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“How do you and Chancellor Roberge know each other?” Gamache asked.
“We sat on a board together a few years ago.”
“Which board?”
Gilbert crossed and uncrossed his legs and hiked himself further up on the sofa.
“I think it was some charity. I was on a lot of boards at one time. I am unstinting in my work for others.”
“Think again,” said Gamache. “Think harder.”
His hackles up, Dr. Gilbert nevertheless caved to the inevitable.
“LaPorte.”
“There,” said Gamache. “That wasn’t so hard.”
Though he could see that it was. And he knew why. As did Beauvoir.
Dr. Gilbert had all but admitted he had a motive for killing Professor Robinson.
Jean-Guy knew LaPorte well by now. It was a community formed to support and protect men and women, boys and girls, with Down syndrome. The very people Professor Robinson thought should not exist.
What Gamache mostly found interesting was that both Colette Roberge and Vincent Gilbert had tried to hide this fact.
“I know you know this.” Gilbert’s voice was quiet now. He’d turned away from Gamache and spoke only to Jean-Guy. “With screening, fewer and fewer children with Down syndrome are being born. I’m not going to judge that choice. I suspect it’s one I’d have made too, as a young parent. Fortunately, I wasn’t faced with it.”
Beauvoir, hearing the soothing voice, remembered being in this man’s cabin. In this man’s care. When he’d been hurt.
He’d felt, through the pain, this man’s hands on his open wound, and knew he was with not just a doctor, but a healer. Someone who actually cared if he lived or died.
“Ça va bien aller,” Gilbert had whispered, as the pain and fear threatened to overwhelm Jean-Guy. “It’ll be all right.”
And he’d believed him.
“I didn’t just sit on the board, I volunteered at LaPorte,” said Gilbert. “And I came to see that maybe, maybe, instead of them being flawed, we’re the ones with the defects. You know?”
He looked from Jean-Guy, to Armand, then back to Jean-Guy.
“They’re kind. Content. They don’t judge. They don’t hide their feelings. There’s no hidden agenda. Complete acceptance. If that isn’t grace, I don’t know what is. I’m not saying people with Down syndrome are perfect or always easy. That would be to trivialize them, make them sound like pets. What I am saying is that in my experience they make better humans than most.” He smiled again. “Than me. And I think that’s worth fighting for, don’t you?”
There was a long silence before Gamache said, softly, “Worth killing for?”
Now Vincent Gilbert turned to him. “Have you ever arrested a person with Down syndrome for murder?”
“Non.”
“You?” he asked Beauvoir.
“Non.”
“No. And there’s a reason for that. I aspire to be as decent, as optimistic, as forgiving.”
Armand took a deep breath. And kept going. “I believe you. But to aspire to and to achieve are two different things. A person with DS did not murder Debbie Schneider. But someone looking to protect them might have.”
“Me?”
“The Chancellor sent you Professor Robinson’s research in hopes of stopping her campaign,” said Gamache. “It focuses mainly on mandatory euthanasia for the terminally ill and elderly. But there are hints of something else.”
