Page 25 of The Grey Wolf
“What do you mean?”
“You were told to put the note in my jacket, the one saying you wanted to meet me here. Now. Why? To what purpose?”
“Charles” was silent.
“Bon,” said Gamache, standing up. “I’ve had enough. You’re on your own. Good luck.”
“No, wait.” “Charles’s” hand shot out and grabbed Gamache’s wrist, tight.
“For what?” demanded Gamache, breaking the grip. “Are you expecting someone?”
“No. I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Who?”
“Look, sit. Please.”
“Charles” seemed genuinely desperate.
Gamache sat. “You have two minutes, then I’m leaving. The truth. Who are you?”
“Okay. I don’t live at The Mission, not anymore. I got into cocaine, then fentanyl. But I got my shit together when I got clean. I volunteer there now. I was approached by someone to do this job. He gave me a thousand, half before, half after. I was to drop the coat off on a peg at The Mission and that would be that.”
This, at least, was beginning to make sense. Gamache knew this “Charles” had lied when he said he’d been paid up front. And “Charles” had realized he’d made a mistake, which partly explained the wild swings from anger to pleading. He was off-balance, and he wanted to throw Gamache off too.
“Do you know the man?”
“Not his name, but I’d seen him around. He seemed a sort of assistant. He’d shown up at The Mission when there was an official tour.”
“What sort of tour?”
“You know, politicians. They’re photographed handing out meals to the great unwashed. I was once served by the Premier.”
Gamache grew very still before asking the next question. “Was the person who contacted you with the Premier? Could he have been part of his security detail?”
Guarding the Premier was the responsibility of the Sûreté since the Premier was the head of the provincial government. If the fellow who’d approached “Charles” was on that detail, then—
“I don’t know.”
“Think,” snapped Gamache, then reined himself in. He continued, his voice gentle now, coaxing. “Did you see him there when the Premier wasn’t around?”
“Charles” thought. And nodded. “Yes. A few times, on other tours.”
“All provincial politicians, or others?”
“I don’t know.” “Charles” sounded annoyed by what must’ve seemed a trivial question.
But Gamache knew it was anything but that.
“Please. Think.”
And to Armand’s astonishment, “Charles” did.
“There was a tour of federal politicians including the minister of something. Someone important. High up. The guy was there then.”
“And no provincial politician was present? Not the Québec Premier or anyone else?”
“Not that I know of, but I don’t know all of them.”
