A Better Man (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #15)(21)

See what I have to put up with? his expression said.

“Monsieur Godin?” Gamache began.

“Who is this?”

“My name is Gamache, I’m with the S?reté—”

“Oh, God, has something happened? Have you found her? Oh, God—”

“Non, monsieur. We have no news of your daughter. I’m here with Lysette Cloutier. She’s a friend of yours, I understand. Agent Cloutier asked us to investigate.”

There was heavy breathing on the other end as Godin composed himself.

“We’re interviewing Monsieur Tracey right now.”

“Monsieur Tracey? Monsieur? The man’s a monster and you call him ‘monsieur’? He might’ve … he could’ve … Do you know she’s pregnant?”

“Yes. Please, calm yourself. We’re doing all we can. I promise you, we’ll find her.”

“You will. Alive?”

It was said so pathetically. Not just a word but a world. Alive. Alive. And all that meant. For him. For her. For the child. A life spread out before them. With birthdays and holidays. Celebrations.

Alive.

“We’ll find her,” Gamache repeated, and wondered if Monsieur Godin noticed he hadn’t said “alive.” “Do you have someone with you?”

“Non, non. Vivienne’s my only child. My wife died a few years ago. I was expecting her here, you know. She was going to leave him. I’d begged her for years to leave that son of a bitch.”

There was a pause. Gamache heard heavy breathing, almost sobs, before Monsieur Godin was able to speak again.

“What has he done with her? Ask him. He knows. Make him tell you. If you don’t, I will.”

“Stay at home, Monsieur Godin. In case she calls.”

Even as he said it, Gamache recognized it as cheap, potentially cruel manipulation. But he had to keep Godin away from Tracey. And there was still a chance his daughter was alive and would call her father.

“I’ll be in touch with you when we’re finished here. D’accord?”

There was a deep, deep breath on the other end of the line. And finally, “D’accord.”

“Can I speak to him?” whispered Cloutier, her hand out for the phone. “Homer, it’s Lysette.… Oui. Oui.… I promise.… Oui.”

She’d dropped her eyes to the table and was listening intently. Homer Godin’s voice was now quieter, so the others couldn’t hear what he was saying.

“Chief Inspector Gamache will call you as soon as possible,” said Cloutier once Vivienne’s father had stopped talking. “Oui. I promise.”

Her voice, gentle, calming, seemed to be having an effect. After saying goodbye, she placed the phone on the table.

“The man’s a shithead,” said Tracey, speaking to the phone as though it were his father-in-law. “You heard him threaten me. He’s the dangerous one.”

“Enough,” said Cameron, hitting the table with such force that the ceramic roosters took flight and spilled salt and pepper over the table.

“Agent Cameron,” said Gamache sharply.

“Sorry,” he muttered, bringing himself under control.

Gamache shifted his attention back to where it belonged. “How long have you and Madame Godin been together?”

“I dunno. Four, five years.”

“How did you meet?”

“It was in a bar. Where did you think? Church? The gym? Look, I have things to do around the farm. Those animals need to be fed, and this one needs to be taken into the woods.”

He gestured toward the old dog, who looked up and gave a single, tired flop of his tail.

“Like you took Vivienne?” asked Cloutier.

“What? Kill her?” He made a dismissive noise. “Why would I? Believe me, she’s alive.”

Try as he might, Gamache couldn’t get Monsieur Godin’s voice out of his head. The deep breaths, the attempt to control the terror that seeped out anyway. The desperation of a father.

How would he feel if …

“You said she had lovers.” He was careful to keep his tone neutral. “Can you give us names?”

“Of course not. She didn’t exactly list them.”

“And women friends?” Gamache asked.

“Women? No. Why would she?”

It was as Cameron had said. Tracey had isolated his wife here, and since there was no one to contradict him, he was free to say anything he wanted about her.

“We’re going to need the make, model, and license-plate number of her car,” said Cameron.

Tracey gave them the information.

“Where were you on Saturday?” Gamache asked.

“I was here, working on my pots. Where else?”

“Anybody see you?”

“Vivienne did. You can ask her when she gets back.”

“Anyone besides your wife.”

“No. Who’d come here?”

Who indeed? thought Gamache.

“So you never left the property on Saturday?”

“No. Wait a minute, I did go into town to buy supplies. Needed to get them before the road turned shitty. Can’t drive on it now.” He eyed them closely. “But that’s probably not news to you.”