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“Give me your gun.” Gamache held out his hand. “You’re under arrest.”
Dagenais looked up into the Chief Inspector’s eyes. Then he looked behind Gamache to the two officers standing on either side and slightly behind him.
Gamache’s second-in-command, a woman, had her hand on her gun, though it was still in its holster at her hip. The other, that fucker Beauvoir, also had his jacket open, ready if need be.
And he could see by the look on Beauvoir’s face that he hoped need would be.
Dagenais’s mind worked fast. He looked through the window at his agents, now all on their feet. Staring in. Alert. Ready. He’d long regretted that window and the lack of privacy. Now it just might save his ass.
Dagenais did a quick calculation. Six of them. Heavily armed. Seven if he counted himself. Three of Gamache’s people, including the unarmed Chief Inspector.
“On what charge?”
“Give me your weapon,” demanded Gamache.
Dagenais hesitated, then pulled it out of its holster. Chernin moved, but Gamache signaled her to stand fast.
Gamache hadn’t told Beauvoir what this was about. He’d been silent on the drive over to the station, though he had exchanged a few words with Chernin. Orders.
Now Beauvoir saw why they were so silent. So strained.
The picture on the captain’s desk showed the station commander clearly naked. Clearly nearing the climax of a sexual act. An act performed in that dim, filthy root cellar. Performed on …
Jean-Guy felt like retching.
How could anyone…?
His eyes traveled from the photograph to Dagenais’s gun. Still in Dagenais’s hand. Not actually pointed at Gamache, but close.
Beauvoir could feel his own, cold to the touch, under his hand but still in its holster.
Why wouldn’t Gamache let them draw them out? Because, Beauvoir suddenly realized, Gamache didn’t know the captain like he did. The man was a tyrant, running the isolated detachment as though it were his own personal army. He commanded, demanded, absolute loyalty. Which Beauvoir refused to give.
Which was why he’d been isolated in the basement, as though he were the contagion. Not because he was a rotten Sûreté officer, but because he was a good one.
Though he didn’t turn to look, Jean-Guy could feel the presence of the other agents in the outer room. Waiting for a signal from Dagenais.
Beauvoir knew their loyalties. Gamache did not.
This was not, Agent Beauvoir knew, going to end well.
“Put it down,” Gamache demanded, and Dagenais slowly placed the Glock on the desk.
Gamache picked it up, but instead of holding it on the captain, or even putting it in his own belt, he took out the magazine and replaced the gun on the desk.
“There’s another one,” said Beauvoir. “In the right-hand drawer.”
Dagenais shot him a look of such loathing, had it been a gun Beauvoir would’ve been dead.
“Stand up, step away from the desk,” said Gamache.
When Dagenais did, the Chief Inspector opened the drawer, not even locked, and found it. A Sig Sauer. Illegal, thanks to Nathalie Provost and the others. This one no doubt confiscated in a drug bust.
Once again, Gamache removed the bullets and replaced the gun.
“Hands where I can see them.” Gamache walked up to Dagenais, and for a moment both Chernin and Beauvoir thought the Chief Inspector was about to beat the crap out of him. Neither would have raised a hand to stop it.
Instead, Gamache patted him down, though the act of touching the man clearly disgusted him. Then he stepped back.
