A Better Man (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #15)(7)

In theory, this would go smoothly. He would not be intimidated, prickly, which he knew he tended to be when feeling insecure. He would not be defensive or resort to sarcasm.

Chief Inspector Beauvoir would be confident. Calm. In control of the meeting and, even more vitally, of himself.

That was the plan. The theory.

But the reality was that the vast majority of his career had been spent working alongside, and slightly behind, Gamache. It was natural for him, at this point almost instinctive, to give Gamache the final word. The authority.

Jean-Guy took a deep breath in. Deep breath out. And wondered if he should call his sponsor but decided to just repeat the Serenity Prayer a few times.

He opened his eyes when a familiar ding sounded on his phone. An email from Annie.

Are you with Dad? You need to see this.

Clicking on the link, he read. Following the thread. Tweet after tweet. Comment, reply. Like some demented call and response. A liturgy gone wrong.

“Christ,” he muttered, and closed the link.

He was glad his wife had sent it. She was a lawyer and understood the importance of preparation and information. Even things, especially things, we didn’t really want to know.

The clock in front of him said one minute to eight. He rubbed his sweaty hands on his slacks and looked at the photo on his desk. Of Annie and Honoré. Taken at the Gamache home in Three Pines. In the background, unnoticed except by someone who knew it was there, was a framed picture on the bookcase. A smiling family shot of Annie, Honoré, Jean-Guy, Reine-Marie, and Armand.

Armand. Always there. Both a comfort and an undeniable presence.

Taking a deep breath, Jean-Guy placed both hands on the desk and thrust himself out of the chair. Then he opened his door and walked, strode, across the huge open space, past near-empty desks piled with reports and photographs and laptops.

He walked into the conference room. “Salut tout le monde.”

Everyone got to their feet, including Gamache.

Without hesitation, Jean-Guy put out his hand, and Armand took it.

“Welcome back.”

“Merci.” Gamache nodded. “Patron.”





CHAPTER THREE


They looked to Chief Inspector Gamache first, of course. Speaking to him. Reporting to him. Looking for his comments, his approval, as they went through their cases.



* * *



Gamache, for his part, listened closely but did not speak. Instead he looked to his left. To Chief Inspector Beauvoir.

For direction.

And Chief Inspector Beauvoir gave it. Calmly, thoughtfully. He asked clear questions when needed. Guiding, at times prodding. But otherwise he just listened.

He did not become defensive, or prickly.

Though, to be fair, he did feel no small annoyance, but not at Gamache. Not even at his investigators. Just at the situation. And the higher-ups he suspected had done this on purpose. Pitting two senior officers against each other. For the sake of the force? Non. For fun. To see if they could drive a wedge between them. Create enemies from friends in a kind of malevolent alchemy.

And perhaps, a slight warning voice suggested, for more than fun.

To his left, Superintendent Lacoste watched all this. Aware of the forces at work. Hoping for the best but half bracing for the collision.

Yet as the meeting went on, Jean-Guy Beauvoir was showing a side to himself she hadn’t seen before.

She’d seen him display incredible bravery. Fierce loyalty. Dogged, often brilliant commitment to finding killers.

What she’d never seen before, in this kinetic man, was restraint.

Until today.

Somewhere along the line, probably in that sunny Québec forest, Beauvoir had learned which battles needed to be fought. And which did not. What mattered and what did not. Who were true allies and who were not.

He’d entered the woods a second-in-command. He’d left it a leader.

It was a shame, Lacoste thought, that it should happen just as he was about to leave the S?reté.

They went through the cases, one by one, each lead investigator speaking succinctly about the homicide they were heading up. Giving updates on forensics, interrogations. Motives. Suspects.

As always, cell phones had been turned off and put away, banned for the life of the meeting.

As the gathering went on, the investigators slowly stopped looking to Gamache. Stopped glancing toward Superintendent Lacoste. And turned their full attention to Chief Inspector Beauvoir. Who gave them his.

Where arrests had been made and they were going to court, Beauvoir wanted to know what the Crown Prosecutor thought of the case. Though the fact was, he already knew. No homicide went to trial without Chief Inspector Beauvoir’s being completely aware of the strengths and weaknesses of the case.

His questions were for the benefit of the team.

Beauvoir sat now with his elbows on the shiny table, hands clasped, leaning forward. Intent, focused. He hoped he gave off an aura of calm and steady leadership. The truth was, he gave off a sense of energy. Vitality. Extreme alertness.

As he glanced at his investigators, Jean-Guy Beauvoir’s eyes were bright and encouraging. His glasses gave the impression he was older than he actually was. In his late thirties, he was younger than many of the senior investigators in the room.

Twenty years younger than the man to his right.

Slender and well-groomed, Beauvoir had dark hair that was just be ginning to show some gray. And his once-lithe frame was filling out slightly.