Red Rainbow G Johanson (i am malala young readers edition .txt) 📖

but was clearly annoyed with Boyce – and he wasn’t even the guard who Plourde had named. He’d be more pissed if what Plourde claimed was true.

“Remember what we said,” Plourde said as he watched them leave. They’d promised him nothing, and he hadn’t dared ask for much. Plourde had cooperated through fear. This comment now came from fear too, fear of reprisals from the guard he’d ratted out – maybe the guard at his side too. This fear was pleasing as it made his story more plausible.

So yes, Boyce did recall some meek variation on ‘I’ll help you regardless, but can you please see what you can do for me after’. He also remembered one of the 21 points of the SOL. Against the forgetting of crimes, For the punishment of the guilty.

Boyce secured the address of Officer Alarie from the prison record personnel files. The guard who allowed them access did so reluctantly and had to be reminded, verbally, of the pecking order. Boyce and Faucher made sure to drive straight to Alarie’s home to prevent him from being warned that they were coming. The look he gave upon seeing them at his door in full uniform showed he had not been warned. Guilty conscience or just the general fear they engendered? An interrogation would reveal that.

“Yes?” Alarie said, civil yet bewildered.

“Inside would be better,” Boyce said.

“That’s difficult. My wife is present...”

“Is she immobile?” Boyce sniped.

“No, no. I’ll ask her to leave.” Alarie left them at the door and returned after a short time, his wife apparently having left by the back door. “Come through.”

Boyce and Faucher declined the proffered chairs. As they did not sit down, Alarie did not either, the three men standing in his living room as Boyce relayed the accusation. He had both of Plourde’s forgeries in his hand, the letter he had been ordered to write and the copy he had made of the original text. That was a truly queer message. Those words seemed more in keeping with the brother he knew, but it was still worded strangely. It wasn’t quite a suicide note for it was written as though he’d already gone.

Alarie was more predictable than Plourde. He denied the allegations, calling into question Plourde’s character. His claim that Plourde pleaded innocent in court every time was likely true, but Boyce didn’t care if he lied under oath to God. Crucially, Plourde did not seem to be lying to him. Alarie was a different matter. He was a big man and didn’t give any outward sign of feeling intimidated by them, but Boyce’s gut told him he was lying. They did some digging on him straight away. The first anomalies were discovered Monday afternoon. Alarie had received large cheques at three different times in the last 12 months from César Vadeboncoeur.

Vadeboncoeur was an easy man to find. He was well known in Paris, the national managing director of Escolico, a company that made tooth-rotting beverages. Boyce took Faucher with him to Vadeboncoeur’s office to see why he was paying Alarie and what for. This proved to be a dead end. César was not involved. He explained the payments satisfactorily, asking that they keep it off the record. He had a friend who was incarcerated who he wanted to see comfortable. He apologised, admitting he knew it was wrong, but he knew his friend would do the same for him. He asked if he could have a day to get his affairs in order, Boyce telling him to forget about it. They weren’t going to send him down for looking out for a friend. César asked for a favour too far when he asked if they could keep quiet about Alarie, for they would go down together. Boyce made no promises about this. Alarie’s innocence remained in question.

César gave Boyce and Faucher parting gifts in the shape of a case of a new test product that wasn’t on the market yet. Faucher told Boyce he could give his share to Beaulene, fizzy drinks not to his taste, especially not orange and lime. Boyce popped by to the family home in the early evening. Beaulene was in her room, Mrs Varon warning him that she wouldn’t want to see him. Boyce knocked on her door and entered when he realised she wasn’t going to tell him to enter.

“I’ve got a gift for you that money can’t buy.” He held up a bottle of orange and lime and crouched down opposite her as she sat on the bed, Boyce holding it out for her to take from him. “The packaging on the finished product will look better. This isn’t on the market yet. I have more if you like them.”

Beaulene took the bottle from him and placed it on her bed. “I’m not angry with you. I’m angry at myself. I knew you’d do something even when you promised, and I still told you. It was so stupid of me.”

Boyce knew fine well what she was talking about. “You’re being stupid now. I told you I wouldn’t harm him and I haven’t.”

“He vanished off the streets the same day I told you about him. Don’t you see you’re making it worse? We’re finished and everybody knows it. We picked the wrong side.”

“The family picked one side. You sound like you’ve picked another.”

“Just let him go, please.”

“Try the drink. If you like it, I can get you a tour of the place.” César seemed a pleasant chap – his handshake proved he’d never done a day’s real graft in his life, but he could afford to have soft hands in his job, where only his arse was likely to be callused from sitting down all day, if the comfy chair and silk boxers didn’t protect his derriere.

Boyce left her to it and joined his mother. He asked her if she wanted to try any of the drink, her gurning face as she said, “Maybe,” showing she wasn’t thrilled at the thought. “I was thinking of