The Madness of Crowds

CHAPTER 27

Isabelle Lacoste turned her car around.

Within twenty minutes she was again talking to Édouard Tardif.

She showed him the image Beauvoir had sent from the video and saw him squint, raise his brows, then shake his head.

“Who’s that?” he asked.

“You know who that is.”

“I don’t. Never seen him before.”

Lacoste placed her phone on the table, angled so that it looked like Vincent Gilbert was staring at Tardif.

“Is he your accomplice? Did he set off the firecrackers?”

Tardif shook his head and repeated, “I’ve never seen him before.”

“How well do you know Vincent Gilbert?” Gamache asked.

His phone had buzzed with the message from Beauvoir. He’d glanced down just long enough to take it in.

“Dr. Gilbert?” said Abigail Robinson. “I hadn’t met him before last night.”

“But you knew of him? You even compared him to Ewen Cameron. An infamous, even notorious, doctor and researcher.”

Abigail gave a single snort of laughter. “I did, didn’t I.”

“Why?”

“It just came out. I was angry. It’s the worst thing any researcher can be accused of. Being as morally bankrupt, as cruel as Cameron. Are you familiar with his work?”

“Yes.”

“Then you know.”

“What I don’t know is whether you believe Vincent Gilbert is also morally bankrupt.”

“What’s this got to do with Debbie’s death?”

“You had a heated argument with someone. Then, less than an hour later, your friend and assistant is killed in what looks like a failed attempt on your life. Questions must be asked. And answered.”

“You think Gilbert tried to kill me?” Her astonishment was real. “We had a disagreement, but I can’t believe he’d go that far.”

“Your final words to him sounded like a warning. A threat. You said that you know. What do you know about Vincent Gilbert?”

“I know how sensitive our egos are. Scientists might seem rational, but we’re among the most fragile people in the world. Maybe because most of us never learned to control our emotions, so we’re always at their mercy. I wanted to push his big, bloated ego over the edge. I wanted to hurt him back. And there’s no better way than comparing him to Cameron.”

“Or maybe when you said, ‘I know,’ what you meant was that you know he was at your talk the other day.”

With that, he saw something interesting. Not Abigail Robinson’s surprise—she didn’t seem to care. But Chancellor Roberge did.

“Why do you think Gilbert was at Professor Robinson’s talk the other day?” Gamache asked Colette as she walked him to his car.

He wanted to get her alone, figuring he had a better shot at the truth away from Abigail.

Snow was coming down thicker now. But while it was heavy, it was also gentle. Like feathers out of a broken pillow.

The world seemed muffled. Quiet, quiet. Except for the soft crunching of their boots.

“How should I know? I barely know the man.”

“Now, that’s not true, is it.” He stopped to look at her. The Chancellor’s cheeks were rosy. Probably from the cold. Maybe from something else. “You withheld information from me last night. You failed to say you and Vincent Gilbert sat on the same board.”

“So? I sit on a lot of boards but don’t know the other members well.”

“This particular one is LaPorte, an organization created to protect men and women with Down syndrome.”

“True. I didn’t think it mattered.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Colette. Of course it matters.”

“All right, that was a mistake. I didn’t want to tell you because I knew you’d read more into it than is there.”

“Like?”

“That Vincent and I are colluding. That we have a shared agenda. That we’ve taken our desire to protect people with Down syndrome to insane lengths and might even be involved in the attempts on Abigail’s life. That we’re some sort of secret assassination society.”

“Well, with the exception of that last part, you have to admit, it’s not exactly a stretch.”

They’d begun walking again toward his car.

“That I’d kill—” she started to say, her voice raised, then she looked around and lowered it. “That I’d kill someone? You don’t really believe that, Armand.”

“The only one I know for sure didn’t kill Debbie Schneider is me.” He paused to consider. “And maybe Reine-Marie.”

Her snort of laughter came out in a stream of vapor that incinerated the young flakes in its path.

“I know you have to consider everyone, it’s your job. But don’t waste your time on me. I didn’t do it.”

“But maybe Vincent Gilbert did. How well exactly do you know him?” On seeing her rosy cheeks get redder, a thought struck him. He stopped again and turned to her. “Wait a minute, Colette. Are you two involved?”

She took a deep breath, then glanced toward the house.

“No. Were we attracted to each other? Yes. In an intellectual way. He’s brilliant and unconventional, and it’s stimulating to be around him. But there was never anything physical.”

“A meeting of the minds, not the body?” he said.

“Yes.”

“You also lied when you said Abigail was an only child.”

“Non, you said that and I didn’t disagree.”

He cocked his head. “You’re better than that. Are you really going to hide behind some technicality?”

“The loss of Maria was years ago and private to the family. I couldn’t see how it could matter.”

“Then why not tell me?”

“I should have. I’m sorry.”

“What else aren’t you telling me? Now’s the time.”

“Nothing. There’s nothing more to say.”

They’d started walking again and had reached his snow-covered car.

“You’ve been very careful up to now to tread a fine line,” he said. “Or, really, to stand on the fence. But I need to know. Do you support Professor Robinson or not?”

“I won’t tell you that, Armand.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m the Chancellor of a university and my personal and political views need to remain private so I don’t influence any student or staff.”

“That sounds to me like you support her. And yet…”

“Oui?” she said.

He’d handed her a brush, and was using one himself to clear snow off his side of the car.

“And yet,” he said, stopping to look at her, “I can’t believe you would support such a terrible proposal. What amounts to mass murder.”

“But you think I’m capable of one murder? So I’m either on Abigail’s side, and happy to support mass murder, or I’m against her, and involved in only one murder. An improvement, I suppose. What a mind you have, Armand. I respect you, but I don’t envy you. Living with that view of humanity.”

He started again to sweep the rest of the snow off the windows and roof.

“Not all of humanity. Just a select few. Be careful, Colette. I’m not the only one paying attention.”

As he drove away, he looked in the rearview mirror. Colette Roberge was standing on the path, watching him. And behind her, unseen by the Chancellor, Abigail Robinson was at the window. Watching.