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Isabelle continued to ask him innocuous questions about trails and snow conditions, until finally Alphonse Tardif cracked.
“Look, I know why I’m here. But we didn’t mean to do anything. Not—”
“Please, Monsieur Tardif,” said Maître Lacombe.
“No, I want to talk.” No listening to the lawyer for this one, thought Isabelle.
“Were you involved in the attack on Abigail Robinson at the gymnasium two days ago?” she asked.
“Ye—no.” He sighed. “We didn’t mean for anything to happen.”
“So the gunshots were an accident?”
“They were never meant to hurt her. Just stop the talk. Maybe scare her. But not kill her. Look, Édouard’s a great shot. If he’d wanted to hit her, he would have.”
“Is that what he told you when he asked you to hide the gun?”
“Don’t answer that, Monsieur Tardif,” said his lawyer.
“They already know. I just want this over with. Yes, I hid the gun.”
“And the firecrackers?”
“And them. In the bathroom, while Édouard distracted the caretaker. That was the plan.”
“Were you supposed to be there?”
“No. Édouard told me to get far away. So I did.”
“Have you seen what happened, at the event?”
“No. There’s no internet that deep into the Abitibi. But I heard about it. No one was killed.”
“No thanks to you or your brother.” Isabelle’s phone was on the dented metal table, and now she hit play on the video.
As he watched, his breathing became labored. When the firecrackers went off, and the crowd began to panic, his brows drew together.
And then the shots.
“The stupid shit,” he snapped. “But he missed. Like we planned.”
“Barely.” Lacoste clicked off her phone.
“Someone must’ve shoved his arm.”
“Who else was involved in the plot?”
“No one.”
“Why would you do this, Monsieur Tardif?” Isabelle’s voice was soft, calm. Clearly trying to understand. “You have no record. You and your brother are hardworking, decent members of the community. Why suddenly decide to do this? Even if the plan was just to scare Professor Robinson, you must have known the shots could cause a riot. Several were in fact hurt. One man had a heart attack.”
“Oh, God, I’m so sorry. We didn’t think. Is he going to be okay?”
“We think so. No thanks to you.”
Alphonse Tardif was angry, now. Furious in fact. “What an asshole.”
“Who?”
