“If so, then the fact Godin’s test was negative is meaningless,” she whispered. “It would be if he was Sam’s father, not Fiona’s.”
Armand smiled, unjustly proud of this young woman. Amelia.
Gabri arrived a few minutes later to clear away their untouched plates. He bent down to wipe the table and placed two sealed baggies, wrapped in linen napkins, by Gamache’s hand.
“Merci, patron,” said Armand.
“I wish we’d never found that damned room,” said Gabri, straightening up. “Ever since we opened that wall, things haven’t been the same.”
Armand agreed. But he also knew they were always going to find that damned room, exactly when and how they did. This chain of events had begun years earlier and was inexorable.
If not fated, then preordained by some rough beast.
Once Gabri left, Gamache turned to Amelia.
“Now, Agent Choquet, you’re not getting out of here without explaining yourself. You ignored my orders.” His voice was clipped, and while still at a normal level, there was a force to it that made other diners glance over.
“You’re not supposed to be here.” Apparently realizing others were paying attention, he lowered his voice, though it still carried. “You were ordered to leave.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I made a mistake.”
She was confused. They’d already been over this. She could see he was angry, his hand was trembling, his agitation so great it kept striking the table. But still, it wasn’t like him to go back over past grievances.
“That’s not good enough. You’re an agent with the Sûreté. Your mistakes can cost lives.”
He made an effort to stop the shaking, balling his hand into a fist. But the gesture only made the shaking more obvious. He took a deep breath, but as soon as he released it, the trembling became even worse.
That was not a good sign.
“Let me be clear, Agent Choquet.” His voice had risen again. “You will leave here immediately. You will stay away until recalled.” He glared at her. “Is that clear?”
“Look,” she heard herself saying. “If you’d been clear in the first place, I would’ve stayed away. This’s your fault, not mine.”
She clicked her tongue post angrily against her teeth, knowing it annoyed him. Annoyed everyone within listening distance.
He got up. “That’s enough. Leave. We’ll discuss this later.”
“Fine with me, patron.” The last word said with more than an edge of contempt.
Sam and Fiona had just left, and she wasn’t far behind.
“Well,” said Olivier, giving Gamache the bill and their meals to take away. “That went south fast.”
Gamache paid, leaving a larger than normal tip for all the disruption. “I’m sorry. That’s been coming for a long time.”
Once home, he called the dogs, who joined him for a walk around the village green. The night was dark, the stars and moon hidden by a thick layer of clouds. The forecast was for rain, though it wasn’t expected until the morning.
As he walked, he tossed the tennis ball and looked up at the light in the second-floor window of the B&B. He waited, and watched, but saw no one moving about.
Stopping in front of the bistro, he tossed the ball again, then checked his messages. There was one from Reine-Marie.
I miss you too. Terribly.
He smiled and gazed through the mullioned windows. Friends and neighbors were there, enjoying dinner. He imagined Reine-Marie among them. Imagined going in, ordering a meal, and joining the conversation. Joining her.
Then they could go home, together.
He imagined not having a worry in the world.
Just then the old poet turned in his direction. The look on her face brought him back to reality. The light that Clara had painted in those eyes was all but gone. Leaving behind just despair.
And though he knew she could not possibly see him in the darkness, still he had the impression she was looking right at him. And asking, begging, him to do something.
As Armand walked home, he prayed he could. Prayed he would be enough. Prayed he’d be a brave man in a brave country. Prayed he’d be able to stop whoever was out there in the dark. Waiting.
Though, once again, he was wrong. “Out there” was not the problem.
Jean-Guy had been upstairs checking on Robert Mongeau and so he hadn’t seen Fiona let herself in.
And he hadn’t seen Fiona let her brother in.
CHAPTER 36
“How’s Robert?” Armand asked a few minutes later when Beauvoir joined him in the living room. A vantage point from which they could see both the front door and the French doors into the back garden.
“Last I looked his pupils were slightly dilated, but he roused and knew his name. Oh, and Fiona’s home.”
“You saw her come in?”
“I heard her and checked. She went upstairs to her bedroom. We said good night but that was all.”
Armand had considered telling Fiona she had to stay at the B&B but had decided against it. It would be difficult to justify without giving away their suspicions. Besides, while having her under his roof might be dangerous, not having her there was worse.
At least he knew where she was.
Instead of running the risk of being overheard, Armand and Jean-Guy sat a few feet apart and exchanged texts. Like teens.
We need to lock Robert’s door, in case she tries anything, Armand wrote.
Already done.
Armand looked up and smiled at his second-in-command. Of course it was. Though both knew an inch of wood would not stop Fleming if his goal was a second attack on the minister.
When Mongeau woke up, Gamache would have to have a serious talk with him. What he’d seen or heard. What he knew that had put him and Sylvie in the crosshairs of a killer.
Typing again, Armand sent, You saw the message from the coroner?
Yes. We need a clean sample for Boisfranc.
Agent Choquet’s taking care of that.
Armand’s phone pinged with the message from his agent back in Montréal. The pin showed that Harriet’s phone was in the B&B. Armand forwarded the message to Myrna and got a heart emoji reply.
Sam used the flashlight on his phone and swung it around. There were no windows in the basement of the Gamache home. No danger of being seen.
He examined the preserves on the shelves. The pickles and jams and infused oils. He saw the skis and snowshoes and hockey equipment neatly arranged along the far wall. He found old and tattered cardboard boxes of Christmas decorations in another corner.
Opening one, he picked out a length of tinsel. Doubling it up and wrapping it around both fists, he pulled it taut. Yes, it would do. Better than the twine he’d used on Harriet. Still, the girl was weak. She’d never get free. He’d go to her in the morning, and …
He spent a few minutes fantasizing about what he’d do to her. He’d seduced her to taunt her aunt. To piss off Gamache. But she’d become far too cloying, moving into the B&B. Expecting to stay with him. So he’d had no choice. She’d brought it on herself.
He dug deeper into the Christmas box and found a large glass ball with 2000 stamped on it in glitter. The millennium. If he broke it, the shards would do the trick. Sam Arsenault took pride in reusing found objects. Like bricks. And glass.
He’d brought along a serrated hunting knife, but the idea of using Christmas decorations, ones that were visible in the background of that family photograph, appealed to him.
Harriet’s breathing came in short, sharp gasps.
She was crouching on the ground, her arms clasped tightly around her knees, making herself as small as possible. Her eyes were wide, though she could see nothing. If she hadn’t been able to feel the ground beneath her, she wouldn’t know which way was up.