A Better Man (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #15)(38)

With Olivier gripping his hand and sleeve, Gamache climbed over the wall and leaned out. Clicking on his flashlight as he did.

He saw that while there was certainly ice and debris in the swiftly moving river, it was at least moving.

They checked several other spots downriver.

At the last stop, Armand took longer. And leaned farther.

“Okay, that’s enough,” yelled Olivier. “I’m losing my grip.”

“Another moment.” The floodlights didn’t reach this far, so Armand shone his flashlight on the frothing water.

“What?” asked Olivier, the strain of holding on apparent in his voice.

“There’s some buildup beginning. In the bend in the river. I can see ice and some tree limbs.”

He stayed there another few seconds. Trying to see more clearly. Though the sleet was hitting his face and he had to blink away the moisture.

“Better come back. Now.” The strain in Olivier’s voice was apparent, and Armand could feel his grip slipping.

He climbed back over the sturdy wall of sandbags. His brow furrowed in thought.

Wiping the rain from his eyes, he looked upriver. Past the stone bridge. Past Clara’s home. Past St. Thomas’s Church, lit so that even through the rain he could see the three stained-glass boys, trudging forever through the mud of some far-off foreign field.

“We need Billy Williams,” he yelled above the river.

“Why?”

“The Bella Bella’s about to break her banks. The sandbags will hold for a little while, but there’s too much water coming down, and ice is backing up at the bend.”

“What can Billy do? Break it up?”

Gamache looked upriver again, remembering the donkeys in the field and the sound of the Bella Bella behind them.

“He can dig a trench.”



* * *



It was an oddity of Armand’s relationship with Billy that they had a strangely close connection and yet Armand could not understand a word the man said. Granted, Billy Williams had a thick backcountry English accent, though Gamache managed to understand everyone else.

Despite this, Billy remained for Armand both a cipher and a confidant.

Olivier had run back to Clara’s home and brought Billy out with him. Now the three stood next to the Bella Bella.

“How can I help?” Billy asked.

All Armand heard was a series of guttural sounds ending in an upward inflection. He looked at Olivier, who translated.

Armand told him what he wanted. Billy considered.

“For God’s sake, hurry up and tell us,” said Olivier, his teeth chattering in the cold.

“I’ll need my backhoe,” said Billy, pointing to the piece of machinery he’d used earlier in the day to move the piles of sand. “But it’s heavy. It won’t make it up the hills in this mud. The place you’re suggesting is kilometers away.”

Olivier translated again.

“I was afraid of that,” said Armand. After all, he’d had an experience with a hill earlier in the day.

Billy made some more noises and gestures.

“When?” asked Olivier.

More sounds from Billy.

“Will it work?” asked Olivier.

Billy thought, then nodded. “Yurt.”

That Armand got. “It’s possible, then?”

“But you’ll have to wait until the temperature drops and the ground hardens,” said Olivier. “He figures it’ll be sometime after midnight.”

Armand looked over to the river. Then at his watch. It was almost 10:00 p.m.

“Do we have that long?” Olivier asked.

“I don’t know,” said Armand.

They went back inside and reported what they’d found as they toweled off their faces and hair, then stuck their hands out to the fire.

The others listened in silence. There was nothing to say and nothing to do, except wait.

Jean-Guy called from Montréal and reported that they’d decided to blow the ice dams on the St. Lawrence. “They’ll issue a public warning and close the bridges while it’s being done.”

“Good. Let me know if it works.”

“I will.”

Armand lowered his voice. “And the dams?”

“No word. No mention of them now, even on the secure channels.”

Gamache took a deep breath and said a silent prayer.

“How’s it going there?” Jean-Guy asked.

“We’ve designated St. Thomas’s as an evacuation center. Most of the residents have been moved up there, but some are staying behind.”

“You speaking to numbnuts?” came a familiar voice in the background.

“Do witches float?” asked Jean-Guy.

“I believe they do,” said Armand.

“Shame.”

“I see he’s staying where it’s safe and warm,” said Ruth. “I’d expect nothing less. Or more.”

“Bitch,” muttered Jean-Guy.

“Bastard,” said Ruth. “Oh, and tell him to give my love to my godson. And tell Honoré I have a few more words for him to learn, and a special hand signal.”

When Ruth moved on, Armand told Jean-Guy their plans for the Bella Bella.

There was a pause. “That’s still two hours away, at best. Will the sandbags hold?”