Hardye Moel nodded. She understood. That event had focused his mania, his rage, on the Chief Inspector.
Armand checked his phone again. Still nothing from Reine-Marie or Amelia.
“I’d like to get in touch with some of the people who came to the exhibition,” said Reine-Marie. “To see why they’re so taken with The Paston Treasure. Especially people who came from a distance. North America, for instance. Any idea how I might do that?”
Amelia looked at Reine-Marie with new respect. This might work.
“Not a clue,” said Cecil.
“Was it possible to book a private tour of the exhibition?” Amelia asked. “I imagine a real enthusiast would want that.”
“Now that’s true,” said the docent. “I think I can find that list if you’re interested, since it would involve bookings and payment.”
“Please,” said Reine-Marie, and looked at Amelia with new respect.
He returned a few minutes later, waving sheets of paper.
“Here it is. The people who reserved private talks on The Paston Treasure during that exhibition.”
He handed Reine-Marie the list. It was two pages long, mostly academics who wanted exclusive access to the painting. But there, on the second page, was one Lillian Virginia Mountweazel.
Hardye took a seat in one of the comfortable armchairs, her back to the canvas. Armand had poured them each a coffee, which she gratefully took.
As he joined her, she leaned toward him. “Do you think Fleming’s here?”
“I don’t know. I don’t see how he could be. I’d recognize him, I’m sure. Fairly sure. I think.” He heaved a sigh. “I need a clear head to find him, and I’m worried…”
She gave him space and time.
“… that I’m coming unhinged.”
“Because of what happened in the SHU this morning, with the warden.”
Gamache nodded.
“What’re you afraid of, Armand?”
“Besides going completely mad and committing murder myself?”
“Besides that.”
He’d actually been afraid of this question, suspecting she’d ask. But it was no use lying. Why invite her here to help him, then hide the truth?
“I’m afraid I’ll fail. I’m afraid that whatever happens, it will be my fault. Since I found out he’d escaped, it feels like only part of my brain is working. The rest is screaming at me.” He lowered his voice. “He’s screaming at me.”
“That’s only natural. Jesus, since you told me about Fleming, my head is screaming.”
“But you don’t have to find him,” said Armand. “I do.”
“True. The fear, the howl, will settle down. It’s just the shock.”
He shook his head. “It’s more than that, deeper than that. I almost assaulted the warden.”
“If it’s deeper than that, then you have to look deeper.” She held his eyes. “There’s something you aren’t admitting, isn’t there.”
He looked down at his hands and saw a tear, like a drop of rain, splash onto a finger. He looked up and met Hardye’s eyes.
“I’m afraid Fleming will kill my family. I’m afraid I won’t be able to save them.”
She nodded slowly. “Did you do this on purpose?”
“Of course not. Does it matter?”
“Mens rea. Yes, it matters. This isn’t your fault, Armand. This is Fleming’s fault, the warden’s fault. You and your team are the solution. You need to separate it out. You’re catastrophizing, allowing fear into the driver’s seat. You’re reacting to things that haven’t happened and behaving as though they have, or are inevitable. Focus on what is actually happening, here and now.”
“Surrender to reality,” he said with a small grin and, grabbing a tissue, he rubbed his eyes.
It was one of Hardye Moel’s favorite sayings.
“Yes. Stop fighting battles that don’t exist. Focus on what does. And don’t take it all on yourself. You have a smart, effective team around you.”
He took three deep breaths, closed his eyes. Then, opening them, he smiled at her.
“Merci. That helps.”
She looked at her watch. “I need to be getting back.”
“Ummm, actually, there’s another reason I wanted to see you. Sam Arsenault is here.”
“Ahhh,” she said, sitting back down. “I see.”
“You obviously remember him.”
“I do. The case is hard to forget. Those children.”
“You stayed with them in those early days. You observed them. What did you think of them?”
“Them or him?”
“Both, I suppose, but mostly him. My impression is that he was far more culpable in the death of their mother than we could prove. And when Fiona accepted guilt, there wasn’t much more we could do. But I want to know, need to know…”
“How sick he was? Is?”
He nodded.
“Before I answer, I need to know if I’m speaking to you as a colleague or a friend.”
Armand stared at her for a moment. “Which one will get me into less trouble?”
She laughed. “Well, let me start as your colleague. I haven’t seen him in years, and when I did, I wasn’t trained in criminal and aberrant behavior. So I couldn’t answer your question.”
“As my friend?”
“I’d say stay the fuck away from him. The kid’s a nutjob.”
“Well, that’s clear.”
She leaned forward again. “I’m serious. He hated you then, and that sort of hate only festers and grows in a personality like his.”
“Is he a psychopath?”
“I’d say yes.”
“And the sister, Fiona?”
“Well, that’s another question. She was clearly bright, but so damaged. When there’s not just a failure to protect and nurture, but pain of the most intimate type inflicted by your own mother, well, not many get out of that unscathed.”
“She’s here too. Jean-Guy pointed out that Sam cried when told about his mother. Fiona didn’t.”
“True. But what’s the most natural reaction? The fact is, Clotilde made them cry before she died. Sam’s tears were meant for you, not his mother. Fiona was much more honest in her reaction.”
“Is she dangerous too?”
“I don’t know, Armand. I wish I could tell you. It’s possible that on their own they’re under control. It’s only when they get together that something happens. They bring out the worst in each other.”
And both Hardye and Armand knew the “worst” was pretty bad.
“I need to get back to the city, but there’s one other thing. You said you didn’t think John Fleming was here now. That you’d recognize him. Honestly, if what you’re saying is true, then he’d almost certainly be here. He’d want to see you squirm. He’d want to see his plan unfold and be here in case anything goes wrong. He might not be right in the village, he might be camping nearby, or hiding in some home. You look relieved. I’d have thought having a raving lunatic in your backyard wouldn’t be the best news.”
“I sent Reine-Marie to the UK, to investigate the original.” He nodded toward the painting. “I wanted to get her away, but now I can’t reach her.” He looked again at his phone. Still no message. “If Fleming is here and not with her, that’s a relief. You really think he is here?”
“Probably.”
He walked Captain Moel to her car, then went home for a quick shower and to change.
Probably, thought Armand, was not a yes.
“Yes, I remember her,” said Cecil. “Quite a character. Exactly what you’d expect a Mountweazel to be.”
“This was years ago,” said Amelia. “She must’ve been memorable.”
“Oh, she was, but I don’t remember her from back then.”
“Then how do you know her?” Reine-Marie asked.