How the Light Gets In
Page 7She no longer knew.
What she did know was that over the past six months the Chief Inspector had watched his department being gutted, bastardized. His work dismantled. He’d watched those loyal to him leave. Or turn against him.
He’d put up a fight at first, but been pounded down. Time and again, she’d seen him return to his office after arguing with the Chief Superintendent. Gamache had come back defeated. And now, it seemed, he had little fight left in him.
“Next,” said Gamache.
And so it went, for an hour. Each agent trying Gamache’s patience. But the headland held. No sign of crumbling, no sign this had any effect at all on the Chief. Finally the meeting was over and Gamache rose. Inspector Lacoste rose too and there was a hesitation before first one then the rest of the agents got to their feet. At the door the Chief Inspector turned and looked at the agent who’d lied. Just a glance, but it was enough. The agent fell in behind Gamache and followed him to the Chief’s office. Just as the door closed Inspector Lacoste caught a fleeting look on the Chief’s face.
Of exhaustion.
* * *
“Sit down.” Gamache pointed to a chair, then he himself sat in the swivel chair behind his desk. The agent tried on some bravado, but that faded before the stern face.
When he spoke, the Chief’s voice carried an effortless authority.
The question surprised the agent. “I suppose.”
“You can do better than that. It’s a simple question. Are you happy here?”
“I have no choice but to be here.”
“You have a choice. You could quit. You’re not indentured. And I suspect you’re not the fool you pretend to be.”
“I don’t pretend to be a fool.”
“No? Then what would you call failing to interview a key suspect in a homicide investigation? What would you call lying about it to someone you must have known would see through that lie?”
But it was clear that the agent never thought he’d be caught. It had certainly never occurred to him that he’d find himself alone in the Chief’s office, about to be chewed out.
But mostly, it never occurred to him that, instead of ripping into him, tearing him to shreds, Chief Inspector Gamache would simply stare at him, with thoughtful eyes.
Gamache continued to watch him. “I don’t care what you think of me. I don’t care what you think of your assignment here. You’re right, your being here wasn’t your choice, or mine. You’re not a trained homicide investigator. But you are an agent in the Sûreté du Québec, one of the great police forces in the world.”
The agent smirked, then his expression shifted to mild surprise.
The Chief Inspector wasn’t joking. He actually believed it. Believed the Sûreté du Québec was a great and effective police force. A breakwater between the citizens and those who would do them harm.
“You came from the Serious Crimes division, I believe.”
The agent nodded.
“You must have seen some terrible things.”
The agent sat very still.
“Difficult not to grow cynical,” said the Chief quietly. “Here we deal with one thing. There’s a great advantage in that. We become specialists. The disadvantage is what we deal with. Death. Every time the phone rings, it’s about a loss of life. Sometimes accidental. Sometimes it’s suicide. Sometimes it turns out to be natural. But most of the time it’s very unnatural. Which is when we step in.”
It seemed Death had joined their meeting, making the atmosphere stale and close.
“Do you know what I’ve learned, after three decades of death?” Gamache asked, leaning toward the agent and lowering his voice.
Despite himself, the agent leaned forward.
“I’ve learned how precious life is.”
The agent looked at him, expecting more, and when no more came he slumped back in his chair.
“The work you do isn’t trivial,” said the Chief. “People are counting on you. I’m counting on you. Please take it seriously.”
“Yessir.”
Gamache rose and the agent got to his feet. The Chief walked him to the door and nodded as the man left.