A Better Man (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #15)(114)

“He might not see it,” said Isabelle. “Why would he?”

“Why would we see the video?” said Jean-Guy. “Because people sent us the link.”

“There’s something else,” said Gamache, looking at the two of them. “Something I should have thought about earlier. Vivienne’s dog.”

“Fred?” asked Jean-Guy. “That’s what you’re thinking about?”

“Exactly,” said Armand. “Ruth told Dominica that she never leaves Rosa behind. And we’d never move and leave Henri and Gracie. So why didn’t Vivienne take Fred with her to the bridge? Agent Cloutier told me Vivienne rescued him as a puppy and adored him.”

“Maybe she couldn’t take him with her,” said Isabelle. “Maybe she was going someplace where a dog wasn’t allowed.”

Armand was shaking his head. “She’d never leave him with Carl. She must’ve known what he’d do to Fred.”

“So what’re you saying?” asked Jean-Guy.

“I don’t know,” said Armand slowly.



* * *



As they walked back to the Gamache house, Armand and Jean-Guy noticed that the light was out in Homer’s room. But Reine-Marie was still awake.

Reading in bed and waiting for him, Armand knew.

“Long day,” said Reine-Marie when he finally got into bed. “Bad day.”

“Oui.” No use denying it.

Though the walls of the old home were thick, Armand could still hear Jean-Guy’s voice. He couldn’t make out the exact words, nor did he try. But he knew that he was speaking to Annie. Telling her about the long, bad day. Not hiding anything.

After a few minutes, there was silence, except for Reine-Marie’s steady, deep breathing.

The minutes ticked by. Armand found he couldn’t settle. It was midnight. Then 1:10 a.m. Then 1:35.

Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

At 2:07 he heard a sound. Movement. Footsteps in the hall outside their room. Then down the stairs.

Armand got up. The room was chilly as the fresh spring air drifted through the open window. The curtains billowing slightly.

Slipping his phone into the pocket of his dressing gown, he stepped out into the hallway. Going carefully, slowly, to the stairs, he looked down and saw Homer by the front door. His coat and boots on.

Homer knelt and said something to Fred, who’d followed him there. Then, kissing the dog on the forehead, he left. Leaving Fred to stare at a closed door.

Armand raced down the stairs, taking them two at a time. Throwing on his outdoor clothes and grabbing the flashlight, he, too, slipped out.

It was a clear, cold night. Below freezing. The moon was full, and he didn’t need to turn on his flashlight.

Still, it took him a moment to make out Homer, up ahead. Walking up the hill out of Three Pines. His feet crunching on the frozen ground.

Armand followed. This was it, he knew. And he also knew he’d almost missed it. Had he been asleep, Homer would have left unnoticed. And walked those kilometers to Tracey’s home unhindered.

At the top of the hill, Homer stopped. Getting his bearings, Armand suspected. He, too, stopped.

He wanted to give Homer a chance to change his mind. He felt he owed it to the man.

Homer took a few steps forward, then hesitated again. And finally made up his mind.

Turning left, he climbed the steps to the front door of St. Thomas’s chapel. And entered.



* * *



Armand sat at the back, in the very last pew. While Homer sat at the front.

If he knew Armand was there, he didn’t show it.

Homer didn’t kneel. Didn’t cross himself. He just sat there, staring at the stained glass.

Armand wondered if Homer was thinking of St. Francis. Thinking that there was another way forward.

As the minutes ticked by, into an hour, Armand’s mind wandered. Not to a prayer but to Dominica Oddly’s piece on Carl Tracey.

And the now familiar refrain.

He sat there, and in the quietude he turned the case around. In the calm, he saw what had eluded him before.

Armand rose to his feet, then slowly sat back down as the import of it struck him.

Until all he knew to be fact was revealed as fiction.

Until the givens were gone and another story emerged from the cold, dark depths of this murder.

All truth with malice in it.





CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX


“I saw a light down here,” said a groggy Jean-Guy. “How long have you been up?”

“A little while,” said Armand, gazing over his reading glasses.

He’d left the church an hour earlier, with Homer, who’d finally turned around and, looking at Armand without surprise, said that he was ready to go home. To bed.

The two men had walked in silence back to the Gamaches’ place, and from there Armand had gone to the old railway station. He picked up files and laptops and, returning home, settled into the living room.

Where he could see if Homer tried to leave again.

When Jean-Guy came down, he found Armand in front of the lit fireplace with a mug of coffee, reading.

Armand was unshaven. His hair messed. But his eyes were bright and alert. No sign of fatigue.

Outside, clouds had once again rolled in and brought with them snow. Again. Huge soft flakes, as though the clouds themselves were breaking up and drifting down in pieces.