A Better Man (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #15)(51)

“Homer.” Gamache held his hands out in front of him, as though approaching a wounded wild animal. Or an explosive.

It wasn’t that Gamache was afraid of him. Or afraid if Godin burst forward, they wouldn’t be able to stop him before he killed Tracey. They could and would. But …

But would that really matter? Maybe, if I step aside … If I was a little slow to react …

Gamache knew then what he was really afraid of. Himself.

How would I feel…?

With effort, he shoved those thoughts away. To be replaced by a certainty.

They might stop him now, but they couldn’t keep Homer Godin from Carl Tracey forever.

“You have your car here?” he asked Cameron while not taking his eyes off Godin, who wouldn’t take his eyes off Tracey.

“Oui.”

“Good. I’m placing him under arrest. I want you to take him in.”

“Yessir,” said Cameron with enthusiasm, and turned toward Tracey, who backed up further.

“Non,” said Chief Inspector Gamache. “Not him. Him.”

Even Tracey turned to Gamache with surprise.

The Chief Inspector was pointing at Homer.

“You mean Carl Tracey, sir,” said Cameron.

“No. I mean him.” He took a step closer to Vivienne’s father and said, “Homer Godin, I’m placing you under arrest.”

Godin’s eyes remained on Tracey, then slowly refocused on Gamache.

“What did you say?”

“I’m arresting you.”

“What for?” asked Agent Cloutier, going to stand beside Homer.

“For assault.”

“I haven’t done it yet. Give me a moment.” Godin’s voice was flat, his cold stare returning to Tracey. “And you can make it murder.”

“I mean the assault on Madame Gamache. You punched her in the face.”

“I did?”

“He what?” said Gabri.

“Take him in,” said Gamache. Then, in front of everyone, Gamache did something he’d never done before. He apologized, even as he made the arrest. “Désolé.”

“I hit your wife?” asked Homer, more stunned by that than the arrest. “Is she all right?”

“She will be.”

“Oh, God,” sighed Homer. “What’s happening?”

They walked out of the bistro. Homer Godin in custody. And Carl Tracey a free man.





CHAPTER EIGHTEEN


The morning sun was just slanting over the trees as Clara and Myrna stood on the edge of the village green and watched.

Ruth joined them, limping out of her home, clutching Rosa to her chest.

“What’s going on?”

“I think they found Vivienne,” said Clara, pointing to the coroner’s car and then down the path along the river.

Ruth and Rosa shook their heads. “It’s tragic. So young.” Then Ruth’s eyes and voice sharpened. “What’s he doing?”

“Looks like he’s arresting Homer,” said Myrna as they watched Armand walk with Homer to the S?reté car.

“He can’t think—” Clara began.

“Jesus, even Clouseau can’t be that stupid,” said Ruth.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” muttered the duck.

Just then Homer stopped and turned. As did Gamache. As did everyone else on the village green.

Vivienne Godin was being brought out of the woods. In a body bag.

The bistro door opened, and Carl Tracey stepped out. Into the fresh air. And sunshine.

He saw the stretcher, took a deep breath, and said, “I wonder.”

“What?” demanded Olivier, coming out behind him.

“I wonder if she was insured.”

Staring silently at the long black bag as it was slid into the coroner’s vehicle, Homer Godin crossed himself. As did Gabri and Olivier. Even Ruth, unseen by the others, made the familiar gesture.

After the coroner’s vehicle drove away, Vivienne’s father closed his eyes and tilted his head as far back as it would go. Exposing his throat to the Universe.

“Chief Inspector?” said Beauvoir as he came around the corner from the path along the river.

He indicated Homer, clearly in custody, by the car.

“I’ll explain,” said Gamache, then instructed Cameron to take Godin into the local detachment. “Don’t book him. I’ll be in to do the paperwork later. Make him comfortable, but don’t let him out of your sight.”

Cameron turned to Homer. “I’m sorry, sir. Would you mind?”

Homer got into the backseat without complaint.

As Cameron went to walk to the driver’s side, Gamache stopped him.

“One moment, please. I have a question for you.” He led Cameron a few feet from the car. “Was the child yours?”

Cameron’s eyes widened. “No, of course not. I told you, nothing happened between Vivienne and me.”

“You knew she was pregnant before we said anything. She told you. Is the child yours? Tell me the truth.”

“I am. It’s not mine. Couldn’t be.”

“I think you’re lying. I think there’s a lot you aren’t telling us. I understand you’re worried about your family. Your job. But you know it’ll come out. Best if you tell us yourself.”