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“Yes. The mix tape. The one that was destroyed.”
“No. ‘OH’ is the archival designation for ‘Oral History.’ And with the damage, the label looked like ‘OHIO.’ OHIII.”
“Oral History Three. If it was the third, there must be a second.”
“But no other tape was found in the car or the archives. It seemed possible Captain Péladeau had picked it up. It would have his daughter’s voice. A way to save at least some of her.”
Armand looked at the baggie. “He gave you the tape.”
The elderly man, the former head of the Sûreté in the area, had entrusted to Reine-Marie his most valued possession. In the impact, the cassette had been thrown from the car and crushed.
It was unlistenable. But it was priceless to her father.
Would I, Armand wondered as he looked at the broken tape, have given it to a stranger? He wasn’t so sure.
“Merci.”
“I told him we’d give it back.”
“And we will.” He hugged her deeply, and thanked God it wasn’t Annie’s voice on the cassette.
The first thing he did once in Montréal was head to Sûreté headquarters and the forensics department.
“Can it be fixed?”
The officer looked at the tape, raised his brows, and took a deep breath. “We’ll try, patron.”
“Please. Whatever happens, I need it back. Do not destroy it.”
The officer laughed. “We do try not to destroy evidence, you know.”
Armand smiled. “Désolé. Still…”
Then he went next door to the forensic accounting offices, where he found Inspector Eidinger at her desk.
“Salut, Samantha. Anything?”
“On Réunion? No. Seems clean. I’m looking into Brian Fillmore now.” She threw herself back in her chair. On her desk was an empty bag of potato chips next to photos of her husband and two children. “That IPO netted him a fortune. First thing he did was make huge donations. He’s given away at least fifty million to various organizations.”
“Can you send me the list, and the amounts? I especially want to know if there were gifts to individuals.” Gamache thought. “Or from anyone to him. Anything sizable.”
“You’re thinking maybe blackmail?”
“Just covering the bases.”
“I’m going through his tax returns and accounts now. I’ll get you the information by morning.”
From there, Armand drove to Réunion to break the news to Charles.
When he appeared at the office door, Charles rose from behind his desk. Armand knew that look. That stance.
The telegram messenger had arrived.
We regret to inform you …
“It’s Brian?”
“Yes. I’m sorry.” Even if expected, there was no real way to prepare for this news. And to Armand’s keen eyes, it did seem as though it was a shock.
