Page 137 of The Grey Wolf
“Then why are you doing it?”
“So that we’re even. In doing my job, I altered your life, hurt you deeply. Now, in doing your job, you can do the same to me.”
“Right, but why give me that ability?”
“So that you know that what I’m about to ask is important, vital. It’s worth my career. Perhaps more.”
She sat back and considered him.
She’d tried many times to ruin Gamache, but despite all her efforts to find something on him, and, when that failed, to belittle, mock, insult him in public, he’d remained unmoved. Even courteous in her company. Which had enraged her even further and made her redouble her efforts.
But, finally, now she had what she needed.
“You’re giving me this information as a kind of mortgage. I own your ass.”
“More than just my ass, but yes.” She reached for the croissant. “I wouldn’t eat that. I need someone on the outside to ask questions, to quietly dig.”
“Outside the Sûreté?” Her eyes were bright with the implication. “Why me?”
“Why do you think?”
It didn’t take much thought. “Because I so clearly hate you. No one would think we were working together.”
“And because you’re very good at what you do.”
She turned her phone off and placed it in her pocket, then pulled out a notebook and a pen. “Okay, Gamache. Tell me.”
“The federal government has given a waiver to various companies in Québec, perhaps elsewhere in Canada, to exceed the pollution limits by up to thirty times.”
“Percent?”
“Times.”
“Shit.”
“On top of that, the federal government has agreed to sell controlling interest in certain resource-based companies to Americans.”
Instead of pointing out that it was illegal, which she clearly knew, she just shook her head and continued to take notes.
“I’ll need names.”
“I can get you that.”
“Jesus, someone’s on the take.” She sat back and considered him. “How does this interest the head of homicide for the Sûreté?”
“Charles Langlois, the young man killed in the hit-and-run, was a biologist at an environmental agency called Action Québec Bleu. He was visiting lakes that would be affected. I think he found out about this, and that was one of the reasons he was killed.”
“One of the reasons?”
“We’re looking into others, but that’s the one I’m asking you to pursue.”
As he looked beyond Shona to the thin, bone-weary server, he wanted to shout,Leave. Take those you love and get out of the city. Something awful’s about to happen here.
He’d thought that as he had driven into Montréal, passing schools and hospitals, men and women flooding out of the Métro stations on their way to work. Mothers and fathers holding the hands of their children at corners, waiting to cross.
He thought about the LaPierres and their other close friends.
Leave. Leave! For God’s sake, get out of this city, before…
