A Better Man (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #15)(8)

As he’d approached the conference room, he’d heard some of the comments. And knew who they came from. It was no surprise. These were the agents most likely to question.

When Gamache was the Chief Superintendent, Lacoste and Beauvoir had gone to him asking that these same troublesome agents be removed.

“Remember what happened before,” said Beauvoir.

There was, within the S?reté du Québec, a before and after. A line drawn in their collective and institutional memory.

“Before” was a time of fear. Of distrust. Of enemies disguised as allies. It was a time of vast and rampant brutality. Of senior officers sanctioning beatings and even murders.

Gamache had led the resistance, at huge personal risk, and had eventually agreed to become Chief Superintendent himself.

No one left standing in the S?reté who’d been through that could ever forget what had gone “before.”

“We have to get rid of these agents,” Lacoste had said. “They were transferred into homicide when things were out of control, just to cause trouble.”

Gamache nodded. He knew that was true.

But he also knew that few were more loyal than those who’d been given a chance.

“Keep them on,” Gamache had said. “And train them properly.”

They had. And now, under Chief Inspector Beauvoir, those agents had become leaders themselves. Battle-hardened and trusted.

Which wasn’t to say they didn’t have their own opinions, opinions they were keen to voice.

Those had been the very homicide agents Beauvoir had heard questioning Gamache, just before he had arrived in the conference room.

With the Monday-morning meeting about to wrap up, something caught Beauvoir’s attention, and he looked down the long conference table.

“Are we boring you?”

Agent Lysette Cloutier looked up, and her eyes grew round.

“Désolée,” she said, fumbling with her phone.

Chief Inspector Beauvoir continued to stare at her until she put it down.

The meeting continued, but only for another minute, before Beauvoir stopped it again.

“Agent Cloutier, what’re you doing?”

Though it was clear what she was doing. She was typing on her phone. Again.

She looked up, flustered.

“I’m sorry. So sorry, but—”

“Is it a personal emergency?” Beauvoir asked.

“No, not really. I don’t think—”

“Then put it away.”

She lowered the phone to the table, then picked it up again. “I’m sorry, sir, but there is something.”

“For us?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

The final report was wrapping up, and the others in the meeting wanted to finish and get out of there. Which meant they wanted her to put down the damned phone and shut up.

Feeling all eyes on her. Feeling her heart pounding in her chest. In her neck. In the vein at her temple. Agent Cloutier clutched the phone and spoke up.

“A friend has emailed me. His daughter is missing. Been gone since Saturday night.”

“Where?” asked Beauvoir, pulling a pad of paper toward him.

“In the Eastern Townships.”

“How old is she?”

“Twenty-five.”

His pen stopped. He was expecting a child. He was relieved, but also slightly annoyed. Agent Cloutier could see this and tried to get him onside.

“She was on her way to visit him up north but never arrived.”

“Is she married?”

“Yes.”

“What does her husband say?”

“Nothing. Homer, her father, has called him over and over, but Carl just says there’s nothing wrong and to stop calling.”

“But she isn’t at home?”

“Apparently not. Carl won’t say where she is. He just hangs up on Homer. Now he isn’t answering at all.” She was talking rapidly, trying to get it all in. Searching the Chief Inspector’s face for some sign of concern. Some sign she was getting through to him.

“Where does the father live?”

“North of Montréal. In the Laurentians. Ste.-Agathe.”

“Has he gone down?”

“No. He wanted to give it until today.”

Beauvoir considered the woman at the far end of the table. This was, as far as he could remember, the first time Agent Cloutier had spoken in a meeting.

“I can see why you’d be concerned, but this is a local issue. Let the local detachment handle it.”

Beauvoir returned his attention to the inspector, who was just wrapping up her report.

“Homer called the local S?reté. They sent a car but didn’t find anything. That was yesterday. She’s still missing. He’s getting really worried.”

“Then he needs to file a missing-persons report. You can help him with that.”

He didn’t mean to sound callous, but there were clear delineations of duties, and best not to step into someone else’s lane.

“Please, patron,” said Cloutier. “Can I go down? Take a look around?” She could see that Chief Inspector Beauvoir was undecided. Teetering. “She’s pregnant.”

Cloutier felt everyone turn to her. Flushing wildly, she kept her eyes on the Chief Inspector.