A Better Man (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #15)(77)

And then the splash.

He rammed shut his eyes until all he saw was darkness. Then Vivienne’s face floated up, to hover just below the surface.

Accusing.



* * *



“It’s in,” said Isabelle Lacoste, grabbing a chair across from Beauvoir in the incident room.

No need to say what “it” was.

Beauvoir quickly clicked over to his email and opened the document from the coroner, with the attachment.

Both scanned it, then went back to the top and read more closely. Their faces, their expressions, almost exactly the same.

At first triumphant. And then perplexed.



* * *



“I do this because I love art. I love the whole world of art. Being around people who are creative and daring.”

As she spoke, Dominica’s face became almost luminous. Her voice, while deep, was also light, bright.

“I search the world for people who have a true muse and not just some insatiable hole in their soul they need to fill with fame and money. And when I find the real thing…”

Her entire face opened, in unguarded delight. An awe rarely seen in the cluttered world of ego and fear and greed that was the international art scene.

“I take aim at the poseurs and try to lift up those who create from their very being.” Dominica’s hand, clenched into a fist, thumped her breastbone and stayed there. “Those who are daring and brave and willing to be vulnerable. Like you.”

“Me?” said Clara.

“Yes, you.” Dominica laughed, and Clara almost tumbled forward into her arms, so magnetic was the woman. And so welcome the words.

“If you feel like that,” said Clara, “why haven’t you reviewed any of my shows?”



* * *



“Did you hear what he said? And you’re still going to let him out?” asked Cloutier, following Gamache across the open room to Cameron’s desk.

It didn’t warrant a reply, so Gamache did not offer one.

Agent Cameron saw them coming and rose. “Sir.”

“I’d like to start the paperwork to release Homer Godin.”

“Yessir. I was expecting that, so I’ve filled it in.”

Gamache scanned the page. No charges filed. As far as the law was concerned, Homer Godin was never in a jail cell. It had never happened.

As the officer who’d brought Godin in, Cameron would have to countersign the release.

“Can you redo this, please, but remove your name.”

“But I was the—”

“I know.” Gamache held his eyes. Unwavering. “Just do it.”

Though confused, Cameron sat back down and redid the paperwork while Chief Inspector Gamache tore up the evidence that Agent Cameron had anything to do with releasing a man who’d vowed murder.

He then signed the new form so that his name, and his name alone, would be seen.

“Now,” said Gamache, dropping the pen, “we’ll let Monsieur Godin out in a few minutes. First, tell us what you’ve found out about Tracey’s movements on Saturday.”

“Turned out to be quite easy,” said Cameron. “He was in Sherbrooke at an art-supply shop. Apparently that’s where he gets most of his clay and other things he needs. His bank card shows a purchase there at eleven forty.”

“Roughly the same time as the posts,” said Cloutier.

“What did he buy?”

“A bag of clay, some glazes,” said Cameron.

Gamache nodded. They’d found unopened clay wrapped in plastic and new pots of glaze in Tracey’s studio.

“I’ve also been to the local pharmacist about the abortion drug. She has no account for Vivienne Godin or Carl Tracey and confirms that bottle is black-market.”

“Why would Vivienne need to get it on the black market?” asked Cloutier. “She could get it for free, right?”

“With a prescription, oui,” said Cameron. “If you don’t have one—”

“Or you want to terminate a pregnancy too far along,” said Gamache.

“—then you go on the black market to get the drug.”

“Mail order?” asked Gamache, and said a quiet prayer.

“Many are, but the pharmacist didn’t think so in this case. Buyers are beginning to realize that while pushers might not be the most reliable people, mail order is even worse. I know a few dealers. People we’ve dealt with in the past. Want to come?”

Gamache looked in the direction of the holding cell where Godin waited. The abortion drug could be one of the keys to the case against Tracey. If it turned out he was the one who’d bought it. It could strengthen their argument that he wanted to end the pregnancy, one way or the other.

“Non. There’re other things I need to do. But let me know as soon as you have any information.”

“Oui, patron,” said Cameron, pushing back from his desk.

“Good.” Gamache brought out his iPhone. “Give me your cell number.”

Cameron did.

As Gamache was putting it in, his own phone vibrated with a call.

“Excusez-moi.” He took a few steps away.

“Coroner’s report is in,” said Beauvoir. “They found spores in her hand. An exact match for the ones on the rotten wood.”