A Better Man (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #15)(71)

He was unconsciously looking for danger. Always. He saw potential threats everywhere. In everyone. In the elderly man across the way, with that bag. In the kids laughing and shoving each other. In the SUV heading a little too quickly down the main street.

Suppose …

It had become second nature. Hardwired into him.

Jean-Guy Beauvoir knew that every person had a killer inside them.

And Madame Fleury knew that every man had an abuser inside of him.

Both were unfair. But such was their experience. And conditioning.

That was one of the many reasons he had to leave. Had to escape the S?reté and get far, far away. From a world filled with threats. He longed to see a kinder world.

He realized it might be too late. Too much damage might’ve already been done. But Jean-Guy Beauvoir had to try to break free.

As they walked by the window of the café, he glanced in and saw the young waitress clearing their mugs and picking up the money they’d left.

She looked at him and quickly dropped her eyes.

Jean-Guy Beauvoir returned his gaze to the road ahead. Scanning it.





CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR


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@ClaraMorrow: Thanks @MyrnaLanders, but you sent this to me privately. Did you mean to? I’m sitting with you in the bistro. Oh, oh. Here comes Ruth. Look busy!

@MyrnaLanders: #ClaraSucks Merde.

@ClaraMorrow: @MyrnaLanders That one you put out on the public twitter feed. You just agreed with everyone who says my art is shit.

@MyrnaLanders: #ClaraSucks Did I? Fuck

@ClaraMorrow: @MyrnaLanders Please stop.

The incident room in Three Pines was filled with the aroma of wet socks, sweat, cilantro, and lime.

Olivier and Gabri moved aside the firefighting equipment and set out the ginger-garlic chicken soup, sandwiches, and drinks.

Along with the senior officers, there were the more junior agents. Cloutier and the big guy. Cameron. They suspected he’d eat lots.

“Any news on the flooding?” Isabelle Lacoste asked.

“Here?” asked Olivier. “The Bella Bella’s gone down. Thank God.”

“Across the province,” said Isabelle.

“Only what we see on the news,” said Gabri. “You probably know more than we do.”

“Maybe not,” she said. “We’ve been busy.”

“Well, according to CBC, they’re digging huge trenches to divert some rivers,” said Gabri. “That must’ve been where you got the idea from, Armand.”

“Good,” said Gamache, and exhaled. “Good news.”

“Did you see the Deputy Premier in the scrum when that reporter asked about it?” said Olivier.

Gabri and Olivier reenacted, with some exaggeration, Gamache suspected, the Deputy Premier’s face as it went from bafflement to anger to confidence when he was told it seemed to be working.

“And then, just as he’d said he was in the meeting where it’d been decided to dig, another journalist asked about the angry farmers whose fields were now flooded,” said Gabri.

His face fell into an expression somehow combining annoyance and obsequiousness.

“Poor man,” said Olivier, putting linen napkins on the table. Beauvoir watched all this and wondered if they’d pull a candelabra out of the hamper next. “Can’t win.”

While food was being organized, Gamache picked up a landline and went into the storage room. No need for the others to hear this call.

“Alouette Organization,” came the cheery voice.

“The general manager, please.”

“I’m afraid he’s in a meeting. Can I take a message?”

“If you could ask him to step out for a moment, this won’t take long.”

Gamache explained who he was, and a minute or so later the phone was picked up.

They talked for less than a minute. When Gamache hung up, he thought for a moment, then returned to the table.

Olivier and Gabri had left, and now, as they ate, the S?reté officers compared notes.

“So this Gerald Bertrand denies knowing Vivienne Godin,” said Beauvoir.

“Oui.” Lacoste picked up an egg salad sandwich on a fresh baguette, spiked with just a little curry, poached raisins, and arugula. “He says it was a wrong number. Says she was slurring her words and upset. Probably drunk.”

Beauvoir casually reached out and took the peanut butter, honey, and banana sandwich on crusty white bread after noticing Cloutier also eyeing it.

“Not drunk,” said Gamache. “Beaten. The coroner’s report says she’d had a few ounces, but not intoxication level.” He passed around hard copies of the preliminary report. “The slurring was probably from being hit.”

He put down his sandwich.

“Nothing more from Dr. Harris?” asked Lacoste after quickly scanning the coroner’s report.

Beauvoir checked the emails again and shook his head. “Nothing. What else did you find?”

“Gerald Bertrand’s alibi checks out,” said Agent Cloutier. “His friends confirm they were over at his place watching the hockey game on Saturday night. They arrived just before seven. None of them knew anything about Bertrand having an affair with Vivienne Godin. In fact, none had even heard of her.”