Armand held Idola while Reine-Marie kissed her daughter and Honoré. Then she turned to her son-in-law. “See you later?”
“Absolutely.”
He sounded far more enthusiastic than he was. The last thing Jean-Guy wanted was to sit in a stuffy auditorium on this fine June day and listen to speeches. While Annie and the kids went to a barbecue with friends near their home in Montréal.
He was doing this for Armand. Jean-Guy needed to be there in case this was the day something stepped out of that blind spot.
Armand kissed his granddaughter, then handed her back to Annie and turned to Honoré. Kneeling down to eye level, Armand opened his arms. The boy raced forward, plowing into him. Though prepared, he almost tipped over, and realized it would not be long before the boy actually tackled him.
Honoré, once free of the embrace, rifled his grandfather’s pockets, where he found a wintergreen mint in one and a licorice pipe in another. Their parting ritual.
As they drove out of Three Pines, past the tiny church and the bench on the brow of the hill, Jean-Guy looked in the rearview mirror. Reine-Marie was waving, but Armand had drawn in his elbows and hunched his shoulders against a chill no one else felt.
Except Inspector Beauvoir.
Maybe the Chief wasn’t so delusional after all. Maybe he could see what was coming.
There is always another story, thought Jean-Guy. There is more than meets the eye.
After getting into her dress, bought solely for this occasion, Harriet looked in the mirror.
You can do this, you can do this, you can do this.
She took several deep breaths, holding them, then slowly exhaling. As she’d been taught to do when she felt overcome with anxiety. Then she looked around to make sure she was alone.
Harriet Landers was nothing if not careful. It was a point of pride, as she’d watched the reckless behavior of her fellow students. Though as she’d seen them going to parties, getting high, heading to Cuba and Mexico and Florida for March break, Harriet had begun to wonder if “careful” was really the word.
Bending down quickly, she reached into her knapsack for the special gift for her aunt. She felt its heft in her hand and knew Auntie Myrna would be surprised.
By the time Armand and Reine-Marie had found parking and got to the auditorium, the place was throbbing as hundreds of parents and friends greeted each other. Barely believing this day had finally come. When they could stop writing checks.
Though they all suspected that day never really came. But the big obligation was done.
Their children were graduating from university, and with a degree that might actually get them a job.
How well Armand and Reine-Marie remembered sitting in similar auditoriums watching first Daniel, then Annie take their degrees.
But this event, in this university, evoked far more complex feelings.
Armand’s eyes swept the crowd, observing, noting. The proud parents and grandparents. The bored and resentful younger siblings, glancing toward the windows. And the sunshine.
The Chief Inspector’s practiced gaze took in the professors in their gowns, the Chancellor in his ceremonial robes, chatting with parents. The technicians onstage, preparing to begin.
But his eyes kept returning to the large young man standing by the door. He wore jeans and a hoodie and was unlike anyone else there.
Dark hair in a bun. A small growth of beard. And a bulge—was that a bulge under his sweatshirt?
Gamache started forward just as a uniformed officer went up to the man. Armand watched. Alert. Prepared.
Then he stopped and smiled with relief.
The younger man was a plainclothes officer, assigned by the local Montréal police. He looked over at Gamache and brought his hand up in a subtle salute.
Gamache nodded. Then continued his survey of the auditorium.
It was a scrutiny born of long years of practice. And necessity. Crowds were always, for a cop, problematic, and never more so than here. Today.
While he’d spent part of that morning remembering the early days with Beauvoir. Jean-Guy. Agent. Now, as he walked through the milling crowd, Armand remembered his own early days in the Sûreté. And the first time he’d come here to the École Polytechnique, the engineering school for the Université de Montréal.
He’d been in the final week of a placement in the Montréal ambulance service, training with a senior paramedic. Though already a graduate from the Sûreté Academy, and having applied to the Criminal Intelligence Division, he’d volunteered for this extra training while waiting to hear about his first placement.
It had been a cold day in early December. He’d just bought a plane ticket to visit his godfather, Stephen Horowitz, in Paris. He’d be flying out Christmas Day. It was the cheapest flight he could find.
Armand and his supervisor were packing up at the end of their shift when the call came through.
There was an incident at the École Polytechnique. That was all. No other information. Armand looked at the clock on the station wall. It was almost six p.m.
“Come on, Gamache,” she said. “Let’s go. It’s probably nothing. A drunk student. I’ll buy you a beer later.”
They went.
She was wrong.
It was December 6, 1989. And it was not a drunk student.
“Bonjour, Armand.”
He turned, startled. “Nathalie!”
They embraced, then examined each other. There was gray in their hair now. And lines down their faces.
It was what happened naturally when people were allowed to grow older.
Nathalie Provost had been a young engineering student when they’d first met.
She was going about her day, going to her classes near the end of the semester as they prepared for the Christmas break. When it happened.
Armand was not that much older than she was. Than all of them. When they first met. When it happened.
Nathalie looked around the crowded auditorium before turning to Reine-Marie and hugging her too. Old friends by now.
“A beautiful day,” Nathalie said, and they knew she meant more than the fine spring weather.
“It is,” said Reine-Marie.
“I hope you’re staying for the reception.”
“We wouldn’t miss it.”
Just then Myrna arrived. She was hard to miss in her exuberant caftan of bright pink and lime green. Reine-Marie waved her over. She moved through the crowd like an ocean liner and docked beside Reine-Marie, who introduced her to Nathalie.
“Landers,” said Nathalie. “Any relation to Harriet?”
“My niece. I take full credit for her brilliance.”
Nathalie laughed.
Myrna’s eyes went to the stage, where a huge bouquet of white roses sat in a vase on a table. Nathalie’s eyes followed.
“We must never forget,” Myrna said.
“No danger of that,” said Reine-Marie.
“I hope you’re right,” said Nathalie. “But I’m not so sure. We see how easy it’s becoming to move backward and call it progress. No, we need to do more than just not forget. We need to remember.” She studied the woman in front of her. “Myrna Landers. You’re the psychologist.”
“Retired.”
“Not completely,” said Nathalie. “I read the report Armand asked you to write about Fiona Arsenault. You supported her taking her degree today.” Nathalie looked more closely at the woman in front of her. “You look uncomfortable. Is something wrong? Was your report not accurate?”
“No, no, it was accurate. As far as it went.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning I guess I wish the issue hadn’t come up.” Myrna shot Armand a look. “It’s difficult. Psychology isn’t an exact science, unlike engineering.”