Still Life

Guimette and Gamache exchanged glances.

'The basement's my chore,' continued Philippe. 'So when he told me to put the bloody things down there I began to wonder whether he was, well, setting me up. But I put them down there anyway, then he started yelling at me. "Stupid kid, get your effin' bike off the driveway." Before I could wash my hands I had to move the bike. That's how the blood stains got there.'

'I'd like to see your left arm, please.' Gamache asked.

Guimette turned to Philippe, 'I advise you not to.'

Philippe shrugged and shoved back the loose sleeve, exposing a violent purple bruise. A twin for Beauvoir's.

'How'd you get that?' Gamache asked.

'How do most kids get bruises?'

'You fell down?' Guimette asked.

Philippe rolled his eyes. 'What's the other way?'

Guimette, with sadness, said, 'Your dad did that to you?'

'Duh.'

'He didn't. He couldn't have.' Matthew was silent, as though suddenly emptied of all that made him go. It was Suzanne who finally found her voice, and protested. They must have misheard, misunderstood, be mistaken. 'Philippe couldn't have said those things.'

'We know what we heard, Mrs Croft. Philippe says his father abuses him, and out of fear of a beating Philippe helped Matthew cover up his crime. That's how he came to have the blood on him, and his prints on the bow. He says his father killed Jane Neal.' Claude Guimette explained all this for a second time and knew he might have to do it a few more times.

Astonished, Beauvoir caught Gamache's eye and saw there something he'd rarely seen in Armand Gamache. Anger. Gamache broke eye contact with Beauvoir and looked over at Croft. Matthew realised, too late, that he had gotten it wrong. He'd thought the thing that would destroy his home and his family was marching toward them from a great way off. He never, ever, imagined it had been there all along.

'He's right,' said Croft. 'I killed Jane Neal.'

Gamache closed his eyes.

'Oh, Matthew, please. No. Don't.' Suzanne turned to the others, taking Gamache's arm in a talon grip. 'Stop him. He's lying.'

'I think she's right, Mr Croft. I still believe Philippe killed Miss Neal.'

'You're wrong. I did it. Everything Philippe says is true.'

'Including the beatings?'

Matthew looked down at his feet and said nothing.

'Will you come with us to the station in St Remy?' asked Gamache. Beauvoir noticed, as did the others, that it was a request, not an order. And certainly not an arrest.

'Yes.' Croft seemed relieved.

'I'm coming with you,' said Suzanne, springing up.

'What about Philippe?' Claude Guimette asked.

Suzanne suppressed the urge to scream, 'What about him?' Instead she took a couple of breaths.

Gamache stepped forward and spoke with her softly, calmly. 'He's only fourteen, and as much as he might not show it, he needs his mother.'

She hesitated then nodded, afraid to speak again.

Gamache knew that while fear came in many forms, so did courage.

Gamache, Beauvoir and Croft sat in a small white interview room at the Surete station in St Remy. On the metal table between them sat a plate of ham sandwiches and several tins of soft drinks. Croft hadn't eaten anything. Neither had Gamache. Beauvoir couldn't stand it any longer and slowly, as though his stomach wasn't making that whiny noise filling the room, picked up a half sandwich and took a leisurely bite.

'Tell us what happened last Sunday morning,' said Gamache.

'I got up early, as I usually do. Sunday's Suzanne's day to sleep in. I put the breakfast things on the kitchen table for the kids then went out. Bow hunting.'

'You told us you didn't hunt any more,' said Beauvoir.

'I lied.'

'Why go to the woods behind the schoolhouse?'

'Dunno. I guess because that's where my father always hunted.'

'Your father smoked unfiltered cigarettes and ran your home as a dairy farm. You don't,' said Gamache. 'You've proven you're no slave to your father's way of doing things. There must be another reason.'

'Well, there isn't. It was Thanksgiving and I was missing him. I took his old recurve bow and his old arrows and went to his old hunting grounds. To feel closer to him. Point finale.'

'What happened?'

'I heard a sound, something coming through the trees, like a deer. Slowly and carefully. Almost on tiptoe. That's how deer walk. So I drew my bow and as soon as the shape appeared I fired. You have to be fast with deer 'cause any little thing will set them off.'

'But it wasn't a deer.'

'No. It was Miss Neal.'

'How was she lying?'

Croft stood up, put his arms and legs out, his eyes wide open.

'What did you do?'

'I ran to her, but I could see she was dead. So I panicked. I looked for the arrow, picked it up, and ran to the truck. I threw everything in the back and drove home.'

'What happened then?' In Beauvoir's experience interrogation was really just asking, 'Then what happened?' and listening closely to the reply. Listening was the trick.

'I don't know.'

'What do you mean?'

'I can't remember anything after getting in the truck and driving home. But isn't that enough? I killed Miss Neal. That's all you need to know.'

'Why didn't you come forward?'

'Well, I didn't think you'd find out. I mean, the woods are full of hunters, I couldn't believe you'd come to me. Then when you did, I didn't want to destroy my father's old bow. It means a lot to me. It's like having him in the house still. When I realised it had to be destroyed it was too late.'

'Do you beat your son?'

Croft winced, as though revolted, but said nothing.

'I sat in your kitchen this morning and told you we thought Philippe had killed Miss Neal,' Gamache leaned forward so his head hovered over the sandwiches, but he only had eyes for Croft. 'Why didn't you confess then?'

'I was too stunned.'

'Come on, Mr Croft. You were waiting for us. You knew what the lab tests would show. And yet now you're saying you were going to have your son arrested for a crime you yourself committed? I don't think you're capable of that.'

'You have no idea what I'm capable of.'

'I guess that's true. I mean, if you can beat your son you can do anything.'

Croft's nostrils flared and his lips compressed. Gamache suspected if he truly was violent he'd have taken a swing at him then.

They left Croft sitting in the interview room. 'What'd you think, Jean Guy?' Gamache asked when they reached the privacy of the station commander's office.

'I don't know what to think, sir. Did Croft do it? Philippe's story hangs together. It's possible.'

'We found absolutely no evidence of Jane Neal's blood in Croft's truck, or Mrs Croft's car. His fingerprints weren't anywhere-'

'True, but Philippe said he wore gloves,' Beauvoir interrupted.

'You can't wear gloves and shoot a bow and arrow at the same time.'

'He could have put them on after he shot, once he saw what he'd done.'

'So he had the presence of mind to put on gloves, but not enough to call the police and admit the accident? No. On paper it makes sense. But in real life it doesn't.'

'I don't agree, sir. One thing you've always impressed on me is that we can never know what happens behind closed doors. What really goes on in the Croft home? Yes, Matthew Croft gives every impression of being a thoughtful and reasonable man, but we've found time and again that that's exactly how abusers appear to the outside world. They have to. That's their camouflage. Matthew Croft may very well be abusive.' Beauvoir felt stupid lecturing Gamache on the very things he'd learned from the man himself, but he thought they bore repeating.

'What about the public meeting, when he was so helpful?' Gamache asked.

'Arrogance. He admits himself he never thought we'd find him.'

'I'm sorry, Jean Guy. I just don't buy it. There's absolutely no physical evidence against him. Just the accusation of a very angry teenager.'