A Better Man (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #15)(78)

Gamache exhaled. They’d just taken a big step closer to making an arrest.

“This proves she was on the bridge,” said Beauvoir. “And she died trying to save herself.”

“Oui. But we still need to place Tracey there. And prove it wasn’t an accident.”

“We’re going over Tracey’s clothes to see if we can find any of the microorganisms. The forensics team found something else, patron. When they moved her car, they found boot prints. They’d been protected from the rain by the car.”

“Are they a match for Tracey’s boots?” asked Gamache.

“They’re looking now.”

“Good, good,” said Gamache, his thoughts moving quickly ahead. Is it enough? Is it enough?

He made up his mind.

“I’m going to hold Godin for another couple of hours until you find out more. By then—”

“We might have enough to nail Tracey. I think it’s time we brought Pauline Vachon in.”

“Agreed.”

“I’ve applied for a warrant to search her place while she’s being questioned,” said Beauvoir. “As soon as it comes through, I’ll have her picked up. Isabelle will interview her at the station. She’d like Cloutier there. Any news from your end?”

“Agent Cameron has a lead on the abortion drug found in Vivienne’s bag. Definitely black-market. I’m hoping we can get proof that Tracey bought it.”

“About that,” said Beauvoir. “We have news on the fetus.”

Gamache listened, his eyes narrowing as he absorbed the information. When Beauvoir finished, Gamache simply said, “Merci.”

“What is it, patron?” asked Cloutier, seeing his expression after he’d hung up.

Gamache paused for a moment, staring at the blank wall in front of him. His lips were pressed together in concentration. Then he clicked his device off and slipped it into his pocket.

“Superintendent Lacoste will be by in a few minutes,” he said, striding back to the desk. “We’re bringing in Pauline Vachon.”

“But there’s more I can get from her private Instagram account,” said Cloutier. “I’m sure of it.”

When he turned to her, she was surprised to see that the anxiety that had flitted across his face a few moments ago was gone, replaced by a smile.

“You’ve done a good job. It’s only because of you we’ve found Madame Vachon and the pictures. And the damning messages. Chief Inspector Beauvoir feels we have enough, and I agree with him. Now the job will be to turn her. Pay attention to Superintendent Lacoste. Learn from her. She’ll lead the interrogation. You’ll be there to support.”

It wasn’t lost on either Cloutier or Cameron that he’d said “interrogation.” Not “interview.”

They were almost there. They could see the finish line. It was just a matter now of dashing across it. Without falling.

“And Homer?”

“Let Monsieur Godin know he’ll be released soon. Agent Cameron, I’ll come with you after all. Chief Inspector Beauvoir will meet us there.”

“Oui, patron.”

As they made for the door, Cameron reached behind him, to double-check that he had his gun. He knew he did, but best to be certain. Besides, touching it was a comfort.

But he noticed, as he followed Gamache, that the Chief Inspector was not carrying a weapon.

He wondered if he should say something. Remind him that drug dealers were dangerous. But then he remembered who this man was and what he’d seen. And what he’d done.

Chief Inspector Gamache did not need to be schooled. He was the principal.



* * *



Beauvoir stood at his desk in the incident room in Three Pines and checked his belt.

The gun, as always, was there.

He wondered if he’d feel naked going into work every day as a senior executive at the engineering firm in Paris without this accessory.

Jean-Guy Beauvoir quite liked the feel of it. The heft. The ability to just pull back his jacket and expose it. To see people’s eyes widen.

The gun on his belt meant not simply safety but power. Though just lately, something odd had begun to happen.

It had felt heavier. More awkward. Less natural. The gun had begun to feel foreign.

Was this how it had started with Gamache? Surely as a young agent, as an inspector, even, he’d worn a gun? At what stage had he taken it off?

When does a cucumber become a pickle? It was the question Gamache sometimes asked when contemplating human behavior. And now Jean-Guy asked himself that.

When does change occur? Change that is irreversible.

At some point guns had become, for Armand Gamache, a necessary evil. But still, and undoubtedly, evil.

Gamache had knelt beside too many corpses. Had made too many.

Had reached behind him and pulled the weapon from its holster. Had swung it up, steadied his hand. Pointed. And Armand Gamache had fired. Into another human being.

Felt the recoil. Smelled the discharge. Seen the body drop. The person drop.

Someone’s son, daughter, husband, father.

It was a terrible, terrible thing to have to do.

Seeing the bullet strike was almost as bad as feeling it hit, as Jean-Guy knew too well. Being lifted into the air by the impact. The shock. The pain. The terror.