“Are reviews that important?”
“To Kapoor or Twombly, no. To someone just starting out, a first show, they’re crucial. Which reminds me, I saw the wonderful reviews of Clara’s show. We couldn’t make the
“Are Clara’s paintings better than these?” Gamache indicated the dossier.
“They’re different.”
“
Therese considered for a moment. “You know, I say they’re different, but they have one big thing in common. They’re both quite joyous, in their own way. How lovely if that’s where art’s heading.”
“Why?”
“Because it might mean that’s where the human spirit’s heading. Out of a period of darkness.”
“That would be good,” agreed Gamache, picking up his dossier. But before he rose he looked at Therese, then made up his mind.
“What do you know about Chief Justice Thierry Pineault?”
“Oh, God, Armand, don’t tell me he’s involved?”
“He is.”
Superintendent Brunel took a deep breath. “I don’t know him personally, only as a jurist. He seems very straight, upstanding. No blemishes on his judicial record. Everyone has their stumbles, but I haven’t heard anything against him as a sitting judge.”
“And off the bench?” pressed Gamache.
“I’d heard he liked his drink and could get pretty nasty at times. But then, he had reason to. Lost a grandson, or was it a little girl? A DUI. He quit drinking after that.”
Gamache got up and helped clear the table, carrying the tray into their kitchen. Then he made for the door. But there he paused.
He’d been debating saying anything to Therese and Jerome. But if there was ever a time, it was now. And if there was ever a couple, it was them.
As they stood on the threshold, Gamache slowly closed the door and looked at them. “I have another question for you,” he said quietly. “Nothing to do with the case. It’s about something else.”
“The video of the attack,” he said, watching them closely. “Who do you really think released it onto the Internet?”
Jerome looked perplexed, but Superintendent Brunel didn’t.
She looked angry.
TWENTY-TWO
Therese led them back into the apartment, away from the door, and away from the open French windows. Into the dim center of the room.
“There was an internal investigation,” she said, her voice low and angry. “You know that, Armand. They discovered it was a hacker. Some kid who found the file and probably didn’t even know what it was. That’s all.”
“If it was some kid with dumb luck why haven’t they found him?” Gamache asked.
“Leave it for the investigators,” she said, her voice softer now.
Gamache considered the two people in front of him. An older man and woman. Creased, worn.
But then, so was he.
Which was why he’d warned Beauvoir away from looking further. Why he hadn’t quietly assigned this to any of his other hundred agents. Any one of them would have gladly dug deeper.
But what would they find buried there?
No, best to do it himself. With the help of two people he trusted. And the Brunels had one other, outstanding, qualification. They were nearer the end than the beginning. As was he. The end of all their careers. The end of all their lives. If they lost either now, they’d still have lived fully.
Gamache would not put a young agent on this case. He would not lose another one, not if he had a choice.
“I waited for the report of the internal investigation,” he said. “I read it, and spent two months studying it, thinking about it.”
Superintendent Brunel considered carefully before asking the question she really didn’t want the answer to. “And what did you conclude?”
“That the investigation was flawed, perhaps even intentionally. In fact, almost certainly intentionally. Someone inside the Surete is trying to cover up the truth.”
There was no use pretending otherwise. That was what he believed.
“What makes you say that?” Jerome asked.
