The Cruelest Month (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #3)

The Cruelest Month (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #3) Page 135

‘Well you were fucking wrong,’ snarled Lemieux.

‘Yes, Dad, I think he’ll say yes now.’ She turned to Gamache. ‘He’s been bugging me to invite you for tea sometime.’

‘Tell your father I’d be honored.’

‘Yup, Dad. He says he’ll come. No I don’t have a gun on him.’ She raised her brows at Gamache. ‘Now. No, I didn’t fuck up, but thanks for asking.’

‘Did you know?’ Lemieux asked Beauvoir as his hands were yanked behind him and cuffs clamped on.

‘Of course I knew,’ Beauvoir lied. He hadn’t known until he’d confronted the chief on the side of the road. Until they told each other everything. Then it had come out. Nichol was working for them. He was glad he hadn’t thrown her into the spring-bloated Rivière Bella Bella, as all his instincts had told him to do. That caul really couldn’t be completely trusted.

‘I knew she wasn’t Francoeur’s spy. Too obvious,’ said Gamache, handing the gun to Beauvoir. ‘I spoke to her almost a year ago, told her my plan and she agreed to play along. She’s a courageous young woman.’

‘Don’t you mean psychotic?’ asked Lemieux.

‘Not likeable, I’ll grant you, but that’s what I was counting on. As long as you thought I suspected her, you were free to do what you wanted. And I was free to watch you. I told Nichol to be as annoying as she could to everyone, but to focus on you in particular. To rattle you. Your armor’s your likeability. If we could keep you off balance you might say or do something stupid. And you did. That day here you sneaked up on me. No agent of mine would ever draw his gun on me. You did it to shake me up. Instead you put beyond doubt that you were the spy. But I made a massive mistake.’ Gamache turned to Brébeuf. ‘I thought the near enemy was Francoeur. It never occurred to me it would be you.’

‘Matthew 10:36. A man’s foes shall be they of his own household,’ quoted Brébeuf, softly. The hysteria gone, the anger gone, the fear gone. Everything gone.

‘But so shall his friends.’ Gamache watched as Beauvoir and Nichol herded Brébeuf and Lemieux to the door.

Fourteen days, thought Michel Brébeuf. Fourteen days of happiness. It was true. But what he’d forgotten until this very moment was that most of them had been with this man.

‘What the hell did you hit me with?’ Lemieux demanded.

‘A rock,’ said Nichol, preening. ‘One fell out of Inspector Beauvoir’s coat the other day and I picked it up. I threw it at you just as you fired.’

Armand Gamache walked down the dim corridor. Something odd was happening to the old Hadley house. It was becoming familiar. He could move about without turning on his flashlight. But he stopped partway along.

Something very large was coming toward him.

Reaching into his coat he took out his flashlight and flicked the switch. There in front of him was a multi-headed creature.

‘We’ve come to rescue you,’ said Gabri, from behind Myrna. Jeanne was in the lead followed by Clara and the rest.

‘Onward pagan soldiers,’ said Jeanne with a relieved smile.

The candle was burning low. They took their seats, the same ones they’d always taken, as though this was an old and comfortable ritual, a rite of spring.

‘You were about to tell us who killed Madeleine,’ said Odile.

Gamache waited until everyone was settled then he spoke.

‘How bitter a thing it is to look into happiness through another man’s eyes.’

He let the terrible words sink in.

‘Someone here had grown bitter looking at the joyous world Madeleine had created for herself. Do you know where that quote comes from?’

‘Shakespeare,’ said Jeanne. ‘As You Like It.’

Gamache nodded. ‘How’d you know?’

‘It was the school play our final year. You produced it.’ She turned to Hazel. ‘And Madeleine starred.’

‘Madeleine starred,’ repeated Gamache. ‘Always. Not because she tried but because she couldn’t help it.’

‘She was the sun,’ said Sandon, softly.

‘And someone flew too close,’ agreed Gamache. ‘Someone here is Icarus. Too close to the sun for too long. Finally the sun did what it always does. It sent this person plunging to the ground. But it took time. It took years. It actually took decades.

‘The murderer had created a fine life. Friends, a comfortable social life circle. It was a rich and happy time. But the ghosts of our past always find us. In this case the ghost wasn’t a person, but an emotion, long buried and even forgotten. But it was potent. Blinding, staggering, scorching jealousy.’ He turned to Jeanne. ‘If you thought it was hard being on Madeleine’s cheerleading squad, imagine being her best friend.’