Jean-Guy stooped quickly to pick up the light. “I don’t know.”
But he did know there was something else in there with them.
Beauvoir tilted the beam up. Up. Straight up. And Armand felt his jaw go slack.
“Oh my God,” he whispered.
What he saw was unbelievable. Inconceivable.
The camouflage netting and old vines concealed a vast space. It was hollow. But not empty. Inside it was a gun. A massive artillery piece. Ten times, a hundred times bigger than anything Gamache had ever seen. Or heard of. Or thought possible.
And stretching up from the base, apparently out of the ground, was a figure.
A winged monster. Writhing.
Gamache stepped forward, then stopped as his boot fell on something.
“Jean-Guy,” he said, and motioned to the ground.
Beauvoir pointed the flashlight and there, in the circle of light, was a stick.
Word spread fast. Within minutes everyone in the village knew that something had been found.
Al and Evie Lepage had been on every shift, searching the forest for their son’s stick, only taking breaks when the damp and cold got into their bones and they couldn’t take it anymore.
They were in the bistro taking a rare break to warm up when Jean-Guy Beauvoir strode past on his way to the Gamache home. They followed him and were standing in the doorway when they heard his phone call to the local Sûreté detachment.
And the next call. To his own office in Montréal. Telling them to send a forensics team.
“What did you find?” Evie asked from the doorway to the study.
Al stood behind her, not allowing Beauvoir past until he told them.
“We found Laurent’s stick,” said Jean-Guy. He spoke softly, gently, clearly. Confirming the worst fear. That there was a ghost in the attic, a monster under the bed, a vampire in the basement after all.
Monsters existed. Their son had been murdered by one.
“I want to see,” said Al.
He and Evie had followed Beauvoir back into the forest and now confronted Gamache. Beauvoir had gone back through the hole, to start the preliminary investigation, leaving Armand outside to make sure no one else entered.
Gabri and Olivier returned to the village, to guide the police through the woods.
“I can’t let you in,” Armand said to Al and Evie. “I’m sorry. Not yet.”
Al Lepage, always large, had grown immense with anger. His chest was out, his broad shoulders back, even his beard seemed wilder than normal.
If Armand had expected Evelyn to be the voice of reason, he’d miscalculated. While smaller than her husband, her rage was no less immense.
“Get out of my way,” she snapped, barreling into him, trying to shoulder him aside. But Armand hooked his arm around her waist and held her in place, leaning over her, whispering into her long, loose hair.
“No, Evie, please. Please. Stop.”
It was no use, he knew, trying to reason with her. Warning her she might destroy evidence. Telling her the forensics team needed to get there first.
This was not about reason but raw instinct. Something primal. She needed to stand on the spot, not where her son had died, but where he’d last lived.
And Armand needed to stop her. Stop them.
“What else is in there, Armand?” Al demanded, taking his wife’s hand. “What aren’t you telling us?”
Gamache didn’t answer.
“We heard Jean-Guy on the phone, calling for help,” said Al. “He told them to bring strong flashlights and floodlights. And ladders.”
Al Lepage lifted his eyes from Armand to the wall of woody vines, intertwined, creeping into and over and through each other, creating an almost impenetrable barrier. It also created a trompe l’oeil, the illusion that it was simply thick brush. It looked, to anyone walking by, like more forest.
But no one simply walked by here. They were half a kilometer into the woods behind Three Pines. Only an overgrown old path was visible from the Three Pines road, and even that disappeared after a hundred meters or so.
“What’s in there?” Al repeated.
Gamache looked at Laurent’s parents, and at the other searchers, including Reine-Marie, all of whom had the same question.
“I can’t tell you yet,” said Armand.
He saw Reine-Marie’s face grow anxious.
“You don’t have to tell us everything,” said Antoinette. “Just tell us if we should be worried.”
It was a reasonable question, but he didn’t have the answer. Not yet.
They heard footfalls on the dry leaves, and three men appeared between the trees. Gabri and two Sûreté officers.
“We’ll take it from here,” said one of the young agents, dismissing Gabri. Then he turned to look at the villagers, who were obviously relieved to see them.
“Why are we here?” he asked. He looked around. “Is this a joke?”
“Not at all,” said Gamache. He stepped forward and put out his hand. “My name is Armand—”
“Did I ask your name? Non. I asked why my partner and I are standing in the middle of these woods.”
The young man’s olive-green uniform was stiff and fresh. Not from laundering, but from lack of wear.
It might be, Gamache realized, his first day on the job. Almost certainly his first month. It was more than an hour since Beauvoir had called. They clearly had not hurried over.
The agent looked annoyed and unimpressed as he rested his hand on the hilt of his gun and had his first taste of real authority.
Gamache saw the name band on the upper left of his uniform.
Favreau.
It was familiar and then he remembered. It was the name on the report into Laurent’s death. The one that concluded it had been an accident.
“We were told to come here to look into something strange.”
He looked at Gamache.
“Would that be you, mon vieux?” he asked, and got a snort of amusement from his partner.
“Do you have any idea—” Gabri began, but Armand waved him quiet.
“Any idea what?” asked the Sûreté agent.
“I think it’s best if you all go back home,” said Armand to the other searchers. “I take it Olivier’s waiting for Chief Inspector Lacoste?”
Gabri nodded. “Oui. He’ll show them in.”
Gamache turned to Monsieur Béliveau. “Chief Inspector Lacoste might bring ladders, but I expect you have some too.”
“Ladders?” the grocer asked. “Yes. My own personal one, but I can find more.”
“Ladders, Armand?” asked Reine-Marie, searching her husband’s face then looking behind him.
“Oui. Oh, and Monsieur Béliveau, can you make them big ladders?”
“Of course,” said the grocer. An unflappable man, he now seemed slightly flapped.
“Wait a minute,” said Agent Favreau. “What’s all this about? No one leaves until we get an explanation.”
Gamache stepped closer to him. The agent backed up and put his hand on his billy club.
Gamache cocked his head to one side, taking in the movement. Then he turned away from the agents, toward the villagers who were watching with unease.
“Go on,” he said.
“Armand?” asked Reine-Marie.
“I’ll be home soon.” He smiled reassuringly.
And they left, glancing back now and then to the large man and two young men, squaring off in the old-growth forest. It was hard not to get the impression of lithe young wolves closing in on a stag. Having no idea just how very dangerous a stag could be.
Laurent’s parents hadn’t budged and Gamache hadn’t expected them to. They were now the exceptions.
Gamache returned his attention to the young men.
“You see them?” When the agents didn’t respond, he continued. “That’s Evelyn and Al Lepage. They lost their son, Laurent, a few days ago. I believe you wrote up the report.”