A Fatal Grace (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #2)

A Fatal Grace (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #2) Page 35

‘How?’

‘We collect evidence, of course. That’s a big part of it.’

‘But there’s more, isn’t there?’ Lemieux knew that Gamache had a near perfect record. Somehow, while others were left baffled, he managed to figure out who would kill. Now Lemieux stood very still himself. The big man was about to tell him how he did it.

‘We listen.’

‘That’s it?’

‘We listen really hard. Does that help?’ Gamache grinned. ‘We listen ’til it hurts. No, agent, the truth is, we just listen.’

Gamache opened the door to the bistro and stepped in.

‘Patron.’ Olivier came over and gave Gamache a kiss on both cheeks. ‘Snow’s coming, I hear.’

‘Couple inches tomorrow.’ Gamache nodded sagely. ‘Maybe more.’

‘That Météo Média or the Burlington forecast?’

‘Radio Canada.’

‘Oh, patron, they thought the Separatists would win the last referendum. You can’t trust a Radio Canada prediction.’

‘You might have a point, Olivier.’ Gamache laughed, and introduced Lemieux. The bistro was packed, full of people enjoying a drink before dinner. He nodded to a few. ‘Good crowd.’

‘Always is over Christmas. Lots of families visiting, and what with the events of the day, well, everyone comes to Rick’s.’

Rick’s? Rick’s what? Lemieux was already lost. This might be a record. So far in this case it had taken him a few minutes in each interview to become disoriented, and generally with the English. Now the chief was speaking French to another Québecois and Lemieux was already lost. This didn’t bode well.

‘People don’t seem too upset,’ said Gamache.

‘C’est vrai,’ Olivier agreed.

‘The monster’s dead and the villagers are celebrating,’ said Gabri, appearing at Gamache’s elbow.

‘Gabri,’ Olivier admonished. ‘That’s terrible. Haven’t you heard you must only say good things of the dead?’

‘Sorry, you’re right. CC’s dead.’ Gabri turned to Gamache. ‘Good.’

‘Oh, dear Lord,’ said Olivier. ‘Stand back. He’s channeling Bette Davis.’

‘It’s going to be a bumpy night,’ Gabri agreed. ‘Salut, mon amour.’ Gabri and Gamache exchanged a hug. ‘Have you left your wife yet?’ Gabri asked.

‘Have you?’

Gabri moved to stand beside Olivier. ‘There’s an idea, now that it’s legal. The Chief Inspector could be our best man.’

‘I thought Ruth was going to be our best man.’

‘True. Sorry, chief.’

‘Perhaps I could be your matron of honour. Let me know. I hear you had a tough time of it today trying to save Madame de Poitiers.’

‘No more than Peter, and I suspect considerably less than Ruth.’ Olivier jerked his head toward the window and the invisible woman sitting alone in the cold. ‘She’ll be in soon for her Scotch.’

Her important appointment, thought Lemieux.

Gamache said to Gabri. ‘I’d like to book into your B. & B. Two rooms.’

‘Not for that horrible trainee you had last time, I hope.’

‘No, just Inspector Beauvoir and me.’

‘Merveilleux. We’ll book you in.’

‘Merci, patron. We’ll see you tomorrow.’

Walking to the door he whispered to Lemieux, ‘Rick’s is from the film Casablanca. Here’s lesson number two. If you don’t know something, ask. You have to be able to admit you don’t know something, otherwise you’ll just get more and more confused, or worse, you’ll jump to a false conclusion. All the mistakes I’ve made have been because I’ve assumed something and then acted as though it was fact. Very dangerous, Agent Lemieux. Believe me. I wonder if you haven’t already leaped to a false conclusion?’

This cut Lemieux deeply. He was desperate to impress Gamache. He needed to impress him if he was to get the job done. But now, for some reason, the chief felt he might be on the wrong track. As far as Lemieu knew he wasn’t on any track, nor had he come to any conclusions about the case. Who could, so early?

‘You need to tread very carefully, Agent Lemieux. I often think we should have tattooed to the back of whatever hand we use to shoot or write, “I might be wrong.”’

Standing outside the bistro Chief Inspector Gamache’s face was in darkness, but Lemieux assumed he was smiling. It must be a joke. The head of homicide for the Sûreté du Québec couldn’t possibly be advocating such self-doubt.