Page 142 of The Grey Wolf
He jumped up, and tried to save the now sodden papers. This small diversion gave him a beat or two to disengage from his frustration.
He had on the line the person who led the efforts to stop organized crime for all of Italy. A courageous man, surrounded by other brave men and women who risked their lives and those of their families to bring down the mob.
No one on earth was smarter, more steeped in mafia structure, strategies, members, lore, than the man on the other end of the phone. He must see what was obvious on the video. He must believe what the reports said. What the head of homicide for Québec, an eyewitness himself, said.
He must know more. But could not say. Indeed, this ridiculous denial told Gamache more than any agreement could have.
This man might not have proof, but he had his suspicions about Paolo Parisi, if not the entire Parisi family. The trick was getting him to share what he knew.
“I’m willing, because of my respect for you, to believe what you say,” said Gamache slowly, sitting down again. “Can you still send me what you have on the young man?”
“Because he has never committed a crime, Chief Inspector, there isn’t much, but I will get someone in my department to send what little we have.”
“Grazie.How is the family taking it?”
“How do you expect?”
“Are they personal friends of yours?”
“Yes. The father, Alberto Parisi, and I were at school together. We watched our fathers beaten by mafia thugs for protection money. My own uncle was murdered. Signore and Signora Parisi hate the mafia as much as I do.”
“Merci.Please send me anything useful.”
There was a pause. “I will, Chief Inspector. I am sorry.”
Sorry for what? Gamache wondered as he hung up. But he thought he knew. Sorry for not being able to tell the truth.
Gamache now believed that the parents had nothing to do with the mafia, indeed, that they fought it. But the son was a different matter. Children, as Gamache well knew, often rebelled, and when they did, they chose targets that would hurt their parents the most.
For the Parisis, it was the mafia.
Armand looked at the coffee-stained reports and sighed. He had to go through them. It had to appear it was business as usual in the homicide department. And there were other cases that needed attention.
He made notes on some of the files. Signed off on others.
One of the newer agents, nervous about an upcoming court appearance, knocked on his door wanting advice.
He called in another to discuss an imminent arrest.
Leave. Get out of the city!
“You okay,patron?” she asked.
“Just fine. Now, what’s your plan?”
A day like any other. Nothing unusual… really… truly…
Leave!
He made a few calls to agents in the field, then got on a conference call with his inspectors investigating the unsolved murders in the Saguenay and the Magdalen Islands.
“Still no progress?” he asked, and heard their exasperation when they said, in unison, “Non.”
“We agree,patron,that the two must be connected, but we can’t see how.”
“The murdered woman in Chicoutimi worked for Canada Post,” said Gamache. “Is it possible she saw some mail she shouldn’t have? Perhaps opened something?” He was thinking of Frère Simon, the mail monk at the monastery of Saint-Gilbert-Entre-les-Loups, who’d done exactly that.
“We’ve checked. Nothing. She worked in the back offices, so didn’t have access to the mail. Never married,” Innez continued. “Friendly, but private. Belongs to a church book club. That seems to be her only outside interest.”
