A Great Reckoning Read online

  * * *

  “I’ve done nothing,” said Huifen, hurrying along the corridor. “I should have, but I didn’t. It’s Jacques I’m worried about.”

  “What did he do?” asked Nathaniel, running beside her.

  “It’s what he’s about to do that worries me.”

  “Where’re we going?” asked Amelia. “Wait. We have to have a plan. We can’t just run around looking for him.”

  “I do have a plan,” said Huifen, staring straight ahead of her as she half walked, half ran. “I think I know where he is.”

  “Where?”

  “The factory. The mock-up.”

  “Shit,” whispered Amelia. But she knew Huifen was probably right.

  Where else would the Golden Boy, disgraced, go but to the place that had defeated him? That had exposed his flaws, his faults.

  Where he had been killed. Over and over again.

  What was one more death?

  “Merde,” Amelia heard Nathaniel mutter.

  And they picked up their pace.

  * * *

  “Tell me,” said Armand.

  Like the ghost stories they’d once told on sleepovers, hoping to scare the merde out of each other, now Michel told his final story.

  But was the boogeyman real this time? Was he in the room with them? Not hiding under the bed or in a closet, but sitting in plain sight? Unspectacular and always human.

  “That first night, when he invited me back to his rooms, Leduc was talking about the new cadets, and not in glowing terms. But he said he knew how to fix them. After a few more drinks, he went into his bedroom and returned carrying a tray. There was something formal, ceremonial, about the way he held it in front of him. As a person might when handing out medals.”

  Gamache could see Leduc, short and powerful, walking across the room, his stubby arms out, holding the tray. Making his offering to his hero. Thinking Michel Brébeuf, of all people, would appreciate what he had done. What he was doing.

  “It was the last thing I expected to see,” said Michel. “An old revolver. But then I realized it wasn’t really old. The design was. Classic. But the gun itself was fairly new. I picked it up.”

  He mimicked weighing the weapon in his hand.

  “I’d never held one. Have you?”

  “Now, yes. But not before.”

  Before a bullet was put in Leduc’s brain.

  “Makes our service pistols seem puny. Though I know they’re actually far more effective.”

  “Depends on the effect you’re going for,” said Armand.

  “True. And the revolver was perfect for Leduc’s needs. He told me about the first time he’d handed it to a cadet. He’d had the revolver for a year but couldn’t bring himself to do it. Not because he felt it was wrong, he was quick to assure me, but because he was worried the cadet would tell someone. But then he realized he had to work up to it. To choose the right student. Not a weak one, as you might expect. Those he could already control. No. He went for the strongest. The ones who might not bend to his will.”

  Brébeuf thought for a moment, throwing his mind back to that night.

  “I didn’t know what he was talking about, and he could see that. Finally he came right out and told me. He had cadets play Russian roulette with that revolver.”

  He looked down at his hand, as though he still held the gun. And then he raised his eyes.

  “I came to your rooms that night, after I left Leduc. I wanted to tell you.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “I thought by our conversation that you already knew. When I asked what you were going to do about Leduc, you told me to worry about my side of the street, and you’d worry about yours. I took that as a sign that you knew what Leduc was doing. And intended to act.”

  Armand shook his head. “I only found out last night. I should’ve known earlier, but it honestly never, ever occurred to me someone could do that to the cadets. Not even a sadist like Leduc. But it does explain the revolver, and the special silencer he had made. In case.”

  “One bullet, placed in one chamber, and spun,” said Michel. “Only a revolver does that. When that wretched little man told me what he was doing, smiling all the time, I understood why you were here.”

  “Me?” asked Armand, surprised by the turn the conversation had taken.

  “I knew what you were planning to do. You came to the academy to get rid of Serge Leduc. You’d fired all the other corrupt professors, but kept him. Why? I asked myself. Because you had other plans for him. Something more permanent. So that he could never torture anyone else.”

  “But I told you, I didn’t know about the Russian roulette,” said Armand. “I wish I had. I wish they hadn’t gone through months of that, while I did nothing.”

  “You’d have found out eventually. You were digging. Trying to get something on him. And when you dug past the corruption to the real horror, then what? What would you have done?”

  Armand was silent.

  “You’d have confronted him, and then I think you’d have killed him. You’d have had to, to save the cadets.”

  “I could have arrested him.”

  “For what? He’d never admit it, and he had those poor cadets so confused, so disoriented, they don’t know up from down. They’d never admit to playing Russian roulette. Not while the Duke lived.”

  He watched Armand and could see the struggle. Brébeuf spoke softly now. Quietly. Almost in a whisper.

  “He had to die. He had to be killed. You’d have tried to find other options, as I did. But finally there would be no choice. You’d have visited him one night, asking to see the revolver. You’d have taken it and put bullets in the chamber, as he watched, mystified, trying to explain that you should only use one bullet. And then you’d have put it to his temple. And when it dawned on him what was about to happen, and he began pleading for his life, you’d have pulled the trigger.”

  The two men held each other’s eyes. The story had done the trick. It had horrified them both.

  “But the worst would be yet to come, Armand. Pulling that trigger on an unarmed man, executing him, would have killed you too. You’d have done the unthinkable, you’d have damned yourself to save the cadets. I couldn’t let that happen. So I did it for you. I owed you that.”

  * * *

  Deputy Commissioner Gélinas heard the footsteps before he heard the knock.

  Picking up his pistol, he stood in the middle of the bedroom he’d been assigned in the academy. A junior professor’s room, Gamache had explained. Apologizing. Bed, living room, kitchenette, all in one small space.

  But Gélinas’s needs, as it turned out, were simple. He enjoyed the fine dining and luxury hotels in Europe, but without the companionship of his wife, the pleasure was shallow and fleeting.

  He found all he really needed was a bed, a small bookcase, and a place to put the photo of Hélène, which now lay facedown on the table.

  She’d inspired him to be a better man than he actually was, and he wondered if she knew it. Knew what he was really like, beneath the layer of integrity, worn like a uniform.

  On Hélène’s death, there seemed no reason to keep it up. All the constraints fell away, and he was free. And he was lost.

  And now he stood there, in the little room, and raised the gun.

  “Deputy Commissioner Gélinas?” came Isabelle Lacoste’s voice.

  “Come in.”

  Isabelle Lacoste opened the door, and stopped. She thought for just a moment before turning and speaking to the agents behind her.

  Then she entered alone, closing the door behind her.

  “Give me the gun,” she said, holding out her hand.

  * * *

  “I think he might have a gun,” Huifen told Nathaniel and Amelia just as they reached the factory mock-up.

  “What?”

  “How?”

  “The Duke gave him one for his birthday.”

  The freshmen stared at Huifen.

  “And you knew?�� Amelia demanded.

  “I guessed. It didn’t seem strange. At the time.”

  Amelia understood. What seemed incredible now seemed normal then. Leduc had the ability to create an entire world, with its own rules and gravity. Nothing he did could be strange, because he decided what was normal.

  “Why didn’t you tell Gamache?” Amelia asked. “After Leduc was killed.”

  “I didn’t want to get Jacques into trouble. After the Duke died, I asked him if he had a gun and he denied it. I wanted to believe him.”

  “We have to assume he does,” said Amelia.

  They’d arrived at the tactical training area and looked at the closed door to the factory.

  “Shouldn’t we get a professor?” asked Nathaniel, glancing up and down the empty hallway.

  “While Jacques uses the gun?” asked Huifen. “You can go if you want to.”

  “Will he use it on us, do you think? Will he shoot at us?” asked Nathaniel.

  “Does it matter?” asked Huifen.

  “A little,” said Nathaniel.

  “No, I mean, will that stop you from going in?” She nodded to the door.

  He considered, then shook his head.

  Huifen looked at Amelia, who also shook her head and stared at the door.

  Four months ago, she was giving blow jobs in exchange for dope.

  Four months ago, Nathaniel was waiting tables in Old Montréal, for tips.

  Four months ago, Huifen held a gun to her own head.

  She reached out for the handle, while the other two stood side by side.

  Then she opened the door, and they moved forward.

  * * *

  “Give me the gun.”

  Brébeuf had gone to his liquor cabinet and poured them both large Scotches, but when he turned around, he held a glass in one hand and a pistol in the other. It was hanging lazily at his side, as though it was a napkin or stir stick.

  On seeing it, Armand slowly stood up.

  “Is it my turn now? Are you going to shoot me?”

  “Like when we played soldier, running all over Mont Royal?”

  “I thought we were on the same side,” said Gamache. “Back then. Give me the gun.”

  “I’ll give you the drink. You might need it.”

  * * *

  Gélinas stood in the middle of the room, his gun aimed at Isabelle Lacoste.

  “You were Serge Leduc’s partner, weren’t you?” she said, not asking but telling. Her voice was steady, calm, almost conversational. But the blush in her cheeks betrayed high emotion.

  “He was a moron,” he said. No use denying anything now. “But perfectly placed.”

  “To fix contracts. You must’ve made millions.”

  He gave one jerk of his head, in agreement. “It’s sitting in an account in Luxembourg. I made a mistake when I was talking to Gamache, didn’t I? I mentioned Luxembourg. I knew as soon as I’d said it that I’d said something stupid. It was too specific. And too true. I wasn’t sure if he caught it.”

  “He heard. But it just confirmed what he already suspected.”

  “When Leduc contacted me to say that Gamache was here and investigating the contract fixing, he panicked. But so did I. I knew Leduc wasn’t clever enough to outwit him. So I came back.”

  “To kill Leduc.”

  “Maybe. I don’t know.”

  The gun was by his side now, still clutched in his hand.

  “But I didn’t have to kill him. Gamache got there first.”

  “Non, not Monsieur Gamache,” said Lacoste.

  “Then who?” asked Gélinas.

  Once again, Lacoste put out her hand. As steady as her gaze.

  “There’re two armed Sûreté officers outside this room, as you know. It’s over. You’re guilty of theft, but not of murder. Give me your weapon, please.”

  And he did.

  CHAPTER 42

  The cadets raced through the factory silently. Taking stairs two at a time. Glancing into empty rooms before moving deeper and deeper.

  Huifen had the map of the factory memorized by now, after many failed attempts to end the mock hostage taking and capture the gunmen.

  She’d never been the officer in charge. That had always been Jacques. And it had always ended in disaster for the Sûreté. Hostage dead. Agents slain. Gunmen escaped. It was an impossible scenario, they knew. But Leduc had always told them, told Jacques, that he could do anything.

  And every time Jacques failed and had to report that to the Duke, the revolver would come out. Not as punishment, Leduc explained. But as a consequence. A teaching tool. For their own good.

  Now Huifen led her little team. The freshmen were baffled by her hand signals, so she kept it simple. And clear. And they moved carefully and swiftly forward.

  Finally she stopped and they regrouped.

  “I don’t think he’s here,” she said, looking around.

  “But if not here,” said Amelia, “where?”

  * * *

  “You shouldn’t be here,” said Jean-Guy, walking slowly into the room.

  He’d been going to Commander Gamache’s quarters, hoping to find him there, when he’d noticed that the Scene of Crime seal on Leduc’s door was broken.

  With his foot, he’d gingerly pushed the door open. His pistol was still on his belt, not yet drawn.

  There, in the middle of the room, stood Cadet Jacques Laurin. Holding a gun.

  “The hours I spent here,” Jacques said, looking around almost casually, as though he didn’t see the Scene of Crime tape and evidence markers. And blood spray. “I sat there.” He gestured with the pistol. “And the Duke would sit there. Just the two of us. He gave me this, you know. For my birthday.”

  Beauvoir looked at the automatic weapon. The same as the one on his belt. Police issue.

  “He said I’d be great one day. He said I’d be running the whole Sûreté. And he’d help me. Be my mentor, my patron. He said all great men need a patron.”

  “But you didn’t, did you?” said Jean-Guy, closing the door behind him. “You needed something else. Someone who genuinely cared. About you. And you thought you’d found it in Professor Leduc.”

  “I did find it,” snapped Jacques. “He cared.”

  “But then Commander Gamache arrived, and the world began to tilt,” said Jean-Guy. Not venturing forward, but staying where he was. “I understand.”

  “No you don’t.”

  “I do. The same thing happened to me, when I first met Monsieur Gamache. I thought I had the world figured out. Then everything I knew to be true, I started to question. And I hated him for it.”

  Beauvoir kept his eyes on Jacques. The young man had moved his gaze out the window.

  “But then the hate shifted,” said Beauvoir, speaking as though telling him a fable, a bedtime story. “I began to hate the very people I’d trusted. The ones who told me the world was filled with terrible people and that brutality was the same as strength. I’d learned to hit first, and hard, and fast.”

  “He did care,” said Jacques quietly.

  “On Professor Leduc’s orders, you joined Commander Gamache’s evening groups. To report back to the Duke. But there you learned something unexpected. People weren’t so bad after all.”

  Jacques stood defiant.

  “The world turned upside down,” Beauvoir continued. “It was at once more beautiful and more frightening than you’d been led to believe. And suddenly you didn’t know what to do. Who to trust. Where to turn. It’s terrifying. Being lost is so much worse than being on the wrong road. That’s why people stay on it so long. We’re too far gone, or so we think. We’re tired and we’re confused and we’re scared. And we think there’s no way back. I know.”

  Jacques didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge the words.

  Beauvoir searched his mind for something, anything, to say, to bring the boy back.

  “You saw the video?” said Beauvoir.

  There was a slight movement from Jacques, but still silence.

  “Commander Gamache never, ever talks about that day with anyone, except trusted family and friends. And even then, it’s rare. But he talked about it with you. He opened that wound, for you.”

  Jean-Guy Beauvoir watched the young man, who had suffered for years at the hands of a madman and could no longer recognize goodness. Could no longer even see it. What Jacques saw in front of him, all day, every day, was a wasteland.

  “When someone shoots at us, we return fire,” said Jean-Guy.

  Now Jacques did nod.

  “But it’s equally important that when someone is kind to us, we return that as well,” he said quietly. Careful. Careful not to scare the young man off.

  “It took me a very long time to come to that. The hatred I felt for Monsieur Gamache, and then for the others, shifted again, and I began to loathe myself.”

  “Do you still?” Jacques asked, finally turning from the window, from the wasteland. “Hate yourself?”

  “Non. It took a long time, and a lot of help. Jacques, the world is a cruel place, but it’s also filled with more goodness than we ever realized. And you know what? Kindness beats cruelty. In the long run. It really does. Believe me.”

  He held out his hand to the young man. Jacques stared at it.

  “Believe me,” Jean-Guy whispered.

  And Jacques did.

  * * *

  “How did you know it was me?”

  “The fingerprints,” said Gamache.

  “Huh,” grunted Brébeuf.

  “I knew they weren’t mine, and yet there they were. Which meant they’d been placed there. Not many could reproduce prints well enough to fool even the forensics team. Hugo Charpentier was one. And his mentor was another. You. You had to smudge every other fingerprint, including Leduc’s own, and leave just partials. Including yours. A nice touch. You had to make the investigators work for it. That’s what a great tactician does. He suggests. He doesn’t lead, he herds. From behind.”

  Michel Brébeuf didn’t disagree. Now it was his turn to be silent.

  They’d returned to their seats, the pistol lying on the chair beside Brébeuf. A large Scotch in front of each of them, untouched.

  “You say you killed Serge Leduc so that I didn’t have to. As a favor.”

  “An amend,” said Brébeuf.

  “And yet, you put my partial prints on the weapon. You implicated me.”

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