Page 31
“Well, the Grey Wolf is dead. And I’m afraid the Black Wolf is still out there.”
That was met with stony silence.
Finally, her voice patient, kindly even, she said, “He’s in Archambault, Armand. Your testimony helped put him there.”
“I don’t think so.”
Caron’s expressive face changed again. She was no longer amused. And no longer sympathetic. “What’re you saying?”
“Isn’t it clear? I’m saying that I don’t think Marcus Lauzon is the Black Wolf.”
“Are you sick? You’re certainly delusional. He’s been tried and convicted. You yourself made sure of that.”
“I’m not saying he’s innocent.”
“Then what are you saying?”
“That it’s possible he’s not guilty of this particular crime. It’s possible he was a pawn in the poisoning plot.”
Now it was Beauvoir’s turn to stare at Gamache. It was the first he’d heard of this. He couldn’t believe what he had just heard. Though he remained silent.
Caron did not. “Why in the world would you suddenly think that?”
“Has it occurred to you that the evidence against him, once we began to look, was too perfect. Too much? It was an avalanche of damnation.”
“Are you kidding me?” Her voice had risen in disbelief. “You’re worried about too much evidence? I was the one who helped you find it. I can guarantee you it’s real.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I know the man. I know his handwriting. I know his methods and his thinking. I know what propels him. What the fuck are you thinking? Wait a minute. You haven’t been reading that crazy conspiracy shit.”
“You’ve seen it?” said Beauvoir.
“Of course I’ve seen it. People keep sending me links. Like I want to see it. So far the posts are all in the fetid swamp of the internet, those marginal sites. But they’re seeping out.” She looked at the two officers. “You can’t tell me you believe that crap. That Lauzon’s been railroaded, is some sort of martyr for the people.”
“Is it so unbelievable?” asked Gamache.
“Yes, yes, it is. In the same posts they say the poisoning plot never happened. Do you believe that too?”
Now Gamache smiled. “No. We all know the truth.”
“So, one statement is true, the other a lie?”
“Isn’t that the best way to misdirect? To hide the lie inside a truth?”
Her eyes were wide, certain she was in a basement with at least one lunatic. And his apprentice.
“The trail back to Lauzon is just too direct,” said Armand. “It’s like a superhighway of damning evidence. Is he really that stupid?”
Beauvoir was looking from one to the other, barely believing the conversation had taken this turn.
“Listen, I worked for the guy for decades, since his first election to town council. He’s not stupid, but he’s driven by ego and insecurity, and a need to prove something to the world. Which makes him unpredictable at times. It was my job to keep the guardrails up.”
“The lane was pretty wide,” said Beauvoir.
“The guardrails were to keep other people out,” she said, glaring at him. “To keep him safe. Marcus Lauzon is, in many ways, quite extraordinary. A real tactician. Smart, he sees many steps ahead. He just doesn’t always choose the best way to get there.”
That did not sound like much of a tactician to Gamache. Surely the best way forward was an integral part of tactics.
