“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” said Judge Corriveau. “But the investigator didn’t know that Anton was related to Mom Boucher? Doesn’t seem possible to miss that.”
“It’s a common name,” said Gamache. “And the records had been deliberately obscured. We knew there had been corruption in the S?reté. Officials at all levels of the police, of government, were compromised. There was a reason we couldn’t get traction on fighting organized crime.”
“They were better organized,” said Beauvoir.
Corriveau smiled, then grew serious. “How did you know I wasn’t bought?”
“We didn’t. Frankly, we had to assume everyone was.”
They stared at each other, his eyes not quite so kindly.
“And the Crown?” she asked, turning to Monsieur Zalmanowitz.
“Our investigation showed the Crown’s office could have been compromised,” said Gamache.
Zalmanowitz turned to him. “You investigated me?”
“Of course we did. I had to be sure before approaching you.”
Now they were getting to it, Corriveau knew. The center, the core, of the issue.
“How did this”—she waved a finger between the two men—“come about?”
“I needed help,” said Gamache. “So I asked the Chief Crown for a meeting.”
“In Halifax,” said Zalmanowitz.
It took a lot to surprise Maureen Corriveau, but that did. “Nova Scotia?”
“Yes. We took separate flights and met at some dive on the waterfront,” said Zalmanowitz. “Though it did have great lemon meringue pie.”
“Really?” said Corriveau. “That’s what you remember?”
“It was very good,” said the Crown, smiling slightly at her annoyance. “I’ve never liked Monsieur Gamache. It’s not professional. It’s personal.”
“And it’s mutual,” said Gamache. “I considered him a preening coward—”
“And I think he’s an arrogant shithead. Désolé,” he said to Madame Gamache.
“But you both liked the pie,” she pointed out.
“As a matter of fact, it was the first thing we agreed on,” said Gamache, with a smile that threatened to split open his lip again. “I outlined what I was considering, and what would be necessary, and what I would need from him.”
“What did he need from you?” the judge asked the Crown.
“I think you know,” said Zalmanowitz.
“And I think you know that I need to hear it from you.”
“He asked that I suppress vital evidence that would compromise their investigation into the cartel. He needed the time and the distraction. He needed Anton Boucher to believe he was free and clear, and that the S?reté under Gamache’s leadership was incompetent.”
Barry Zalmanowitz sat back and placed his hands on the soft arms of the chair, much like Lincoln at the stone memorial.
“And I agreed.”
There. But unlike Abraham Lincoln, his was a self-assassination. And there would be no statues commemorating his service.
Barry Zalmanowitz knew that in cataloguing so clearly what he’d done, he was possibly placing himself in prison. Definitely ruining his career. Hurting his family.
But his actions had helped bring down the cartel. They’d finally broken the back of the traffickers. There was mopping up to be done, but the war on drugs had been won.
If he, and his career, and his name were casualties, well, people had suffered worse. And the fuckers who’d sold the drugs to his daughter wouldn’t ruin another young life.
Across from him, Gamache nodded, then did something that Zalmanowitz found unsettling.
He looked down at his hands, also bruised. A mark that looked like the sole of a boot clearly stamped across the swollen knuckles.
And Gamache sighed. Then he raised his eyes to Zalmanowitz and said, “Désolé.”
In the silence, the Crown could feel his cheeks tingling as they flushed, then went pale. As the blood rushed forward, then ran away.
“For what?” he asked quietly.
“I haven’t told you everything.”
Now Barry Zalmanowitz turned to stone. “What?”
“Anton Boucher did not kill Katie Evans.”
Zalmanowitz gripped the arms of the chair, in a sort of spasm.
“What’re you saying?”
“I lied to you. I’m very sorry.”
“Tell me what you’re saying.”
“You’re prosecuting the right person. Jacqueline killed Katie Evans.”
Zalmanowitz’s mind both froze and raced. Like a car chained to the wall. Spinning its wheels.
He was trying to understand these words. And trying to work out if this was good news, or a further disaster.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he finally got out. Not sure if that was the most pressing question, but it was the first out of the gate.
“Because I only completely trusted a small group of my own officers,” said Gamache. “Though I’d never have approached you if I’d had serious doubts.”
“But you did have doubts,” said Zalmanowitz.
“Yes. I had no proof that you were corrupt. But neither did I have proof that you weren’t.”
“So what made you approach me?”
“Beyond desperation? Your daughter.”
“What about her?” he asked, his voice, and his expression, filled with warning.
“Our son, Daniel, has had experience with hard drugs,” said Gamache, and Zalmanowitz’s eyes narrowed. This was news to him.
“So have I,” said Beauvoir. “Almost killed me. Almost destroyed the people I care most about.”
“We know what it does to a family,” said Gamache quietly. “And I thought if anyone would do anything to stop the trafficking, it would be you. So I took the chance, and approached you. But I knew that even if you were clean, that didn’t mean your department was.”
“You arrogant shithead.”
Gamache held his glare.
“If it helps, I didn’t trust my own service either. That’s why only a handful of officers knew what I was doing. The entire S?reté was involved, but each department, each detachment had a very small role. So small, none could see clearly what was happening. To the extent, as you know, that there was eventually open revolt. They also felt I was incompetent and didn’t flinch from saying it. But only a few saw the whole picture.”
Like Clara’s paintings, thought Beauvoir. Tiny dabs that in themselves were nothing. But when combined added up to something completely unexpected.
“You think that excuses it?” said Zalmanowitz. “Do you know what you’ve done? You made me betray all my training, all my beliefs. You made me lie and suppress evidence. You made me believe I was trying the wrong person for a capital crime. You know what that does to a person? To me?”
His clenched fist hit his breastbone so hard they heard the thump across the room.
“Do you regret what you did?” Gamache asked.
“That’s not the issue.”
“It’s the only issue, today,” said Gamache. “Yes, I led you to believe all those things, and yes, you did it. And because you did, we have the cartels across the nation on the run. Not just here, but across the country. The head of the largest syndicate in North America is dead, the other is in prison.”
“You played me for a fool.”
“No. I realized I’d been wrong about you, and that you’re not a coward. Far from it. You were and are a very brave man.”