Page 51 of The Grey Wolf
It had not gone unnoticed that if Charles volunteered here, then Claudine McGregor could also be considered his boss. And while unlikely, she might have been the one he meant when he said he had to make sure he could trust his boss.
Claudine McGregor seemed the sort to notice a lot. To hear a lot.And, as he himself had shamefully demonstrated, to be vastly underestimated. A lot.
These were powerful assets if you were planning something horrific.
“Charles mentioned the tours you sometimes give to politicians.”
“True. They like to be seen around the great unwashed. They seem to think it makes them look like they care. Like they’re almost human. Dumbasses don’t realize those shots of them in hairnets, scooping out soggy carrots for the homeless, just makes ’em look patronizing. I love giving them tours if only for that reason.”
Her voice was getting more and more slurred, and Gamache realized it was late. She had probably been there since the morning and must be hungry and tired. But he needed to press on, and so did she.
“I’d like to see video of those tours,” he said.
“All of them?”
“Non.Just the ones where Charles was present.”
She reached for her agenda and flipped through it, making notes.
Lacoste and Beauvoir returned. “We searched his locker and the storeroom. Nothing,patron. But the place is huge, we’ll need more help.”
“What’re you looking for?”
Gamache hesitated for a moment. Then made up his mind. “Charles’s laptop and notebooks. And a map.”
“Really? Well, that’s easy. He kept them in my office for a while.”
“He did?” Gamache’s hopes were raised but muted by the “for a while.”
“But he took them away a week ago or so.”
The cops exchanged glances. While not ideal, this was nevertheless good news. It probably meant the people who’d ransacked his apartment didn’t have them. Charles must’ve hidden them someplace no one would think to look. But that meant Gamache and his people probably wouldn’t think of it either.
“He didn’t say where he was taking them?” asked Beauvoir as they followed her out of the cramped office.
“Right. He said if anyone wants to know where I’m hiding this stuff, just tell them.” She muttered, “Shit for brains.”
“If you had to guess, where would you say he took them?”
“I don’t know. Home, I guess. Where else?”
Madame McGregor took a few more steps. Then, without turning to Gamache, she said, “He volunteered every second Sunday.”
Gamache was about to say,Yes, I know.But stopped himself. He wasn’t going to underestimate her again. So he waited. And was rewarded.
“But he came here almost every night.” She looked at him now. “He worked in my office. I promised I wouldn’t tell. But…”
But he’s dead.
“Merci,” said Gamache, recognizing that it still felt to Madame McGregor like violating Charles’s trust. “Did he ever have any visitors?”
“Not that I know of. He came late at night and was gone by morning.”
“Is there anything else you need to tell us?”
They were at a door markedSecurity.
“When I said he probably took the stuff home, it wasn’t a wild guess. He told me that’s what he was going to do.”
