Chapter 23 Chapter Twenty-Three

Peter sat in Clara's studio. She had just had a silent dinner and left for Myrna's.After all, the comfort he gave was not enough.He knew, he had been tried too, but still not up to the mark. He's never been good enough.But so far, he doesn't really know what exactly he's missing.So he pursued everything. Now at least he knows. He sat in Clara's studio, waiting.He knew that God lived here too.It's not just St. Thomas' Cathedral living on the hill.Still living here, albeit in disarray, with dried-up apple cores thrown in the corners, paints hardened on paintbrushes in tin cans.And those paintings.

Crystal Bigfoot sculpture. In his own spotless studio down the hall, he has the space ready for inspiration.Clean and tidy, neat and tidy.But Inspiration got the address wrong and stopped here instead. No, Peter thought, he was looking for something more than just inspiration. This is where the problem lies.All his life he had been mistaken, mistaking one for the other.Think that inspiration is everything, and regard the created as the creator. He took a Bible to Clara's studio, maybe it would be useful in case God needed him to prove his sincerity.He flipped through the Bible, looking for the apostles.

Thomas.Like their church.Doubting Thomas. How strange that the church in Sampine should be named after a skeptic. What about his own name?Peter.He is the rock. To pass the time until God found him, Peter flipped through the Bible, searching for any mention of his name. He found a lot to like. Peter the Rock, Peter the Apostle, Peter the Saint, even Peter the Martyr. But there is another reference to Peter.Jesus had said something to Peter when he was confronted with an apparent miracle.A man walks on the water.But Peter, though he himself walked on the water, did not believe this fact.

Disbelieve all the evidence, all the proofs. "Oh, you lack confidence." This sentence is about Peter. He closed the book. When Isabelle Lacoste parked the car and walked into the case room, it was already dusk.She had called ahead, so both Garmache and Beauvoir were waiting for her. She had read the review to them on the phone, but when they saw her, both were eager to see it for themselves. She handed each a photocopy and looked at them. "My God!" Beauvoir read it quickly.Both officers turned to Garmash, who was reading slowly through his reading glasses.Finally, he put down the paper and took off his glasses.

"Good job." He nodded gravely to Detective Lacoste.To describe her findings as "astonishing" would be an understatement. "So, that's what it is, what do you think?" said Beauvoir, "He's a genius, and making art is like his biological function." He quotes, without reading the review, "But why so How many people got it wrong?" "Things will change over time," Gamash replied. "When we interview witnesses, we know that people remember things differently, just like doing fill-in-the-blank questions." "So, what now?" Beauvoir asked.Clearly, he knew what was going to happen.Gamache thought for a moment and turned to Lacoste.

"Can I leave this to you, Inspector Lacoste? Inspector Beauvoir, perhaps you can go with her." Lacoste smiled, "I'm sure there will be no trouble." But she immediately regretted saying so. The inspector, however, smiled. "I always thought there was going to be trouble." "Me too," said Beauvoir, checking his gun.Lacoste also checked.The two plunged into the night.Inspector Gamache sat down and waited. The bistro was quiet on a Monday night with only half the seats occupied. Lacoste walked in the door, and first glanced around the whole room, not daring to take it for granted.Just because it's familiar and comfortable doesn't mean it's safe.Most accidents happen near homes, and most murders happen at home.

No, here and now, she cannot let her guard down. Myrna, Dominique, and Clara were drinking herbal tea and eating dessert, talking quietly at a table by the window.By the fireplace in the far corner she saw two painters, Normand and Paulette.At a table opposite them, Susan and her dinner companions, Thierry Pinault Chief Justice, and Brian, the latter in ripped jeans and a ripped leather jacket. Denis Fortin and François Marois share a table.Fortin was telling some funny anecdote.Marois looked polite, but bored.Andre Castongui was not seen. "You go ahead." Beauvoir whispered to Lacoste when the two entered the tavern.At this time, most people noticed the arrival of the two police officers.At first, everyone just looked at it, some smiled, and continued talking.But after a while, someone raised his head again and felt something was wrong.

Myrna, Clara, and Dominique didn't speak, watching the police officers shuttle between the tables, leaving a silence behind them. Passed by these three women. Passed by the art dealers. At Normand and Paulette's table they paused, then turned. "Can I talk to you guys?" Lacoste said. "Here? Now?" "No, let's go to a quieter place, shall we?" Lacoste quietly put the photocopied article on the wooden round table. There was silence at the table, save for Susan's moan, "Oh no!" Inspector Garmash stood up and greeted them as they entered the case room, as if this were his home and they were honored guests.

No one is confused, nor should they be.It's polite, just polite. "Would you please take a seat?" He came to the conference table. "What's going on?" asked Chief Justice Thierry Pinault. "Madame," said Garmache, ignoring Pinault.He pointed to a chair and looked at Susan. "Gentlemen." The Inspector turned now to Thierry and Brian.The Chief Justice sat opposite Gamache with his tattooed, pierced, clean-shaven companion.Beauvoir and Lacoste sat on either side of the inspector. "Would you please explain?" said Inspector Garmache in a conversational tone, pointing to the article from La Presse lying in the center of the table.It is like an island between two continents.

"How to explain?" Susan asked. "Any way you like," said Gamash.He sat quietly, clasping one hand over the other. "Is this a trial, Monsieur Gamache?" demanded the Chief Justice. "If it were, you two wouldn't be sitting here with us." Garmache looked at Thierry and Brian. "This is a conversation, Mr. Pinault. To clarify a contradiction." "That's a lie." Beauvoir answered. "You guys are going too far." Pinault turned to Susan, "I suggest you don't answer any questions." "Are you her lawyer?" Beauvoir asked.

"I'm a lawyer," Pinault said preemptively, "and a good one. Whatever you call it, a soothing tone and kind words can't hide your true purpose." "Then what is our purpose?" Beauvoir questioned, not shy of the chief judge's tone. "Set a trap for her and confuse her." "We could have asked her when she was alone," said Beauvoir. "You should be glad to have you here." "All right," said Garmash, raising his hand, though his tone remained calm.Both stopped, mouths open, still about to attack each other. "That's enough. I want to talk to you, Mr. Judge Pinault. I think my sergeant has a point." But before speaking to the chief justice, Garmache took Beauvoir aside and whispered: "Take control of yourself and don't do this again." He looked into Beauvoir's eyes. "Yes, sir." Beauvoir came to the bathroom, sat in the cubicle again, and calmed himself down.Then he came out, washed his face and hands, took half a pill, and looked at himself in the mirror. "Anne and David have a problem," he said to himself, feeling himself calm.Annie and David have a problem.The pain in the chest began to go away gradually. Over there, Inspector Garmash and Judge Pinault walked some distance away from the others to the red fire engine. "Your men are a little too aggressive, Inspector." "But he's right. You need to make a decision. Are you here as Susan's defense attorney, or her AA..." He paused, not sure which word to use, "Friend?" "Both are fine." "It won't work, and you know it. You are the Chief Justice. Decide, sir. It needs to be decided now." Armand Garmache looked directly at Chief Justice Pinault, waiting for his answer.The Chief Justice was taken aback, evidently not expecting to be challenged. "I'm going to be friends with her AA, as Thierry P." This answer surprised Garmash too, and it showed on his face. "You think it's a weaker character, Inspector?" Gamache didn't say anything, but it was obvious he thought so. Thierry smiled a little, then turned serious, "Anyone can make sure her rights are not violated. I think you can. But what you can't do is protect her sobriety. Just another alcoholic It’s the one who can help her get through it and stay sober without resorting to alcohol. If she loses that and drinks again, she loses everything.” "Is it so fragile?" "It's not that being sober is fragile, it's that alcoholism is tricky. I'm here to help her fight relapse. You can protect her rights." "You trust me?" "You, I trust. But your officer?" The Chief Justice nodded in the direction of Beauvoir, who had just left the bathroom. "You need to look at him." "He's a senior officer in the CID," Gamash said, his voice cold. "He doesn't need to be watched." "Everyone needs to be watched." This sentence makes people feel cold all over.Gamash looked at this man in amazement, a man of such strength.He has many talents, but also many shortcomings.The inspector wondered again, who was Chief Justice Pinault's leader?In whose ear will he tell his secret? "Mr Pinault has agreed to be a friend of Ms Coates at the AA and to assist her in this role," the inspector said.The two sat down. Both Lacoste and Beauvoir were surprised, but said nothing.This will make their job easier. "You lied to us," repeated Beauvoir, holding the review in front of Susan. "Everyone misquotes, doesn't it? Everyone thinks the review is about some male. But Not a man, but a woman. You." "Susan." Thierry wanted to remind her, and then glanced at Garmache, "I'm sorry, I can't get rid of my occupational diseases as a judge." "You've got to try, sir," said Gamache. "But," Susan said, "it's a bit late for this reminder, isn't it?" She turned to the officers again. "Chief Judge, Chief Constable, it seems that I have become the chief suspect now." "Too many chiefs?" Garmash smiled regretfully. "It's more than I can handle," Susan said, shaking the paper in her hand and snorting, "Damn comment. It's bad enough being insulted like that, and then misquoted. They should at least put It’s better to get this insult right.” She looked more amused than angry. “It made us go around a lot,” Gamash said, leaning his elbows on the table, “everyone quotes and says ‘he’s a genius…’ when in reality the comment says ‘she’s a genius… ...'." "How did you realize it in the end?" Susan asked. "Reading AA helped me," said Garmash, nodding to the bulky volume still on the table. "Here is the pronoun 'he' when it comes to alcoholics, but obviously, A lot of people are actually 'she'. People are always like that throughout the investigation of a case. When gender is uncertain, people assume it's 'he' rather than 'she'. I realize it's an automatic positioning .Because people couldn't remember who the review was about, they said 'he's a genius...' but Lillian was actually writing about you. Detective Lacoste finally found it in the "News" profile Room found this." They all looked at the photocopied article.Things that were dug up from the reference room, although buried in the documents, did not die. There is a picture of Susan on it.Although it was taken 25 years ago, she can be recognized at a glance.Grinning, she stands in front of one of her paintings, proud, excited.Her dream has finally come true and her art is finally being noticed.After all, the commentator of the "News" was there. Susan's smile in the photo is eternal, but the scene of Susan's smile faded, replaced by an inarticulate expression, an almost weird expression. "I still remember that moment. The photographer asked me to stand in front of a painting and smile. It wasn't hard to smile. If he told me not to smile, it was hard. The exhibition was at a local cafe and there were a lot of people there ... Lillian came over and introduced herself. I've seen her in other people's art exhibitions, but I always avoid her. She looked mean. But this time she was very sweet, and asked me a few questions, Said she was going to write a review of my exhibit in the News. That photo," she pointed to the paper on her desk, "was taken about 30 seconds after she said those words." Everyone took another look. Young Susan's smile almost leaps out of old photos, and even now it lights up the room.However, the young woman was unaware that the ground beneath her was about to crumble.She didn't realize she was about to be thrown into the air, into thin air.And the sweet woman next to her was taking notes, also smiling. It's a chilling image, like seeing a man approaching at the exact moment a truck speeds into the frame, a millisecond before disaster strikes. "She's a genius," said Susan, who didn't even need to read the comments. "It's like a biological function for her to make art." She looked up and said with a smile, "I haven't had a solo exhibition since then. It's too Humiliation. Even if the gallery owners forgot about it, I wouldn't do it. There is no way I could take another review like this and live." She looked at Inspector Gamache. "All the king's horses, all the king's men," he said.She nodded. "I did fall badly." "You lied to us," said Beauvoir. "Yes." She looked directly into his eyes. "Susan." The Chief Justice put a hand on her arm. "It's okay," she said. "I was going to tell them the truth, you know. It's just that they got to me before I had a chance to come forward. It's a shame." "You have a lot of opportunities," Beauvoir said. Pinault twitched to defend her, but controlled himself. "That's right," said Susan. "She's telling the truth," Brian said. Everyone's eyes turned to him, surprised not only by the words, but also by the voice.Shockingly young, reminding them that despite all his tattoos, he was still a boy. "Susan asked me and Thierry to have dinner with her and wanted to talk to us," Brian said. "She told us all about it." He raised a tattooed hand toward the article. She waved in the direction of her, "She said, she will talk to you guys as soon as possible tomorrow morning." The child, covered in tattoos and piercings, called the chief judge by his first name, which was surprising.Gamache looked at Pinault, not knowing whether to envy him for helping this nearly depraved child, or to suspect that he had lost his mind. Did the eminent judge make any other errors in judgment? The inspector fixed his practiced gaze on Brian.The young man looked relaxed, even comfortable.Did he drink too much?Gamash doubted.But he's clearly out of that predicament.He was neither amused nor sad, and he felt like he was outside of it. "And what did you tell her?" Beauvoir asked, looking at Brian.He has met this kind of punk before, and it has almost never ended amicably. "I can't stand it," Pinault admitted. "The judge in me thinks she should get a lawyer, and the lawyer will probably advise her to keep quiet and not volunteer any information. And as a member of the AA, I think she should get a lawyer." You should tell the truth right away." "So which one of you has the upper hand?" asked Beauvoir. "Before I made any suggestions, you guys arrived." "But you must know that it's inappropriate," said Gammash. "The chief judge giving advice to murder suspects?" Thierry asked. "Of course I know it's inappropriate, even immoral. But if your daughter or son is suspected of murder and asks for your help, you will send them to the court." Anyone else?" "Of course not. But you didn't say Susan was a relation of yours?" "I mean I know Susan better than most people, and she knows me better than any parent, sibling or child. Just like we know Brian, he knows us." "I know you understand each other's addiction to alcohol," Garmash said, "but you can't say you understand each other's heart. You can't say Susan is innocent just because she's quit drinking, or belongs to AA. You can't Knowing if she's telling the truth now, you have no way of knowing if she's guilty." Thierry was very disapproving of this, and the two strong men looked at each other. "We can both give our lives for each other," Bryan said. Garmash leaned towards him, staring at the boy with sharp eyes, "But one of you is dead." The inspector pointed to the wall behind him, which was full of photos of Lillian, lying in the garden of Moreau's house.Garmash intentionally arranged the seats for all three to face the wall, facing the photographs.That way, no one will forget why they are there. "You don't know," Susan said, her voice rising with a hint of desperation. "When Lillian did this to me," she pointed to the comment, "we were different. Two Alcoholic. But I was ending and she was just starting. Yes, I hated her for that. I was already vulnerable and she pushed me over the edge. I've been drinking every day since Got drunk. I prostituted myself to get a drink. Disgusting. I was disgusting. Finally, I finally hit rock bottom and came to AA and started preparing to be a human again." "And 20 years later, when Lillian walks through the doors of AA?" "I'm surprised I still hate her so much—" "Susan," the Chief Judge reminded her again. "Thierry, I either say it all, or I don't bother. Right?" He looked upset, but agreed anyway. "But then she asked me to be her leader," Susan said, turning to the officers, "and a strange thing happened." "What?" Beauvoir asked. "I forgive her." No one spoke again, and it was Beauvoir who finally broke the silence. "that is it?" "It's not just that, Sergeant, I must admit. When you help your enemy, something seems to loosen." "Did she ever apologize for that comment?" the Inspector asked. "Yes, about a month ago." "Do you feel she is sincere?" Lacoste asked. Susan paused, thought for a moment, then nodded, "If I thought it was insincere, I wouldn't have accepted it at the time. I truly believe she regrets what she did to me." "And to others?" asked Lacoste. "Yes." Susan agreed. "Then, if she apologized to you for that comment," Inspector Garmash gestured to the paper on the table, "she would most likely apologize to the others who were commented on." "I think it's possible, but she didn't tell me. I thought she was apologizing to me just because we were the leader and the led, so she needed to clear things up. But now that I think about it, I think you're right. Yes, I'm not the only one she's apologizing to." "And she wasn't the only painter whose career was ruined?" Gamache asked. "Probably not. Though not every review is as brutal as mine. I'm even a little proud of it. It couldn't be more poignant than that." Susan laughed, but all the police officers present felt the pain in her voice when she said the word "cruel and ruthless". She didn't forgive her, thought Garmash, at least, not completely. After Susan and two others left, the three officers sat around the conference table. "Do we have enough grounds to arrest her?" Lacoste asked. "She admitted to hiding her long-simmering resentment towards the victim and the fact that she was there. She had a motive and an opportunity." "But there's no proof," said Garmash, leaning back in his chair.It's really frustrating.They could charge Suzanne Coates almost immediately, but they really couldn't decide the case. "It's very suggestive, very suggestive." He picked up the review, glanced at it, put it down, and looked back at Lacoste. "You'll have to go back to the press office again." Isabelle Lacoste's face sank, "I can do anything except this matter, sir, you might as well kill me directly." "I'm sorry." He said with a weary smile, "I think there are more bodies to be found through the newspaper data room." "How?" asked Beauvoir. "Other painters whose careers were killed by Lillian." "She needs someone else to apologize." Lacoste understood what the inspector meant and was about to leave. "Maybe she attended Clara's party not to apologize to Clara, but to someone else." "You don't think Susan Coates killed Lillian?" Beauvoir asked. "I don't know," the Inspector admitted, "but I suspect that if Susan wanted to kill Lillian, she would have done so. However..." Garmash paused, "You didn't notice that when it comes to Her reaction at that review?" "She's still angry," Lacoste said. Gamash nodded, "She's been at AA for 23 years, and she's been trying to get rid of her resentment, but she's still angry. Can you imagine people who haven't tried so hard? How angry should they be?" Beauvoir picked up the photocopy of the review and stared at the cheerful young woman inside. Not only hopes are shattered, dreams and careers are also destroyed, what will happen?What happens when your whole life is ruined?Of course, he knew the answer. Just behind them on the wall. Jean-Guy Beauvoir splashed water on his face and felt the prickly beard.It's 2:30 in the morning and he can't sleep.He woke up from the pain, and lay in bed hoping the pain would go away.But of course, the pain is still there. So he dragged himself up and went to the bathroom. Now, he turned his face left and right in front of the mirror, looking at himself inside.The person in the mirror is decadent and tired, already wrinkled.Those thick wrinkles crawl around the corners of the eyes, around the mouth, between the eyebrows, and on the forehead, but none of them are laugh lines.He put his hands on his cheeks, trying to iron out the lines, but they wouldn't go away. He leaned against the mirror again.Those beards, under the harsh light of the B&B hotel bathroom, turned out to be gray. He turned his head sideways, and the hair at the temples had also turned gray, and the entire head seemed to be in shades of gray.When exactly did this happen? Jesus, he thought, is this what Annie saw?an old man?Gray hair, decadent and tired?oh my god. Anne and David are now at odds.But it's too late. Beauvoir returned to the bedroom, sat on the edge of the bed, looked at the ceiling, then groped under the pillow, took out the medicine bottle, and shook out a pill.It's in the palm of his hand.He stared at it, his vision blurred.He clenched his palms tightly, then quickly opened them, threw the medicine into his mouth, picked up a glass of water from the bedside table, and gave it down in one gulp.Beauvoir waited, waiting for that familiar feeling.Slowly, he felt the pain subside.But the other kind, the deeper pain, is still there. Jean-Guy Beauvoir dressed, quietly left the B&B, and disappeared into the night. Why hadn't he noticed this before? Beauvoir leaned his head closer to the screen, stunned by what he saw.He has watched this video hundreds of times, over and over again.He remembered every scene of the video captured by the camera on the helmet. So, how could he ignore this detail? He clicked "replay" and watched it again.Then click "Replay" and watch again. There he is, on screen, with a weapon in hand, taking aim at a gunman.Then he was shot from behind and his legs buckled.Beauvoir watched and saw himself on his knees, falling forward, face first.he remembers. He could still seem to see the dirty concrete floor coming towards him, and he could still see the dirt on it.He fell headfirst on it. Then came the pain, indescribable pain.He pressed his lower abdomen tightly, but to no avail. On the screen, he heard someone shout, "Jean Guy!" It was Gamache's voice.The detective ran up to him with a submachine gun, grabbed his bulletproof vest, and dragged him behind a wall. Then there is the familiar close-up shot.Beauvoir lost consciousness.Garmache shouted at him, ordered him to stay awake, bandaged him, and put his hand on his wound to stop the bleeding. You can see the blood on the detective's hand.So much blood on hands. Gamash leaned over and made a movement that he didn't want anyone to see.He kissed Beauvoir on the forehead, so softly that it was more shocking than cannon fire. Then the Inspector left. It wasn't the kiss that stunned Beauvoir, but what happened afterwards.Why hadn't he noticed it before?He'd seen it, of course, but never really grasped what it meant. Gamache left him. Leave him there alone. wait to die. The detective had abandoned him to die alone on the concrete floor of that filthy factory. Beauvoir clicked on replay.replay.replay.Every rerun, of course, the same thing repeats itself. Myrna was wrong.He wasn't remorseful for not being able to save Garmash, he was angry that Garmash hadn't been able to save him. Beauvoir's heart fell into the bottomless abyss. Armand Garmache groaned and looked at the clock on the wall. 3:12. The bed in the B&B hotel is very comfortable, the warm and soft goose down is covered on the body, and the cool night wind blows in from the open window, bringing the sound of owls in the distance. He lay on the bed, pretending to be falling asleep soon. 3:18. Now, he rarely wakes up in the middle of the night, but it happens occasionally. 3:22. 3:27. Garmash finally accepted reality.He jumped out of bed, dressed, and tiptoed down the stairs, leaving the B&B.The night air was so fresh and cool that even the owls were silent now. Nothing happened, only one inspector was moving. Garmash walked slowly, pacing counterclockwise around the village green.The surrounding houses are quiet and dark, and people are fast asleep. Three tall pine trees swayed and rustled in the breeze. Garmash put his hands behind his back, cleaning his brain.He no longer thinks about the case, in fact, he is trying to think of nothing but the fresh night breeze and enjoy the peace and tranquility. After passing Peter and Clara's house, he walked a few more steps, stopped, looked across the bridge, and saw the project room.One light was on, not very bright, barely visible. Lacoste?he doubted.Maybe she found some clue and came back?But she would surely wait until morning. He crossed the small bridge and walked towards the old railway station. Through the window, he saw that the light was coming from a monitor.Someone is sitting in front of a computer in the dark. He couldn't see who it was.Like a man, but so far away, and the man sat all in the shadows. Garmash did not have a gun with him.He never carried a gun, if possible.Instead, he habitually took his reading glasses from the bedside table.Wherever he went, he kept his reading glasses in his breast pocket.In his opinion, it could help more and be more powerful than any gun.Although he has to admit that, for now, glasses play a limited role.He thought about going back to the hotel and waking Beauvoir up, but he dismissed the idea.Whoever was there should have disappeared by then. Inspector Gamache tried the door, but it was not locked. He opened the door slowly.The door creaked and he held his breath.But the man sitting in front of the screen didn't move, and seemed to be lost in thought. Finally, Garmash opened the door wide enough and slipped in. Standing in the room, he could finally see clearly.Was the intruder alone, or did he have accomplices? He scanned the dark corners, but nothing happened. The detective took a few steps forward in the case room, ready to confront the man sitting in front of the screen. At this time, he saw something on the monitor, a beating image in the dark.It was the police agents who marched through the factory with weapons in hand.Gamache saw Beauvoir hit and fell.He saw himself sprinting through the empty room to save Beauvoir. The man in front of the screen is watching the stolen video.From the back, the inspector saw that the intruder had short hair and a slender figure.That's all Gamache could see. More images flooded the screen.Gamache saw himself crouching beside Beauvoir, bandaging him. Gamache could hardly bear to watch it.But the person in front of the screen was fascinated by it and remained motionless.At the moment when Garmache left Beauvoir on the video, the intruder's right hand moved, and the picture jumped over. Go back to the beginning. The shootout resumed. Gamache moved forward, seeing more clearly and with greater certainty.Until finally, with a churn in his stomach, he knew. "Jean Guy?" Beauvoir nearly fell off his chair.He fumbled with the mouse, frantically trying to click somewhere.Pause, stop, close the screen.But it was too late, really too late. "What are you doing?" asked Garmash, approaching him. "nothing." "You're watching this video," Gamash said. "No." "Of course you are." Garmash strode to his desk and turned on the lamp.Jean-Guy Beauvoir sat in front of his computer, staring at the Inspector with red eyes and a tired look. "Why are you here?" asked Garmash. Beauvoir stood up. "I just wanted to see it again. We talked about the internal investigation yesterday and it reminded me of it. I need to see it again." Seeing the pain and concern in Garmache's eyes gave Beauvoir a tinge of satisfaction. But Beauvoir now knew it was a fake, a show.The man standing there with a concerned face doesn't care about himself, he's just pretending.If he cared, he would not have left at that time, letting himself wait to die. Behind him, the video continues to play, though neither of them can see it.The point at which Beauvoir hit replay has passed.Inspector Garmash, wearing a bulletproof vest and armed with a submachine gun, chased one of the shooters up the stairs. "You must drop the matter, Jean Guy," said the inspector. "And forget?" Beauvoir snapped, "You hope so, don't you?" "What do you mean?" "You want me to forget, you want us all to forget what happened." "Are you all right?" Gamache moved closer to him, but Beauvoir backed away, "What's the matter?" "You don't even care who actually leaked the video. Maybe you just want it leaked? Maybe you want everyone to see that you're a big hero. But we both know the truth." On the video behind them, vague figures struggled and squirmed. "You selected each of us," said Beauvoir, raising his voice. "You have guided each of us, and you have brought us to this factory. We follow you, trust you, and what is the result?" ? They died. Now you don't bother to figure out who leaked the video? Video of their death was recorded." Beauvoir was now yelling, almost screaming, "You're like me , can't believe what a kid did. You're even worse than that hacker. You don't care about us, any of us." Garmache stared at him, jaw so tight that Beauvoir could almost see the muscles twitching there.Garmash's eyes narrowed, and his breathing came short.The on-screen detective, bloodied all over his face, drags a comatose, handcuffed gunman down the stairs and throws him at his feet.Then, with the weapon in hand, he scanned the room, the gunshots still coming and going. "You must never say such things again in the future." Garmash squeezed out the words through his teeth. "You are not as good as a hacker." Beauvoir repeated, approaching the inspector, and spit out each word, feeling that he had no scruples, he didn't care about anything, he just wanted to hurt people.Wanted to push him, push him, push him away.想把手握得紧紧的，握成炮弹，捶击加马什的胸膛。打他，伤害他，惩罚他。 “你太过分了。”加马什的声音低沉，含着警告。波伏瓦看到探长握紧了拳头，压抑着怒火。 “你还不够过分，长官。” 屏幕上，探长迅速地转过身，但是已经晚了。他的头向后一仰，胳膊张开，枪甩了出去。加马什倒了下去，后背弓起。 然后重重地摔在了地上，身受重伤。 加马什跌坐在椅子上，两腿无力，双手颤抖。 波伏瓦离开了，把门重重地摔上，只留下那撞击声回荡在专案室里。 波伏瓦的电脑屏幕亮着，加马什可以听到视频的声音，但看不到图像。他听到警员们相互呼喊着，听到拉科斯特在呼叫急救，听到枪声。 他不需要看。他知道每个年轻探员，知道他们什么时候，又怎样死在了他所领导的这次突袭中。 探长继续盯着前方，粗重地呼吸着，听到身后的枪声，听到人们呼喊着请求帮助。 听到他们死去。 整整六个月的时间，他都在努力让自己跨过这个坎。他知道自己必须放开。他也在尝试。忘却虽然在发生，但是很慢。他没有意识到在心中埋葬四个健壮的年轻探员需要多长时间。 在他身后，枪声和呼喊声此起彼伏。此刻声音全无了。 他几乎，几乎就按捺不住，要揍波伏瓦了。这让他很震惊。 加马什以前也愤怒过。他当然受过讥讽和考验。来自桃色新闻的记者，嫌疑人，辩护律师，甚至是同事。但他从未像今天一样，差一点就要动手了。 他控制住了自己。但用的气力太大，以至于让他上紧的发条一下子松了下来。力倦神疲，深深地受伤。 he understands.明白为什么无论嫌疑人，甚至是同事多么令人发疯、让人挫败，也不会像今天一样让他差点动手。那是因为他们不会这样深深地伤害他。 但他关心的人却可以。 你还不如黑客。 Is it really? 当然不是，加马什想，很不耐烦。那只是波伏瓦在发泄自己。 但这并不说明他错了。 加马什又叹了口气，感觉好像要窒息了。 也许应该告诉波伏瓦，他已经在调查这次泄露事件。应该相信波伏瓦。但这不是信任的问题，这是一种保护。他不能让波伏瓦卷进来。如果他曾经想过告诉波伏瓦，那么过去的15分钟发生的事情让加马什彻底放弃了。波伏瓦太容易受伤了，他受的伤害太重了。不管是谁泄露了视频，这个人一定很有势力，很恶毒。而波伏瓦，在目前这种虚弱状态下，绝不是对手。 不，这个任务只能由那些耗得起的人来执行，不管是指事业，还是别的方面。 加马什站起来去关电脑。视频又在重新播放，就在探长关上之前，他又看到让·居伊·波伏瓦中了枪，倒下，摔在水泥地上。 直到这一刻，加马什探长才意识到，让·居伊·波伏瓦从未真正站起来过。