“I don’t know why the account was transferred to me,” said Hugo.
“You didn’t ask?” asked Gamache. Then he turned to Caroline. “You didn’t tell him?” He stared at her. “Of course you did. We’re going to find out. Probably best we hear it from you.”
“You tell him,” Caroline said to Hugo. “You can explain it.”
“Fine.” Hugo took a deep breath. “It wasn’t a falling-out. That’s just what we told anyone who asked. Three years ago my brother had his license to trade suspended.”
“Why?” asked Beauvoir.
“The man he’d been having the affair with was the assistant to a senior partner. That assistant stole money from some clients. Tony caught it and told the firm. The money was put back, the assistant fired, and Tony was kept on, but they suspended his license.”
“Why? If he’d done nothing wrong?”
Beauvoir glanced at Gamache, who was quietly listening.
“Exactly, Inspector,” said Adrienne. “Exactly what we thought. He’d done everything right, but still they came down on him.”
“Why?” asked Beauvoir again.
Hugo was shaking his head and shrugged. He was slouched over and looked less like a garden gnome and more like a gargoyle.
“As with most things, it was political. Internal politics in his company. The partner didn’t want to be accused of using bad judgment in hiring the assistant, so they shifted the blame to Tony. Said it was gross negligence. That he’d given the assistant information on clients that he shouldn’t have.”
“By having printouts at home?” suggested Beauvoir.
“I don’t know. All I know is that they made an example of him.”
“So he was punished?” asked Beauvoir.
“Yes. After that his career was pretty much over, at least internally. He’d never be promoted to partner. Tony stayed on the accounts, but the trades were done by someone else in the firm. He’d done nothing wrong, but still they suspended and humiliated him.”
Again Beauvoir glanced quickly at Gamache, to see his reaction to this. Then away.
“And that’s why you moved your accounts?” Beauvoir asked Caroline.
“I didn’t want to, but Anthony insisted. He thought they were better with Hugo, who could both advise and trade.”
“And were they?” Gamache asked. Seeing the blank look on Caroline’s face, he clarified. “Better?”
“I think so,” she said, glancing at Hugo.
“My brother knew the market well, Chief Superintendent. The truth is, while I’m good, Tony was better. It was shitty that his license to trade was pulled.”
“Did he see it that way?” asked Beauvoir. “Did he hold a grudge?”
“No,” said Hugo. “He was grateful to the partners for being discreet. They could’ve made a public announcement. They could’ve fired him. I thought they were shits, but Tony was loyal.”
“Merci,” said Beauvoir. “Was your brother in a relationship right now?”
“Not that I know of,” said Caroline.
“Do you know this Bernard’s last name?”
They shook their heads.
“The less I knew about him the better,” said Adrienne when Beauvoir turned to her.
“Is there anything we should know? Anyone you can think of who might’ve wanted Monsieur Baumgartner gone?”
They thought about that and again shook their heads.
“You stayed behind with your brother after the reading of the will,” Gamache said to Hugo. “Is that right?”
“Yes. We often had dinner together. Two bachelors. I brought the wine and Tony cooked.”
He lowered his eyes, perhaps, Gamache thought, the reality of his brother’s death and all that had changed being brought home to him.
“What did you talk about?”
Hugo threw his mind back. In time it wasn’t all that long ago, but measured in events, it was an eternity.
“We talked about Mom. About the Baroness. She was a one-off.” Hugo gave his pumpkin grin. “We talked about how much we miss her.”
“I do too,” said Caroline.
But her voice spoke more about herself than of any affection for her mother. About a need to be included and, perhaps more crucial, a fear of being left out. Left behind.
“What time did you leave?” asked Beauvoir.
“It was an early dinner. I was home by eight,” said Hugo.
“Did he mention wanting to go to your mother’s house?”
“No, though we talked about whether it should be saved or not. You think that’s why he went there?”
“Could be,” said Beauvoir.
He handed them one of his cards with the standard request that they call should they think of anything.
Then he asked for their keys to the house.
They looked surprised. Then not surprised. And handed them over.
After the Baumgartners left, Beauvoir and Gamache joined Agent Cloutier in the living room.
“She hung up,” said Cloutier. “But said I could call back when you were ready.”
She made the call and handed the phone to Beauvoir.
“Bonjour? Madame Ogilvy? This is Chief Inspector Beauvoir. I’m the head of homicide for the Sûreté du Québec. Yes, it is about Anthony Baumgartner.”
He explained briefly what she would soon see in the news anyway. Then asked the question.
“He had papers at home?” asked Madame Ogilvy. “Statements? Hard copies?”
“Yes. Can you think why?”
She paused before answering, “No.”
“I think you can, madame. I’ll let you consider the question a little longer. Can we meet tomorrow? I’ll bring the statements and letters with me.”
Before he hung up, Gamache touched his arm and whispered something.
“One more question,” said Beauvoir. “Do you have any clients named Kinderoth?”
“We have thousands of clients, Chief Inspector.”
“Can you look it up?”
“Our clients’ names are confidential.”
“We can get a court order.”
“I don’t mean to be difficult, but I’m afraid you’re going to have to.”
Beauvoir rolled his eyes but could tell there was no arguing. If and when it became known that she’d given out confidential information, Madame Ogilvy would have to prove it was forced from her.
Everyone covers their asses, Beauvoir knew.
“Seems there’s a lot of that going around,” said Beauvoir once they were back in the car.
“What’s that?” asked his father-in-law.
“Suspending people who’ve done nothing wrong. Shifting blame.”
There was a slight grunt of amusement beside him.
This was Jean-Guy’s form of apology. For being abrupt with Gamache. For allowing the man from the Ministère de la Justice, Francis Cournoyer, to get into his head.
He now suspected that had been the whole purpose of the meeting. Everyone else, everything else, were all just props. Extras.
The quiet man in the corner was the lead. And Beauvoir was the audience.
He felt ashamed of himself for letting it happen. For even once believing that when Cournoyer had said, “Ask Gamache,” it was anything other than, as Isabelle had put it, a mindfuck in a public toilet.
Gamache turned to him and smiled. “You do know that all the things I’m accused of doing, I did. I admitted it. Freely. But, unlike Monsieur Baumgartner, I’m not likely to keep my job.”
Now it was Beauvoir’s breath that hung in the air. Hung in the silence.
“What do you mean?”
“When this suspension is lifted, I won’t be returning as Chief Superintendent.”
“You can’t know that.”
“I do. There can’t possibly be a head of the Sûreté who’s broken the law.”
Beauvoir stared straight ahead and let that sink in. The heater, on full blast, had melted the frost off the windshield, and although he put the car in gear, his foot remained on the brake.
“The fact Anthony Baumgartner kept his job,” said Gamache, “doesn’t mean he didn’t do it. It’s possible that young assistant took the fall for him. Not the other way around. Who are the partners more likely to protect? A young man barely starting out or a vice president of the company?”