Kingdom of the Blind (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #14) Page 21

It was tragic and intentional. A fraud, a theft, committed not just over years but over lunches, dinners, weddings, bar mitzvahs, and christenings. As the adviser. The accountant. The manager. Got closer and closer to the family. All the while stealing from them.

  After all, who else could cheat you of everything except someone you never questioned?

  Gamache stared at the papers, then at the blank screen. Then looked around the comfortable study.

  Finally he got up.

  “Call Taylor and Ogilvy,” said Beauvoir, also getting to his feet, as did Agent Cloutier. “Find out what you can about Anthony Baumgartner. But be discreet.”

  “Yessir.”

  “And find out everything you can about Baumgartner’s own finances. His accounts, hidden or otherwise.”

  “Oui, patron.” Her voice was crisp, efficient. Excited.

  This she could do. And do well.

  Gamache followed Beauvoir back to the living room.

  When he’d been called away, Gamache had had one question he needed to ask. Now there were many.

  CHAPTER 25

  They stared at Chief Inspector Beauvoir as though he’d lost his mind.

  As though, like Gamache earlier in the day, he’d lapsed into a language that did not actually exist.

  “Tony?” said Adrienne. “Steal from clients?” She almost laughed. “Of course not.”

  She looked at Caroline and Hugo, who were also shaking their heads.

  “You didn’t know my brother,” said Caroline. “He could never do such a thing. He volunteered at a hospice, for heaven’s sake.”

  It was a non sequitur, though not altogether nonsense. Gamache knew the point she was trying to make.

  Only a terrible person would steal from clients. Her brother did a beautiful thing by volunteering in a hospice. Hence he was not a terrible person.

  It, of course, did not track. A shocking number of criminals were, in other areas of their lives, model citizens.

  “Monsieur?” Beauvoir turned to Hugo Baumgartner.

  Gamache was listening and watching. Paying close attention.

  “I could believe it of myself before I could believe it of Tony,” he said. “There’s absolutely no way he’d do anything unethical, never mind criminal.”

  “Out of interest’s sake.” Beauvoir turned back to Caroline. “Before he came out, did you know he was gay?”

  She shook her head, baffled by the change of topic.

  Beauvoir looked at Adrienne and Hugo, who also shook their heads.

  “Is it possible, then,” he said quietly, “you don’t know your brother as well as you thought?”

  Caroline’s cheeks reddened immediately, and Hugo looked, for the first time, angry.

  “It’s not the same thing,” said Hugo. “One is nature and has no effect on character. The other is choice. People choose to break the law. They don’t choose to be gay. Just because my brother was gay doesn’t make him a criminal.”

  “I wasn’t saying that, sir, and I suspect you know it,” said Beauvoir, keeping his voice steady, though with a slight inflection of annoyance. “The point I was making is that your brother was very good at keeping secrets. He led two private lives, why not two professional ones? And would you even know?”

  “Then why did you ask?” asked Adrienne.

  But Gamache knew the answer to that. Beauvoir asked because he knew that the answer would tell them more about the family than about the victim.

  Hugo glanced down the corridor. Then back at Beauvoir.

  “You found something in his study, didn’t you? Let me see. I can straighten you out. Explain anything that might look odd or incriminating.”

  Chief Inspector Beauvoir considered for a moment, then said, “Come with me.”

  They all did. Caroline leading the pack.

  “A moment, madame.” Beauvoir stopped her from entering the study.

  Going in first, he had a word with Agent Cloutier, who was on the phone. She nodded, then left the room.

  Caroline and Hugo entered with Beauvoir, but Adrienne stopped at the doorway, not realizing, perhaps, that Gamache stood behind her.

  This was Anthony Baumgartner’s private space. His sanctuary. The well-worn leather chair in front of the fireplace had taken on his form. There was the laptop on his desk. The books on the shelves. The photos of private family moments and of business triumphs.

  This room even looked like him. Elegant. Masculine. Comfortable. Slightly playful, with the orange shag rug.

  Watching her sag, Gamache was struck by how much this woman really did love this man. It was, he thought, the sort of intense love that could curve back on itself and turn to hate.

  “Is this all you have?” asked Hugo, pointing to the papers beside the laptop.

  “It is,” said Beauvoir, not cowed by the tone.

  “He was working on his clients’ accounts,” said Hugo. “That’s all.”

  “At home?” asked Beauvoir.

  “Well, it’s unusual,” admitted Hugo. “But you could just as easily conclude that he was hyper-responsible. Doing things for his clients in his own time. This isn’t evidence of any crime. Just the opposite.”

  “Why paper?”

  “Pardon?”

  “If he was working on a client’s statement, wouldn’t he do it on the computer?”

  “Some people prefer a printout,” said Hugo. “Especially those of us who are older. I often have spreadsheets printed out. Easier to study them.”

  “Spreadsheets yes,” said Beauvoir. “But not a statement. Is that fair?”

  Hugo shrugged. “We all have our systems. How you can look at these few pages and decide my brother was stealing, is . . . well, I have to say, unfair. He’s the victim. Not the criminal.”

  “Merci, monsieur,” said Beauvoir. “Now the laptop. Do you know his password?”

  The Baumgartners looked at each other and shook their heads.

  “The children’s names?” suggested Adrienne.

  “The house number?” said Caroline.

  Without realizing it, Beauvoir suspected they’d just given away their own codes.

  Once again Hugo was silent. But his eyes kept returning to the pile of statements.

  “I have a question,” said Gamache from the doorway, and he saw Adrienne startle at the sound of his voice behind her.

  “Your accounts.” He looked at Caroline. “Who has them now?”

  It was the question he’d wanted to ask for a while, and now he watched her closely.

  There was a long pause.

  “They’re with me, Chief Superintendent,” said Hugo.

  “Why did you really take your money from Anthony?” Gamache continued to look at Caroline. “You said it was because you didn’t want to mix family and business. That obviously wasn’t true.”

  “Hugo and I have always been closer,” she said. “It felt natural.”

  “And that would make sense if you’d started with Hugo, but you didn’t. Your money was first with Anthony, but something made you take it away from him. What was it?”

  His voice was reasonable. Not betraying the fact he’d just cornered her.

  “Anthony and I had a falling-out,” she said.

  “About what?”

  “Does it matter?” asked Hugo.

  “Do you know why she moved her money from your brother to you?” Gamache asked, turning his considerable attention to Hugo, who immediately regretted saying anything.

  “It was her decision. I had nothing to do with it. And I certainly didn’t poach her.”

  “That wasn’t my question,” said Gamache. Though it was an interesting answer.

  “Sir?”

  Agent Cloutier had returned. She was holding her phone to her palm, muffling any sound.

  “Not now,” said Beauvoir. “Wait for us in the living room.”

  “Yessir.”

  She left, holding the phone in front of her as though it might explode in her hands.

  “Now.�
� Beauvoir turned back to the Baumgartners. “Chief Superintendent Gamache asked you a question.”

  “I don’t know why the account was transferred to me,” said Hugo.

  “You didn’t ask?” asked Gamache. Then he turned to Caroline. “You didn’t tell him?” He stared at her. “Of course you did. We’re going to find out. Probably best we hear it from you.”

  “You tell him,” Caroline said to Hugo. “You can explain it.”

  “Fine.” Hugo took a deep breath. “It wasn’t a falling-out. That’s just what we told anyone who asked. Three years ago my brother had his license to trade suspended.”

  “Why?” asked Beauvoir.

  “The man he’d been having the affair with was the assistant to a senior partner. That assistant stole money from some clients. Tony caught it and told the firm. The money was put back, the assistant fired, and Tony was kept on, but they suspended his license.”

  “Why? If he’d done nothing wrong?”

  Beauvoir glanced at Gamache, who was quietly listening.

  “Exactly, Inspector,” said Adrienne. “Exactly what we thought. He’d done everything right, but still they came down on him.”

  “Why?” asked Beauvoir again.

  Hugo was shaking his head and shrugged. He was slouched over and looked less like a garden gnome and more like a gargoyle.

  “As with most things, it was political. Internal politics in his company. The partner didn’t want to be accused of using bad judgment in hiring the assistant, so they shifted the blame to Tony. Said it was gross negligence. That he’d given the assistant information on clients that he shouldn’t have.”

  “By having printouts at home?” suggested Beauvoir.

  “I don’t know. All I know is that they made an example of him.”

  “So he was punished?” asked Beauvoir.

  “Yes. After that his career was pretty much over, at least internally. He’d never be promoted to partner. Tony stayed on the accounts, but the trades were done by someone else in the firm. He’d done nothing wrong, but still they suspended and humiliated him.”

  Again Beauvoir glanced quickly at Gamache, to see his reaction to this. Then away.

  “And that’s why you moved your accounts?” Beauvoir asked Caroline.

  “I didn’t want to, but Anthony insisted. He thought they were better with Hugo, who could both advise and trade.”

  “And were they?” Gamache asked. Seeing the blank look on Caroline’s face, he clarified. “Better?”

  “I think so,” she said, glancing at Hugo.

  “My brother knew the market well, Chief Superintendent. The truth is, while I’m good, Tony was better. It was shitty that his license to trade was pulled.”

  “Did he see it that way?” asked Beauvoir. “Did he hold a grudge?”

  “No,” said Hugo. “He was grateful to the partners for being discreet. They could’ve made a public announcement. They could’ve fired him. I thought they were shits, but Tony was loyal.”

  “Merci,” said Beauvoir. “Was your brother in a relationship right now?”

  “Not that I know of,” said Caroline.

  “Do you know this Bernard’s last name?”

  They shook their heads.

  “The less I knew about him the better,” said Adrienne when Beauvoir turned to her.

  “Is there anything we should know? Anyone you can think of who might’ve wanted Monsieur Baumgartner gone?”

  They thought about that and again shook their heads.

  “You stayed behind with your brother after the reading of the will,” Gamache said to Hugo. “Is that right?”

  “Yes. We often had dinner together. Two bachelors. I brought the wine and Tony cooked.”

  He lowered his eyes, perhaps, Gamache thought, the reality of his brother’s death and all that had changed being brought home to him.

  “What did you talk about?”

  Hugo threw his mind back. In time it wasn’t all that long ago, but measured in events, it was an eternity.

  “We talked about Mom. About the Baroness. She was a one-off.” Hugo gave his pumpkin grin. “We talked about how much we miss her.”

  “I do too,” said Caroline.

  But her voice spoke more about herself than of any affection for her mother. About a need to be included and, perhaps more crucial, a fear of being left out. Left behind.

  “What time did you leave?” asked Beauvoir.

  “It was an early dinner. I was home by eight,” said Hugo.

  “Did he mention wanting to go to your mother’s house?”

  “No, though we talked about whether it should be saved or not. You think that’s why he went there?”

  “Could be,” said Beauvoir.

  He handed them one of his cards with the standard request that they call should they think of anything.

  Then he asked for their keys to the house.

  They looked surprised. Then not surprised. And handed them over.

  After the Baumgartners left, Beauvoir and Gamache joined Agent Cloutier in the living room.

  “She hung up,” said Cloutier. “But said I could call back when you were ready.”

  She made the call and handed the phone to Beauvoir.

  “Bonjour? Madame Ogilvy? This is Chief Inspector Beauvoir. I’m the head of homicide for the Sûreté du Québec. Yes, it is about Anthony Baumgartner.”

  He explained briefly what she would soon see in the news anyway. Then asked the question.

  “He had papers at home?” asked Madame Ogilvy. “Statements? Hard copies?”

  “Yes. Can you think why?”

  She paused before answering, “No.”

  “I think you can, madame. I’ll let you consider the question a little longer. Can we meet tomorrow morning? I’ll bring the statements and letters with me.”

  Before he hung up, Gamache touched his arm and whispered something.

  “One more question,” said Beauvoir. “Do you have any clients named Kinderoth?”

  “We have thousands of clients, Chief Inspector.”

  “Can you look it up?”

  “Our clients’ names are confidential.”

  “We can get a court order.”

  “I don’t mean to be difficult, but I’m afraid you’re going to have to.”

  Beauvoir rolled his eyes but could tell there was no arguing. If and when it became known that she’d given out confidential information, Madame Ogilvy would have to prove it was forced from her.

  Everyone covers their asses, Beauvoir knew.

  * * *

  “Seems there’s a lot of that going around,” said Beauvoir once they were back in the car.

  “What’s that?” asked his father-in-law.

  “Suspending people who’ve done nothing wrong. Shifting blame.”

  There was a slight grunt of amusement beside him.

  This was Jean-Guy’s form of apology. For being abrupt with Gamache. For allowing the man from the Ministère de la Justice, Francis Cournoyer, to get into his head.

  He now suspected that had been the whole purpose of the meeting. Everyone else, everything else, were all just props. Extras.

  The quiet man in the corner was the lead. And Beauvoir was the audience.

  He felt ashamed of himself for letting it happen. For even once believing that when Cournoyer had said, “Ask Gamache,” it was anything other than, as Isabelle had put it, a mindfuck in a public toilet.

  Gamache turned to him and smiled. “You do know that all the things I’m accused of doing, I did. I admitted it. Freely. But, unlike Monsieur Baumgartner, I’m not likely to keep my job.”

  Now it was Beauvoir’s breath that hung in the air. Hung in the silence.

  “What do you mean?”

  “When this suspension is lifted, I won’t be returning as Chief Superintendent.”

  “You can’t know that.”

  “I do. There can’t possibly be a head of the Sûreté who’s broken the law.”

  Beau
voir stared straight ahead and let that sink in. The heater, on full blast, had melted the frost off the windshield, and although he put the car in gear, his foot remained on the brake.

  “The fact Anthony Baumgartner kept his job,” said Gamache, “doesn’t mean he didn’t do it. It’s possible that young assistant took the fall for him. Not the other way around. Who are the partners more likely to protect? A young man barely starting out or a vice president of the company?”

  “And you?”

  “Me?”

  “Is there more happening than you’re telling me?” Beauvoir asked.

  Ask Gamache. Despite himself, Beauvoir had just done as Cournoyer suggested.

  “Where did that come from?” Gamache asked. “Is that what’s been bothering you? Has someone said something?”

  “Is there?”

  “If there is, I’m as much in the dark as you. This is political. We both know that. But how high up it goes and what the purpose is, I don’t know. What I do know is that it doesn’t matter.”

  “Doesn’t it?”

  “No. All that matters is getting the drugs back. That’s it. My punishment for releasing them goes far beyond anything a disciplinary committee can possibly do.”

  Jean-Guy could see that was true, and already happening. He could see the punishing weight of responsibility. Of guilt. Of fear.

  He could sense the anxiety growing to near panic as the Chief struggled to find the last of the drugs.

  It was evident in the lines at the mouth. Between the brows. The hands that even in casual conversation were clenched, as though in pain.

  That bullet’s left the barrel, C ournoyer had said. And now Beauvoir could see it had reached its target.

  “We’ll find it, patron

  “We have to.”

  It was said with cold determination, and Jean-Guy wondered at the lengths Gamache would go to to get the drugs back. But then he remembered their conversation. About Amelia Choquet. And he stopped wondering.

  “Home?” Beauvoir asked, pointing the car in the direction of Three Pines.

  “A home, for sure,” said Gamache. “But not ours quite yet.”

  * * *

  Half an hour later, they were at the Maison Saint-Rémy.

  The head nurse greeted them and invited the Sûreté officers into her office.

  “What can I help you with? You say you’re with the police?”