A Better Man (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #15)(90)

She was wondering how much homes around the village green cost, and if any of her subscribers would notice, or care, if she decamped to Canada.

Though, looking at Clara Morrow’s face, she knew one person who might not be pleased.



* * *



Vivienne’s father closed his eyes and, bringing his hand to his heart, made a sound.

Gamache, sitting across from him, watched closely. It wasn’t clear if Homer was sighing or moaning. Whether he was relieved or having a heart attack.

Armand noticed that the hand over his heart was crunched into a fist. But not tight. Not in pain. At least not physical pain. His heart, under attack for days, might just, with the news of the imminent arrest of Carl Tracey, finally be fighting back.

“I know you’re not messing with me, Armand, but I need to hear it again. You’re arresting him. For what he did.”

“Yes. I’ll be going with Chief Inspector Beauvoir. We’ll be bringing him in probably within the hour. You’re free to go, but, Homer”—it was the first time he’d used the man’s first name to his face—“I’d like Agent Cloutier to drive you back to Three Pines.”

“To get my things.”

“No. To stay with us. Just for a few days. You shouldn’t be alone.”

“No. I want to go home. I need to be with…” He made a vague gesture. “Alone.”

Armand knew he’d feel the same way, if Annie … If Reine-Marie … If Daniel …

It was instinctive. A badly wounded animal, crawling off alone. To lick wounds. Or, if they proved too deep, to die.

Gamache had seen it more than once. People died from grief.

Carl Tracey had killed the daughter. Gamache was damned if he’d let him kill the father, too.

“You don’t have to be social, but you shouldn’t be alone.” Armand leaned forward and touched Homer’s hand, lightly, and whispered, “Please.”

He saw Agent Cloutier bristle a bit. Perhaps annoyed that it was not she who was comforting Homer.

But that’s why Gamache had asked her to drive Homer down to Three Pines, so that Homer would have the company of someone he knew and trusted. Someone he felt comfortable with. It might even be the bonding experience they both needed.

“I can leave your place whenever I want?” Homer asked. “And go home?”

“Yes, of course,” said Armand. “Lysette will stay with you until I get there.”

That served several purposes. It kept Homer company, kept him there, and kept Reine-Marie safe. Armand doubted Homer would lash out again, but he wasn’t going to take that chance.

“You’re going to arrest him?”

It was the third time Homer had asked and the third time Armand had said yes. And he was happy to say it all day and into the night.

Yes. Yes. Carl Tracey would face a judge and jury for what he did to Vivienne. Carl Tracey would spend the rest of his life in prison.

“And he’ll be convicted. You promise?”

Gamache hesitated for a moment. “There’s one more piece of evidence that will seal it. Someone’s testimony.”

Godin’s eyes widened in surprise. “Someone was there? They saw what happened?”

“No. There’re no actual witnesses. Though there rarely are. A case is built from evidence. And we have plenty. But this last piece would guarantee a conviction.”

“You promise?”

Annie’s father stood up and put out his hand to Vivienne’s father. “I promise.”

Homer took it, then leaned forward very slowly. As did Armand. Until their foreheads touched.

They stayed there for the briefest of moments, eyes closed.

Then Homer pulled back and caught his breath, wiping his face with his sleeve.

“Sorry. Out of Kleenex.”

“Here,” said Lysette, offering a box she’d plucked from a nearby desk.

Homer took it without really noticing who was attached to the offering. “Merci.”

“Ready?” asked Armand.

Homer blew his nose, then stooped to pick up all the balled-up tissues he’d dropped on the floor.

“Leave them,” said Armand.

But the large man would not, could not, leave a mess for someone else to clean up.





CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE


Jean-Guy Beauvoir sat behind the wheel of the unmarked car.

By tradition, the senior officer rode in the passenger seat. But Beauvoir could not bring himself to do that while Gamache was in the vehicle. Except that once, when he was too exhausted to drive.

Now they sat side by side. As they had for years. Watching the home of a murder suspect. Waiting for word from Lacoste. Waiting to give the word to go.



* * *



“What do you mean you’re staying the night?” demanded Clara.

“Sorry, but my flight from Burlington to New York was canceled,” Dominica Oddly said.

What she didn’t say was that she herself had canceled it. And spoken to the big gay guy about a room at their bed-and-breakfast. Or, as he insisted on calling it, bed-and-brunch.

If their B&B looked like their bistro and tasted like the bakery, she really might never leave. She did not tell Clara that. The woman already looked like her hair was on fire.