Page 178 of The Grey Wolf
Now she no longer looked sly. Jeanne Caron looked, and was, afraid. And for once, Gamache believed her.
He handed the gun back to Beauvoir. “What do you know about Paolo Parisi?”
“Parisi? I saw his name in one of the documents. Some minor figure Lauzon helped across the border. Why?”
Gamache turned to Dom Philippe. “And you?”
“Me?”
“You had breakfast with him every morning at The Mission.”
“I did not. I had breakfast with some poor Italian boy who didn’t speak French. Or English.”
“Why?”
“Why? Because he was alone in a strange city. Wouldn’t you try to help?”
The Abbot looked so sincere, Gamache almost believed him.
“What did he tell you?”
“Honestly, Armand, I couldn’t understand what he was saying most of the time.”
Gamache studied the elderly monk. There was no proof that BigStink and Parisi had a relationship outside of those breakfasts together. Parisi wasn’t in the meeting with Caron and Langlois. In fact, he’d spied on them. It was possible the Abbot was telling the truth.
It was also possible, probable, both the Abbot and Charles Langlois were trying to stop the attack, while Caron was actually just using them. And Langlois had started to see that.
“When did you realize the plan was to poison Montréal’s drinking water?” Gamache asked Caron.
“That was me,” said the Abbot. “After Brother Robert told me what he knew, I went right to my niece in Ottawa, but she refused to see me.”
“We were,” Caron said, “estranged.”
“I decided to write her a note, something that would get me in. The only paper I had was the page of the recipe Robert had given me. I tore it in half and wrote on the back,Water. I didn’t want to say more because I didn’t know who might see it.”
“And a scribbledWaterwas enough?” said Gamache.
“I knew Lauzon’s scheme had something to do with water, but not what,” said Caron. “When I got that note, I needed to see whoever had written it. I was shocked to see Uncle Yves.”
“I told her what Robert had said, about an attack on the drinking water. I could see she doubted me.”
The phone in Gamache’s pocket vibrated, but he ignored it.
“My uncle had just the word of a terrified monk hiding in some monastery in France. Without solid, irrefutable proof, there was no way anyone would believe the Deputy Prime Minister was plotting to poison thousands of citizens. I barely believed it. We needed hard evidence.”
“That’s when she approached young Langlois,” said the Abbot.
Gamache was listening closely. Looking for the inevitable holes in Caron’s fabrication.
“I’d met him on one of our official visits to The Mission a year or so ago,” said Caron. “He’d told me his story. That he was a marine biologist who’d become an addict. Lost everything. Was estranged from his family. But he’d gotten straight. At the time, he was a resident of The Mission, and I’d only just begun to suspect Lauzon wasup to something to do with water, but not what. I knew Charles could be trusted.”
“Don’t you mean used?” said Gamache, his voice cold.
“I used him the way you use your people, Chief Inspector. So far, I’ve lost one. How many have been killed under your leadership? How many have you told about this threat?”
Beauvoir took a step forward, but Gamache stopped him. He turned to Caron. “What’s your relationship with Action Québec Bleu?”
“What?”
