‘But why kill her?’ asked Clara.
‘I didn’t kill her.’
There were murmurs of disbelief around the circle.
‘She’s telling the truth,’ said Gamache.
‘She didn’t kill Madeleine.’
‘Then who did?’ asked Gabri.
Jeanne stood up, staring into the darkness at the door.
‘Sir?’ The voice at the door was young, tentative, but that made it more frightening somehow, like discovering the devil was a family friend.
Gamache rose too and turned to the door. He could see nothing but black, then eventually an outline appeared. He’d run out of time. He turned back to the circle. All eyes were on him, their faces round and open like searchlights, probing for reassurance.
‘I’ll be back in a few minutes.’
‘You’re not leaving us?’ said Clara.
‘I’m sorry. I have to, but nothing bad will happen to you.’
Gamache turned and walked away from the flickering light, disappearing over the edge of the world.
FORTY-TWO
Agent Lemieux led him to the very end of the corridor and into a dim room where someone sat cross-legged, a flashlight cradled in his lap.
‘Hello, Armand.’
The voice was so familiar. The body, even in the struggling light, immediately recognizable. Beloved over the decades. Sneaking into bars underage, double-dating, cramming for exams, long walks as young men picking apart the world’s problems. And putting it together again, perfect. Smoking together. Quitting together. They’d been each other’s best man. Stood for each other, chosen each other to be godparent to a precious and beloved child.
Suddenly Armand Gamache was back at home, his cheek resting on the back of the rough sofa, eyes trained on the road. Waiting for Mom and Dad. Every other night they’d come home. But tonight a strange car drove in. Two men got out. A knock on the door. His grandmother’s hand finding his, the suddenly strong scent of mothballs from her sweater as she shoved his head into her side, to shield him from the words. But still the words found him and washed over him and clung to him for the rest of his life.
A terrible accident.
And his little friend Michel Brébeuf had been there for him even then. It had been somehow comforting as he grew to know that almost certainly nothing would ever be that devastating again.
Until now.
Now he stood facing the man he loved most in the world. The horsemen were loose and pounding down the slope, horses screaming, weapons raised. There would be no prisoners.
‘Bonjour, Michel.’
‘You knew, didn’t you? I saw it in your face as I left the elevator this afternoon.’
Gamache nodded.
‘How?’ Brébeuf asked.
Gamache looked round and found Agent Lemieux standing by the door.
‘He stays, Armand.’
Gamache stared at Lemieux, searching his face. But all he found was a cold, hard stare.
‘It’s not too late,’ said Gamache.
‘It’s way too late,’ said the young man. ‘For both of us.’
‘I didn’t mean you,’ said Gamache.
‘How did you know?’ Brébeuf stood up.
‘Secrets,’ said Gamache, surprised to hear his own voice so normal. It seemed like so many conversations he’d had with Michel. Reasonable, thoughtful, gentle even. ‘It’s our secrets that make us sick. You said that to me in the elevator.’
‘So?’
‘You said it’s one of the phrases I tell trainees. But that’s not true. I’ve only ever said it once and that was here, in the old Hadley house. I said it to Agent Lemieux.’
Brébeuf thought for a moment.
‘You knew then that he was working for me?’
‘I knew he was working for someone other than me. I knew he was the spy.’
‘How?’ Despite himself Brébeuf was curious.
‘It’s how Arnot worked. Simple and effective. Put someone trusted into a situation and let them do their worst. Un agent provocateur. I realized if Arnot’s people were going to try to bring me down, it would be from the inside. Put someone on my own team. But Arnot used thugs. You’re much more clever. You chose someone engaging, someone designed to insinuate himself easily.’
Gamache turned to Lemieux.
‘You’re easily liked. The whole team took to you. You’re smart and nicely self-deprecating. You fit in. Far more insidious than a thug. You kill with a kiss.’
Agent Robert Lemieux’s cold eyes never left Gamache’s. Gamache stared back. ‘Be careful, young man. You’re playing with things you can’t begin to understand.’
‘You think not?’ Lemieux stepped forward. ‘You think I’m young Agent Lemieux, naïve, unsophisticated, slightly stupid? You think I’ve been led astray perhaps with extravagant promises by the Superintendent? You think I’ve been seduced?’
As he spoke he walked closer to Gamache, deliberately, slowly, his voice smooth and honeyed, enticing. Enchanting. But the blush of youth was falling away and what approached Gamache was growing older and more decayed by the step until he stopped within inches of the Chief Inspector’s face. Gamache had the impression this thing was going to lick him, with a rancid, slimy tongue. It was all he could do not to fall back, gagging.
‘You think I’ll regret this one day, don’t you?’ Lemieux’s foul breath was on Gamache’s cheek. ‘You’re predictable, Chief Inspector. You need to save people, just as you’ve been saved. Given a second chance. The Superintendent here’s told me about your parents. That would have scarred most boys, but somehow you survived and even flourished. But the deal you made was that you’d help others. No one drowns on your watch. Quite a burden.’
Gamache could feel his heart pounding.
‘The things boys share with each other. I can see you, Gamache. A solid, strapping, earnest boy telling his best friend of his solemn oath to help people. And Brébeuf here pledged to help you, didn’t he? Like Lancelot and Arthur. And in the end, the one betrays the other. What was it your first chief taught both of you? Matthew 10:36. You didn’t think I was paying attention, did you?’ he asked Gamache.
‘Oh, I always knew you were paying attention.’ Gamache turned to Brébeuf. He could feel himself losing control, and if he lost that, all was gone. ‘I can see attacking me, but my family, Michel? Why Daniel? Annie, your own goddaughter?’
‘I was sure you’d know it was me then. Who else knew so much about your family? But still you were blind. So loyal.’ Brébeuf shook his head. ‘You never suspected, did you? Kept thinking it was Francoeur.’
Gamache made a move toward Brébeuf but Lemieux stepped between them. Gamache couldn’t remember Lemieux being so large. He stopped, but just, and his eyes never left Brébeuf.
‘I knew something had changed between us,’ said Gamache. ‘You were distant, polite but no more. It was small things, nothing I could quite put my finger on. Nothing worth mentioning, but it was one tiny thing after another. A birthday forgotten, a party missed, a flippant remark that seemed designed to insult. But I couldn’t believe it. I chose not to believe it.’ I was afraid to believe it, thought Gamache. Afraid it was true and somehow I’d lost my best friend. Like Hazel lost Madeleine. ‘I thought you were preoccupied with family problems. I never dreamed…’ He ran out of words. But one last one formed and fell from his mouth. ‘Why?’
‘Do you remember right after Arnot and the others were sentenced? The case was over, but you were in disgrace. Tossed out of the council. Catherine and I invited you and Reine-Marie for dinner, supposedly to cheer you up. But you were in fine spirits. We went into my study for a cognac and you told me then you didn’t care. You’d done what you had to. Your career was in tatters, but still you were happy. After you left, I sat reading. Some obscure book you probably gave me. In it I found a quote that devastated me. I copied it out that night and put it in my wallet, so I’d never forget.’