All the Devils Are Here (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache, #16)

by Louise Penny

Life can be cruel, as you know. But it can also be kind. Filled with wonders. You need to remember that. You have your own choice to make, Armand. What’re you going to focus on? What’s unfair, or all the wonderful things that happen? Both are true, both are real. Both need to be accepted. But which carries more weight with you?” Stephen tapped the boy’s chest. “The terrible or the wonderful? The goodness or the cruelty? Your life will be decided by that choice.”

“I know what you know, that old wounds run deep. They can fester. You see it in others, but miss it in your own son.” Armand felt a spike of anger, but recognized it for what it was. Pain. And below that, fear. He’d mended the wounds with his oldest child. Years ago. He was sure of it. Hadn’t he? “What’re you saying?”

“When we first sat down, you said that Hell is empty and all the devils are here. What did you mean?” “It’s one of my favorite quotes, you know that,” said Stephen. And Armand did. Stephen loved to use the lines from The Tempest to unnerve business rivals, colleagues. Friends. Strangers on planes.

“What happens if I find something’s wrong?” “You come to me.” “How do I know the—how did you put it?—crack in the teacup didn’t come from higher up? It often does, you know. Start there.”

“It speaks to Horowitz’s character. You might not want to see it, and I don’t blame you, sir, but that’s who your godfather is. All his life Stephen Horowitz has betrayed friends in exchange for freedom. He betrays colleagues in exchange for wealth. It’s how he stayed alive. It’s how he got to Canada. It’s how he made his billions.”

Yes, it was far more important he be a great father than a good son.

It was a city of façades. Of beauty, both obvious and obscure. Of heroism, both obvious and obscure. Of dreadful deeds, both obvious and obscure.

“Is that such a good idea, sir,” asked Irena Fontaine. “To take everything?” Claude Dussault smiled at her as he replaced items in the box. “We’ve been through it, more than once, and didn’t find anything. It’s possible Monsieur Gamache will. And I suspect he’d notice if anything’s missing. Even this.” He held up a screw, then dropped it into the box.

She was a protégé of the Prefect. They were obviously close, professionally, but this sharing of scents seemed a little beyond that. “Oh, yes. Claude doesn’t wear it all the time, thankfully. Only when they’re going to meet.” Reine-Marie stared at Monique. Didn’t she see how convenient this was? If Claude came home after this “meeting” smelling like his younger, female second-in-command, there would be no suspicion.

Returning to his laptop he clicked on the link the GM of the George V had sent, to access the tapes from the hotel cameras. They’d been edited, almost certainly by SecurForte. To hide something or someone.

“Hell is the truth seen too late,” said Reine-Marie as she poured out more coffee. “Thomas Hobbes.”

Armand read, then looked up. “What are you thinking?” “That GHS is using SecurForte to spy on other corporations.” “And Stephen found out. It’s possible.”

Having afternoon tea with the head of an engineering giant was hardly a crime. But he was the Prefect of Police for Paris. And GHS appeared up to its neck in this business. The business of murder. Attempted murder. And whatever it was Stephen had discovered. Besides, when asked directly if he knew the CEO, Claude Dussault had denied it. He’d looked Gamache in the eye and lied.

“The Helm of Awe,” Reine-Marie read, “is an ancient Norse symbol of protection and overwhelming might.”

When Daniel was out of sight, Armand raised trembling hands to his face and wept. For all the pain he’d caused. For all those hours, days, years they’d lost. For the happy, safe, contented little boy who’d died on the stairs that Christmas Eve, waiting for Père Noël.

“No, not the Gestapo. Common mistake. Many of the documents even from the time say Gestapo, but it was actually a division called the Abwehr that occupied the Lutetia,” said Madame Lenoir. “Who were they?” “Intelligence. As bad as the Gestapo. Their job was to wipe out the Resistance. They’d arrest suspected members, take them to a room in the Lutetia, and torture them until they gave up others. Then kill them and move on. Many, most, died without a word.”

didn’t join Task Force Two because I wanted to be there for my family. For you. I didn’t want you to go through what I did. But I did agree to train them, and I am so, so sorry that wasn’t clear. This’s my fault and I’m sorry for all the pain I’ve caused you.” “I don’t care anymore. You’re twenty-five years too late.” Armand nodded. “Oui.” The truth, too late.

“They killed that Plessner man and tried to kill Horowitz. It was a shit show. And now they’re scared. They see you as a threat. They told me to scare you off.” “And if that doesn’t work?” “They’ll come after you. And maybe even your family. You moved them to the George V. That was unexpected. I think my bosses will take time to consider what that means and what to do next. They’re ruthless, but they’re not stupid. Killing you and your family in the George V would create far more problems than it would solve, but they’ll still do it, if cornered. You’ve bought a little time. But not much.”

What did that do to a sensitive child? To live with such anticipated grief? Daniel’s only hope, the only way to survive, was to get it over with. To emotionally “kill” his father and get on with life. Get on with loving those who would not leave him. It was a brave, a brilliant solution. With one flaw. Once dead, how could he possibly bring his father back to life?

“What a shame,” said the curator. “Someone must’ve come in while Monsieur Horowitz was away from Paris, and methodically replaced originals with copies. Probably done over time. I’ve never seen anything like it. What a loss. Did the dead man surprise the forger, do you think?”

At office now. We were right. Armand typed. Same here. “His whole collection is fake?” asked Reine-Marie, eyes wide. “Even the ones in Montréal? All of it stolen? What happened to it?”

“I don’t think those paintings were stolen,” he said, leaning close to her and keeping his voice low. “I think Stephen sold them.”

“Right. Stephen and Plessner were playing financial Jenga. Pulling out tiny pieces of companies one at a time. He was a wily one.”

“Six weeks ago Stephen wired huge amounts into his bank account here in Paris. The funds were frozen, of course, following the anti-money-laundering laws. But they’d be available to him as of tomorrow morning.”

“The money’s in the Banque Privée des Affaires.”

think you’re right. Stephen miscalculated. As soon as they threatened him with that file, he knew he had to be more careful. Which was why when he came to Paris he stayed at the George V. Laid low.”

“We think Stephen went to the company and told them, or hinted at, what he’d discovered,” said Armand. “Demanded they stop whatever it is, and that he get to speak to the board. Whatever it is, it’s enough to ruin them. So they had to stop him.” “They thought they could blackmail him into silence,” said Reine-Marie. “When that didn’t work…” They all knew what happened next.

“Is that what they’re trying to cover up?” said Reine-Marie. “Not that they found the minerals, but what they’re doing with it? And that’s what Stephen and Monsieur Plessner found out?” “I think so,” said Jean-Guy. “But when we went to GHS, Loiselle interrupted us.”

“Oh, I have some idea.” He stared at Dussault with undisguised disgust. “I saw the security video. You tried to have it erased, but they missed some. You were in the George V Friday afternoon, with Thierry Girard. You met with Eugénie Roquebrune. You’re running SecurForte, with Girard once again your second-in-command. You ordered the killing of Stephen and Monsieur Plessner. You’re the one who’s behind all this.”

“I think it went far beyond denial,” said Gamache. “I think by the time the train went off the rails, whatever caused it had already been built into all sorts of things, all over the world. Hundreds, thousands, hundreds of thousands, maybe millions of things. Some would never cause a problem, but some would.

And to issue a recall would be ruinous.” “So they turned a blind eye?” said Judith de la Granger. “Knowing what would happen? That thousands would be killed?”

After Daniel left, he turned the painting around and saw Arlette’s writing. For Armand, with love. Bringing out a pen he carefully added two words, so that it now read, For Armand, my son, with love.