Page 136 of The Grey Wolf
Shona was raised in a crack house. Her mother was an addict and prostitute. But also a loving and protective mother. She’d poured all her goodness, all her considerable love, into the child.
She’d shielded her daughter from an often cruel world.
But the world had knocked on their door that day in the form of Armand Gamache, and had removed the only love the child knew.
Shona never saw her mother again.
He tried to justify the damage by saying he was not the one who did it. Shona’s mother had, when she’d killed her dealer. But she was herself so badly damaged, she was not responsible either.
“I need your help.”
Those same eyes stared at him now. Well, almost. Now the wonderment was gone, contempt in its place.
“I’m going to tell you something,” he said. “I have, in a safe in the basement of my home, files on people I’ve investigated.”
He saw her eyes light up, and she moved her phone closer to him. But like any good investigator, she did not interrupt. She let him talk.
And he did. Slowly, clearly. Without ambiguity. For the recording. For the record.
“These are people who were witnesses, some suspects, but found to be not responsible for the crime we were investigating. Mostly murders, of course. Before you ask, I don’t have a file on you.”
She did not look convinced.
He couldn’t blame her.
She was so attached to the narrative that Chief Inspector Gamache was a horrific human being, misusing his considerable power, that she could not see beyond it.
“The files contain things people have told me over the years, and sometimes things we found out in the course of our investigation. Things that turned out not to have a bearing on the murder itself. Some petty crimes. Shoplifting. Some drug offenses. Mostly, though, they were mistakes, lapses in judgment. Acts and events they were ashamed of. Bullying. Affairs. Lies. Acts of moral or physical cowardice. But still, things that could do considerable damage to their personal and professional lives.”
Gamache looked down at his hands, then up into those gleaming brown eyes.
“A few people know about those files, but not many. These’re not classified. They’re not illegal. Though a case could be made that a senior officer keeping files at home on individual citizens is not only unethical, but frightening. A case could be made by you.”
He held her eyes. She looked, in that moment, like the wolf in the woods at the monastery. Preparing to rip his throat out.
“If the public finds out and it’s spun a certain way, I’ll be fired and probably sued. The case would not stand up, but I would be ruined.”
He took a deep breath. There was no going back now. He could see she was excited by this, but also perplexed. Why had he just handed her weapons-grade information?
“If they’re so dangerous, why do you have them?”
“Well, another question could be, why files on those particular people and not others?”
“Okay, if you prefer, that question.”
“These are people who, while not guilty of the crime we were investigating, are far from innocent. I think, I believe, I feel they’ll do something terrible one day. Perhaps already have. I saw it in them.”
“You’re compiling information on innocent citizens to use as blackmail.”
“Non.Not blackmail. Evidence. Insight. That’s the point. I have no files on those who really are innocent.”
“In your opinion.”
“In my judgment, yes. If I’m wrong, they’ll never be used.” He leaned toward her. His hands rested for a moment on the table before he quickly raised them when they stuck. “If I’m right, then when they do commit a crime, we’ll have a huge advantage. I’d be a fool not to keep that information.”
“You’re a fool to tell me all this. You know I’m recording what you say.”
“Oui.I presumed.”
