A Better Man (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #15)(60)

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE


How can they let that murderer back in the S?reté? #losingallrespect

@dumbass: Do you mean self-respect?

They dropped Agent Cloutier at the local detachment and headed through the bright spring day, into the morgue.

Gamache had insisted on driving when he saw how exhausted Jean-Guy was.

Beside him, Jean-Guy’s lids were heavy, and he fought to keep his eyes open in the warm car as it moved smoothly along the autoroute.

“I couldn’t be happier for Annie and you,” said Armand. “Your family is growing.”

“As is yours.”

As an only child, growing up without parents, Armand had always yearned for a large family. For brothers and sisters. For aunts and uncles. It was an abstract, though potent, wish.

And now, in his late fifties, he had it. Children. Grandchildren. Sons and daughters. Of the flesh and of the heart. Those he’d held in his arms and those comrades-in-arms whose lives he held in his hands.

His family.

“When’s the baby due?”

“October.”

“Boy or girl? Do you know?”

“We do.” Jean-Guy smiled at his father-in-law. “But you’re not going to get it out of me. Annie and I want to keep that to ourselves.”

“Fair enough. Have you chosen a name?”

Jean-Guy laughed. “You’re not really very good at this interrogation thing, are you?”

“I’m hoping to learn from you, patron.”

Beauvoir smiled, and Gamache fell silent. Knowing if he did, Jean-Guy would lose the battle and let himself drift off to sleep.

He’d told Beauvoir about the search of the Tracey home. Then Beauvoir had reported on their preliminary findings at the bridge.

Now Gamache, in the silence as Jean-Guy slept, went back over that conversation.

“We lifted three sets of fresh prints off the interior of the car,” Beauvoir had said. “Probably Vivienne’s and Tracey’s. But the third?”

“Can we prove that she wasn’t alone? That someone was on the bridge with her?”

“No. That’s a problem. The heavy rain washed away all foot and tire prints.”

“Shame.” Gamache thought for a moment. “But we still think she either met someone there. Something happened, and she went off the bridge. Or—”

“Or Tracey followed her there and killed her.”

“But if he wanted her dead, why wait until she left?” mused Gamache, keeping his eyes on the highway. “He struck me as someone who doesn’t plan ahead. I can imagine him lashing out and killing her that night, in their home, either on purpose or in a fit of rage, but to follow her?”

“He told you he left her in the living room and went into his studio and drank, right?”

“Oui.”

“Maybe he worked himself into a rage. Getting angrier and angrier the more he thought about Vivienne and another man. He sees her leave and decides to follow her, thinking she’s meeting her lover.”

Gamache nodded. That, he could see.

“He’d confront them. Do you think there really was a lover?” Beauvoir asked, then yawned.

“Must have been,” said Gamache. “At least in your scenario. Otherwise why would she drive to the bridge?”

“Okay, she goes to meet a lover, but then wouldn’t Tracey kill him, too?”

“Maybe he did. But I doubt it,” Gamache said. “Like all abusers and bullies, Tracey’s a coward. He wouldn’t attack someone who could fight back.”

“So if he did follow Vivienne, he found her alone on the bridge. Waiting. And threw her in.”

“What did you find there?”

“I discovered I don’t like rotten bridges over rivers in flood.”

“Ahhh,” said Gamache. “Most helpful. Anything else?”

“Wouldn’t take much to break through the railing. It was broken from the inside out and looks recent. I think there’s little doubt that’s where Vivienne fell.”

“Any actual proof?”

“Not yet. We’re testing the wood for fibers and blood. We’ve removed the section where she broke through so technicians can take a closer look in the lab. Then there’s the duffel bag,” said Beauvoir. “Lacoste pointed out that most of the clothes are for summer.”

“Huh,” said Gamache. “That’s strange.”

“Not the only strange thing. You know those pills in the bag?”

“Yes.”

“They’re abortion pills.”

“They’re what?” Gamache glanced over quickly before returning his eyes to the road.

“Medication to end an early pregnancy. Looks like she got them on the black market.”

“I wonder how far along she was,” said Gamache.

It looked to both of them as though she was beyond what could be called an early pregnancy. But the coroner would tell them.

“Isabelle doesn’t think she packed the bag, and neither do I,” said Jean-Guy, yawning again. Between the heat of the car and the gentle hum of the engine, Jean-Guy could feel himself losing the fight to stay alert. To even stay awake.

“You think Tracey packed the bag,” said Gamache.