A Better Man (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #15)(130)

They knew what he was doing. And it seemed to be working.

Homer Godin was a decent man. Driven mad by grief and despair. But he had no desire to kill anyone, except the person who’d murdered his daughter.

If Gamache could convince him that Carl Tracey was innocent, at least of the murder …



* * *



“Who?” was all Homer could say. All he needed to say.

His eyes wide, fixed on Gamache.



* * *



Armand had no idea what to say. Though he knew it didn’t matter.

He just had to come up with a name. Someone. Anyone. Would do.

Anything to get Homer to drop Tracey and step away from the edge.

He was just about to say the name of the one suspect not actually on the bridge, Pauline Vachon, when from behind him, came a voice.



* * *



“I did.”



* * *



Homer shifted his gaze. And while Gamache was tempted to look behind him, he didn’t.

Didn’t have to. He knew who’d spoken.



* * *



“I’m sorry, Homer.”



* * *



Lysette Cloutier had walked to just a few paces behind Gamache. And now she stepped forward, until she was beside him.



* * *



Beauvoir moved swiftly forward until he had one foot on the bridge. His hand on the rickety railing. He was just a few paces from Homer, could almost, almost reach out and touch him.

Homer was staring so intently at Cloutier, standing in the middle of the road, that he didn’t notice Beauvoir off to the side.

Now Beauvoir stopped. Not wanting to spook the man.



* * *



“Lysette?” whispered Homer.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated, her words coming out on a sigh. “It was an accident. I didn’t mean to. It just happened.”

“Why’re you saying this?” he asked.

“Because it’s the truth. I was her godmother. I’d promised to look after her. You’d told me about Carl, about the abuse. She needed support. Needed money. To get away. I felt awful that I hadn’t done more, done anything, to protect her. I’d promised Kathy … promised you…”

“Stay back,” Gamache whispered as Lysette took a step toward Homer.

“I’d saved up some money. I called her a week ago. Told her I’d like to give it to her. She said she needed time to get things in order but that she’d meet me here, on Saturday night. She’d sneak away after her husband was drunk and passed out.”

Homer was staring at her. He looked confused, and Gamache wondered how much he was taking in. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Beauvoir almost within reach of Homer.

The mist rising from the Bella Bella was burning off in the early-morning sun.

They could see clearly now. Finally.



* * *



“I got here first. Those boot prints were mine. When she arrived, she got out of her car. She had her duffel bag over her shoulder. I was about to give her the money when she said she was pregnant. A girl. A daughter.”

Lysette looked down.

No one moved. No one breathed.

They were there now. At the end.

Lysette mumbled something, and Homer shouted, “What’s that? I can’t hear. What’re you saying?”

“She was so happy to tell me that. About the baby. I don’t know what came over me, Homer.” Lysette’s eyes and voice both rose. “I said something I shouldn’t have. I told her I hoped her daughter was kinder to her than she’d been to her mother.”

There was silence then, except for the Bella Bella rushing beneath them.

“She was standing about where you are,” said Lysette. “She got upset. Started yelling at me that I didn’t know. It just…” she searched for words. “It just all came out, of both of us. She started screaming that it was all her mother’s fault and how dare I…” She heaved and caught her breath. “And I shouted back. Defending Kathy, even though I knew, I knew Viv was right. Oh, God.”

They were frozen in place. A tableau. Waiting for the rest.

“She came at me, and I pushed her away. And…”

And.



* * *



Homer, perhaps in shock, maybe intentionally, loosened his grip on Carl Tracey.

And Tracey, coming to, flailed as he fell to the ground.

Kicking. Twisting.

Hitting Homer in the chest and sending him backward.



* * *



Gamache jumped forward, but Beauvoir got there first.

Homer’s arms pinwheeled as he stumbled. He reached behind him. Desperate for something to grab, to stop his fall.

But there was nothing there. Just air.

His eyes wide with terror, Homer Godin began to go over the edge. Beauvoir got a handful of Homer’s coat and for a moment the momentum stopped. But Homer was too far gone.

Beauvoir, still clinging to his coat, felt an almighty yank as Homer disappeared.

Dragging Jean-Guy with him.



* * *



Time seemed to stand still.

Jean-Guy felt, for a moment, as though he were hanging in midair. Neither flying nor falling.