers to the investigator. Not very satisfactory.”

“She practically accused me, us, of killing Stephen for his money. That didn’t upset you?”

“She had to ask,” said Annie. “They’re legitimate questions. We know the truth.”

“Tell that to Dad. He piled on fast enough.”

“He was trying to save you, you asshole. Sorry, it’s the baby talking.” She placed her hand on her belly.

“Are you carrying the anti-Christ?” Daniel asked, and Annie laughed.

“Dad just wanted to give you another chance to say what everyone in that room, especially the cops, knew to be true. That corporations get away with murder.”

“Still, he could’ve let it go, but instead he deliberately made me look bad.”

“Really? You can’t believe that, you fuckhead.”

“The baby again?” asked Roslyn.

“No, that was all me,” said Annie. “You made yourself look bad, and while we’re on the subject, the baby wants to know how the hell you can afford that new apartment?”

“You want to know?” said Daniel, getting red in the face. His daughters looked over, and he took a deep breath to calm himself.

Lowering his voice, and making his tone friendly, he said, “It’s none of your business, but I’ll tell you anyway.” As he spoke, he ticked the points off on his fingers. “We saved up. I got a raise. Ros has a great job, and I get a favorable mortgage rate from my own bank. Satisfied?”

“I’m happy for you. For both of you. I really am. But you have to see that it looks suspicious. Why didn’t you tell the cops all this? It looks like you knew you were going to come into money when Stephen died. Dad was trying to help you.”

Daniel shook his head.

Honoré walked over to Daniel, offering his uncle the toy duck his godmother, Ruth, had given him when they’d left Québec.

When squeezed, it said “duck.” They thought. They hoped.

“Merci,” said Daniel, taking it. He squeezed it twice and Honoré laughed.

“I need to call work,” Daniel said, getting up.

She watched him leave the room, the phone to his ear.

Then Annie pulled out her own phone and made a call.

“I’m afraid you can’t come in, sir,” said the gendarme guarding the door to Stephen’s apartment.

“Is it possible to speak to the agent in charge?” asked Gamache.

“He’s busy.”

Beauvoir was about to say something, but Gamache stopped him. Bringing out his wallet, he handed the agent his card.

“Do you mind giving him this, please?”

The cop glanced at it. Unimpressed. A lowly chief inspector, from Québec.

“Un moment,” he said and swung the door shut in their faces.

“Well,” said Beauvoir, “this’s humbling. For you.”

Gamache smiled. “Humility leads to Enlightenment, Grasshopper.”

“Well, you are brilliant, patron.”

The door was opened a moment later and a plain-clothed officer in his mid-forties stood there.

“Désolé,” he said, putting out his hand. “Inspector Juneau, Stefan Juneau.”

“Armand Gamache. This’s my former second-in-command, Jean-Guy Beauvoir. He now works in Paris.”

“For us?”

“No, for a private company.”

“A security firm? SecurForte?”

“No, GHS Engineering.”

“Ah, oui?” said Juneau, walking into the apartment as they followed. “Out at La Défense?”

“Yes.”

Juneau stopped in the hall. “Commander Fontaine filled me in on what happened last night and this morning.” He dropped his voice. “Please forgive Agent Calmut. He’s young and, frankly, just a little stupid. I’m having him flogged as we speak. How can I help?”

Gamache could actually see the young officer going through the pile of books flung onto the floor.

“We’d like to take a look around the apartment, if you don’t mind. I know it well. It might be some help to you.”

“Absolutely. Are you looking for something in particular?”

“Not really. I was here earlier, but I thought it might be helpful to come back. Get a better look. Have you spoken to the neighbors yet?”

“Yes. No one heard or saw anything. The concierges are next on my list.”

Gamache and Beauvoir were given gloves and the freedom to roam the apartment.

“It looks worse now than this morning,” said Beauvoir as they picked their way through the mess in the living room.

Beauvoir watched as his father-in-law took several photos of the room, then moved aside a chair to get at a large oil painting. Leaning it against the wall, he stared at it. Then he turned it around and looked at the brown paper, slashed to expose the canvas behind.

Another painting was examined, the front and back photographed by Gamache.

“We did wonder if the intruder found something hidden behind the paintings,” said Juneau, joining them.

“I don’t think so,” said Gamache as he put a Rothko back on the wall.

“Why not?” asked Juneau.

“Because the intruder kept searching after he’d slashed them,” said Beauvoir.

He pointed to the remaining art on the floor. Some almost hidden beneath splayed books and pillows.

“Good point,” said Juneau. Though he didn’t sound so happy that the Québec guy had seen it and he hadn’t.

Gamache spent the next few minutes digging out the paintings, photographing them, and replacing them on the wall.

Juneau walked over to Beauvoir. “Is he okay?”

Gamache was just standing there, staring at the paintings.

“Ça va, patron?” asked Beauvoir.

“Yes, yes,” said Gamache. “Everything’s fine.”

Though he sounded distracted. Not exactly upset, but definitely preoccupied as he returned to the art.

Then he looked at his watch and turned abruptly. “I’m afraid I haven’t been any help. I can’t see that anything’s missing.” He stripped off the gloves and held out his hand to Juneau. “We need to be going. Thank you for your understanding.”

“Thank you, Chief Inspector.”

“If the backs of the paintings were slashed, that means the intruder thought something was hidden there,” said Beauvoir as they left. “Papers. Documents.”

“I agree,” said Gamache. “The paintings are important.”

Annie Gamache was staring out their apartment window at the Tour Eiffel in the distance.

Daniel, Roslyn, and the girls had left, and Honoré was sitting at his little table having applesauce.

Her hands rested naturally, protectively, on her belly. On her baby. Their daughter.

She dropped her eyes to the fromagerie across the street. At least soon she’d be able to eat all the cheese. And she planned to.

Then she stood up straighter.

There he was. She’d spotted him earlier and now there he was again. The man. Looking up. At the window. At her. There was no mistaking it this time.

She grabbed her phone, but by the time she brought up the camera he was gone.

Just then her phone rang. It was the office returning her call.

Annie listened, interrupting only once to ask, “Are you sure?”

Hanging up, she sank into a chair.

From across the room came the sound of Honoré’s squeeze toy. Saying what they all feared and suspected.

“I agree,” she said to him. “This’s all ducked up.”