But he’d have to prove that his files were legitimate, and the now official records were fakes. That would take more time than they had.
“There’s nothing to prove,” said the warden. “Listen closely, Chief Inspector. I’ll say this once. You’re a breath away from a lawsuit that will ruin you. It’s one thing to come in here with both boots and insist a prisoner has escaped, when there’s no proof. In fact, there’s a whole lotta proof that he’s safely locked up.” He gestured toward the file now in Beauvoir’s hands. “But you refuse to believe the evidence of your own eyes.” He stared into Gamache’s steady gaze and seemed to get stuck there for a moment, before plowing on. “It’s a whole other thing to accuse me, accuse him”—the warden pointed to the head guard—“in front of witnesses, of a cover-up. That’s actionable. Let me just be clear. Are you actually saying we’ve knowingly allowed a criminally insane prisoner to escape?”
“Non.”
“No?” The warden looked confused.
“Not him—” Gamache tilted his face toward the head guard. “Only you.”
The warden colored. But Gamache went on, his voice deep and calm. It was a calm Beauvoir knew well. Had first heard on the shores of that pewter lake, a lifetime ago. When he’d first met Gamache. When he’d first learned that what met the eye and what was the real story could be two very different things.
“Now, let me be clear,” said the Chief Inspector. “The lede here isn’t what this means for me, or you. It’s that a lunatic has been allowed out in the community. That’s what matters. Finding him is what matters. Whose life is ruined, yours or mine, can be sorted later. You need to tell us everything you know. Now!”
The last word was snapped out with such force the head guard jumped.
Jean-Guy could see the tremble in Gamache’s right hand. It was getting more and more pronounced. He was barely containing his rage.
“Get him out of my office,” the warden ordered, but the guard didn’t move.
Gamache had had enough. He stood up so quickly his chair squealed against the linoleum floor.
The warden, seeing this and sensing the danger too late, scrambled to his feet and reeled back, trying to get out of the Chief Inspector’s grasp as Gamache moved forward.
He did not make it.
Gamache was upon him, stopping just inches from the man. He didn’t touch the warden, but the force of his wrath pressed the man hard against the wall.
“Do you know what you’ve done?” Gamache shouted, finally letting all his pent-up anger out. Aiming it at this stupid, stupid man. “You’ve released a monster.” Gamache reached into his pocket and brought out one of the photographs.
“Look,” he roared, shoving the picture into the man’s face. “Look!”
The warden dropped his eyes to the picture.
And blanched.
Beauvoir, tense, ready to act, knew then that the warden had never really read Fleming’s file, and if he had, he hadn’t bothered, or dared, look at the pictures. Of the seven-headed creature John Fleming had created. The Beast of Babylon.
He himself had never seen it, and now Jean-Guy realized Gamache had removed the photos from the files so he would not. But the look of sheer horror on the warden’s face told the story.
“You let this madman out,” Gamache shouted. “How much did it cost? What were you paid? What’s the going price these days for monsters, you stupid piece of shit?”
He was practically screaming. Shaking with fury and on the verge of tears.
It went beyond anger, beyond rage, into a territory Beauvoir had never seen in the Chief Inspector. Gamache was losing it.
“Where is he? Where?”
When the warden didn’t answer, Gamache lifted his hand toward the man’s throat. Jean-Guy stepped forward just before it got there and pulled Gamache back.
The Chief shook him off and moved toward the warden again. Beauvoir gripped more tightly and this time dragged Gamache back.
“Get away,” he hissed into Armand’s ear. “Go. Step away.”
It was, he realized, almost exactly what Gamache had said when saving him from Fleming years ago.
Gamache stumbled back, his eyes drilling into the now pale and trembling man. He yanked his arm free, straightened his clothes, took a deep ragged breath, then turned to Beauvoir.
“Charge him. He’s an accomplice in the murder of Patricia Godin. More charges will follow.” Gamache, trembling with rage and adrenaline, glared at the warden, then said in a whisper, far more frightening than the shouting, “Do you know what you’ve done?”
“You can’t arrest me. I did nothing wrong,” the warden shouted as Gamache reached the door. “You have no proof.”
“Be quiet, you goddamned fucker,” shouted Beauvoir.
Gamache turned back. “You’d better pray we find some.”
He slammed the door behind him.
“What did he mean by that?” demanded the warden.
Beauvoir turned him around and shoved him against the wall.
“Imagine what will happen if you’re released,” Beauvoir snarled before snapping the cuffs in place and turning him back around.
It took the man a moment to see what Beauvoir meant. To imagine what Fleming would do to him now that he was no longer useful.
While Beauvoir drove the pale and panicky warden to the Sûreté in Montréal to be booked, Gamache returned to Three Pines, needing to pull over a couple of times to regain something close to composure.
What he’d almost done, and might have had Jean-Guy not been there, shocked the Chief Inspector. If he was going to find Fleming, he could not afford to lose his mind.
He needed help.
“Captain Moel? Hardye?”
“Armand? What can I do for you?”
“I’m sorry for the early-morning call, but I need to see you.”
“Of course, let me just check my agenda—”
“Now. Can you come down to Three Pines?”
The head of counseling at the Sûreté paused for just a moment, looking at her packed schedule. “Of course. I’ll leave right away.”
Once off the phone, and still sitting on the side of the road, he called Reine-Marie.
There was no answer. He called Agent Choquet. No answer.
Trying to keep his anxiety in check, he told himself they were safe. They were far away and well out of it. They were just busy.
But he also knew that John Fleming could be anyone, anywhere. Including at the Norwich Castle Museum.
Armand tried again. No answer. He shot off a text. You okay? Call me.
Then he placed a call to Florida to speak to the former head guard of the SHU.
The number on file had been disconnected.
He then called the local sheriff. After checking, the sheriff said that the man Chief Inspector Gamache was looking for was dead. Murdered. Two years ago.
No one had been arrested for the crime.
Armand placed another call to Reine-Marie and felt his heart pound with each unanswered ring.
CHAPTER 31
Reine-Marie saw the man looking around, and waved.
The docent at the Norwich Castle Museum waved back and walked across the flagstone floor to greet them.
The castle was a huge cube dropped, nine hundred years earlier, onto the highest point in the city of Norwich. It was now a public space that included an art gallery and museum.
Reine-Marie and a revived Amelia had turned off their cell phones, as per the request on the noticeboard.
“Madame Cloutier?” the smiling guide said.
“Yes, that’s right. And this is my assistant, Amelia Choquet.”
He looked at Amelia as though trying to decide where in the gallery she should be placed.