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“Dr. Lagacé? It’s Isabelle Lacoste.”
“Oui, I can see that.” They were on a video call. “Is there more news? What have you found out?”
“I’m afraid I can’t tell you anything about the murder.”
“Well, that too.” The botanist looked only slightly embarrassed that the violent death didn’t seem her priority. “Are you calling to tell me you know how Miss Wolcott’s Ghost came to be in that cemetery?”
Isabelle had all but forgotten about the weed. “No, we’re still looking into it.” Though not, truth be told, with much vigor. “What can you tell me about James Clybourne?”
“That old kook?”
CHAPTER 29
Gamache had completed a cursory search of Brian Fillmore’s office.
He’d then called in, with Charles’s permission, a team of investigators to do a more thorough search. He also applied for a series of search warrants.
“But you don’t know for sure, right? That it’s Brian?” Charles asked, following the Chief around the office. “It could be anyone.” There was a plea in his voice, and on his face.
“You’re right, sir. We don’t know for certain. That will help.” He pointed to the bagged hairbrush sitting on the desk. “My people will be very discreet. No one should realize what’s going on.”
“Thank you for that. I don’t want to upset anyone or start rumors.”
Now that was a thought. “You’d mentioned the conspiracy sites. There were already rumors out there, that your brother had disappeared. That something had happened to him.”
“They’ve been saying that since the IPO. All bullshit. People can be cruel.”
“Yes.” No need to tell the head of homicide that. “What effect did those rumors have?”
“On me? Nothing. I knew it wasn’t true. In terms of the company, the stock did dip briefly. But then it righted itself when it was clear nothing had changed at Réunion. We were functioning just fine.”
“With you at the helm. Do you know where the rumors started?”
“Who can tell? Anonymous posts. Shit-disturbers.”
“Do you have any enemies, anyone who wishes you or your brother or Réunion ill?”
Charles seemed on the verge of a sarcastic remark, then stopped himself and thought. “We have very few competitors, and no one crazy enough to actually do us harm.”
“Still, I’d like a list of your competitors, please.”
The strange thing was, reflected Armand, that whoever created those posts was right. At least in part. Brian Fillmore was missing, if not dead.
Was it a lucky shot, or did the person who’d started the rumors actually know?
He sent a message to their cybersecurity team to try to trace the origin of those posts. Then, after a moment’s pause, he sent off another message to a very elderly man now in a nursing home in Ottawa. A man who would know all about IPOs and the stock market, the fiduciary duties of publicly traded companies. And probably Réunion itself. And certainly shit-disturbing.
Armand and Reine-Marie were planning to visit him in a few days anyway.
“You’ve been covering for his absence,” said Armand, clicking off his phone. “Didn’t you begin to wonder?”
“Actually, I did a little. This has gone on longer than usual, but I had no idea how to contact him, so all I could do was wait.”
“When was the last time you saw your brother?”
Charles considered. “I think it was around the end of February. Maybe March. As you know, a lot of Quebeckers go away then, when the winter gets long. So I didn’t think anything of it.”
“If it’s proven that he is, forgive me, in fact dead, what would happen to Réunion?”
