A Better Man (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #15)(118)

“So you’re saying Tracey didn’t pack Vivienne’s bag?” asked Jean-Guy. “That Vivienne did, and she tossed in those abortion pills even though she was well along in her pregnancy? The clothes she packed were for summer, even though it was minus five degrees that night. Why’d she do that?”

Gamache turned to Isabelle. “You answered that yesterday.”

“I did?”

“Oui. And so did Madame Fleury, when we talked with her about the shelters.”

Gamache looked at Jean-Guy, though try as he might, Jean-Guy couldn’t come up with anything.

But Isabelle did. “You mean my overnight bag. I keep it in the car, in case.”

“Exactement,” said Gamache. “In case. Simone Fleury said many abused women pack a bag and keep it hidden. Sometimes for months—years, even. Ready to grab when the moment is right.”

A knot was forming between Jean-Guy’s brows.

Was it possible?

And suddenly Vivienne came into stark relief. A shattered, frightened young woman. Her bag packed. Waiting for her chance. Waiting. Enduring the loneliness, the humiliations. The beatings.

And when she was pregnant, deciding she really did need to leave. For her baby.

This one she’d save. This one she’d protect from Carl Tracey.

It would explain the timing. And it would explain the clothing.

“She packed in the summer,” he said. “And the bag sat in her car since then.”

“Until Saturday,” said Isabelle.

“I think so, but there’s a problem with that, too,” said Gamache. “How did it get into the river? Would Carl Tracey or whoever killed her know it was in her car? Presumably he didn’t realize before, so why would he look for a bag after he killed her?”

“She must’ve taken it out of the car with her,” said Isabelle.

“But why?” asked Jean-Guy, imagining that cold night. On the bridge.

“Maybe she was getting into another car,” said Isabelle. “Her lover’s?”

“But wasn’t she going to drive to her father?” asked Jean-Guy.

“She might’ve changed her mind,” said Isabelle. “Tracey also said she told him she was going to ‘the’ father, not ‘her’ father.”

“But how would the lover know she’d be there?” asked Jean-Guy. “Vivienne only called those two numbers. And one of them was a wrong number.”

“It might’ve been prearranged,” said Isabelle. “Every Saturday night. Tracey would either be in the local bar or passed out drunk at home. They’d meet on the bridge. Maybe that’s why she told her father not to meet her. Her plan was to talk to her lover, tell him about the baby, and with luck he’d take her away. She’d call her father later and change the plans.”

“So she goes there,” said Jean-Guy, “meets her lover at their normal place, takes the bag from her car to put in his, and he kills her. Why?”

“The baby,” said Isabelle. “Vivienne might’ve really believed it was his. He didn’t want the complication in his life, the burden. He might’ve pushed her away, too hard, and she fell through the railing.”

It fit. Some loose ends still. Like Fred. But the rest fit.

“Shouldn’t Cloutier and Cameron be here by now?” asked Beauvoir, looking at the clock. “You called them more than an hour ago. Cameron for sure should’ve arrived.”

“I didn’t call them,” said Gamache.

“Why not?”

Gamache paused to corral his thoughts. This was delicate but needed to be said.

“We talked about jealousy. Agent Cloutier said it turned Vivienne’s mother against her own daughter. That bond between Homer and Vivienne was so strong, no one else could get in. The only way to break it was to get rid of Vivienne.”

“But Mom’s dead,” said Jean-Guy. “She didn’t kill her daughter out of jealousy.”

“Non, I don’t mean her. I mean someone else who wanted a relationship with Homer. But who might’ve also run up against that unbreakable bond. Someone who might also need to get rid of Vivienne.”

“Lysette Cloutier?” asked Isabelle. “You think she killed Vivienne?”

Clearly, Isabelle did not.

“I don’t know,” said Gamache. “I doubt it, but since we’re looking at other possibilities, that one comes to mind. How many murders have we investigated where a relationship was at the center? Where jealousy had turned to hatred. To murder.”

“We need to speak with her,” said Jean-Guy.

“Let me do it,” said Isabelle.

“There’s something else.” Gamache handed Jean-Guy his notebook.

As Jean-Guy read, his eyes opened and his brows shot up. Then he handed it over to Isabelle, who looked at it, then over to Gamache.

They knew then why Chief Inspector Gamache had seemed distracted. And why he’d been so insistent they consider other options.

“I think we should call them now,” said Jean-Guy. “Don’t you?”





CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN


While they waited for the two S?reté agents to arrive, Lacoste went back over the forensic evidence. Beauvoir read the reports on Vivienne’s finances.