A Better Man (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #15)(92)
* * *
“Chief Inspector, this is Cameron.”
Beauvoir snatched the mouthpiece off its cradle and pressed the button. “Oui.”
Gamache turned to watch, holding Beauvoir’s eyes.
“We have the warrant for Tracey’s arrest.”
Beauvoir exhaled. They had it.
But he wanted more.
“Is Superintendent Lacoste still in the interview room?”
“Yes.”
“Tell her to call as soon as she comes out.” He went to replace the handset, but Gamache stopped him.
“I have an idea.”
“Hold on, Cameron,” said Beauvoir, and clicked the handset off while Gamache explained.
Beauvoir nodded approval, then clicked the handset back on. “Still there, Cameron?”
“Oui, patron.”
“This is what I want you to do.”
* * *
Agent Cameron knocked on the door, then entered.
Lacoste glanced at him with some annoyance. It was unusual to be interrupted in the middle of what was proving a difficult interrogation.
Pauline Vachon was holding unexpectedly firm.
She would not admit that Tracey planned to kill his wife and that that’s what the posts were about.
Cameron bent down and whispered in her ear, then left.
Lacoste smiled and turned back to Vachon, who was watching her with feigned boredom. But after a few seconds of silence, Vachon’s brows lowered.
“What?” she demanded.
“I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but an arrest warrant has just been issued for Carl Tracey. For the murder of Vivienne Godin. Chief Inspector Beauvoir is bringing him in. He’ll be here in half an hour.”
Lacoste got up and, collecting the papers, closed the file.
“Can I go now?”
“Not quite yet. I want to hear what Monsieur Tracey has to say. Then you can go.”
She walked to the door. And stopped when she heard that one word. That beautiful word.
“Wait.”
* * *
The radio crackled, and Jean-Guy reached for it so quickly it bobbled out of his hand.
He juggled it for a moment before finally grasping it.
“Beauvoir.”
“We have him,” said Isabelle Lacoste. “Pauline Vachon just admitted they’d discussed killing Vivienne. That Tracey planned to do it.”
“She’ll sign the statement? Testify against him?”
“Yes.”
* * *
They knocked on the door.
By now it was dark. Not even the porch light was on. Though there was still the one light on. Upstairs.
They knocked again. Still no answer.
Beauvoir turned to the two uniformed S?reté agents and signaled them to go around back. Then he and Gamache exchanged glances.
Beauvoir turned the handle of the front door. It was unlocked. He swung it open.
“Tracey? Carl Tracey?” Beauvoir called. “S?reté. We have a warrant for your arrest.”
He walked in, slowly, carefully, with Gamache right beside him. Both seasoned officers scanned the room. Looking for a killer.
They found him passed out, drunk, on the bed. In a puddle of his own vomit.
CHAPTER THIRTY
The arraignment was held the next morning, in Superior Court at the Palais de justice in Montréal.
Once he’d sobered up, Carl Tracey had been given a shower and a change of clothes. He spent the night at the Cowansville detachment, where he’d been booked for murder.
From there, early in the morning, he’d been driven to a cell in the Montréal courthouse.
Chief Inspectors Beauvoir and Gamache met there first thing and interviewed him, with his court-appointed lawyer present. Predictably, his lawyer told him not to say anything. Equally predictably, Tracey couldn’t help but talk.
After Tracey claimed he had nothing to do with Vivienne’s death, Beauvoir presented him with Pauline Vachon’s statement.
“She says you talked about killing your wife—”
Tracey snorted. “Who doesn’t say that every now and then?”
“I don’t,” said Chief Inspector Beauvoir.
“You will.”
Beauvoir knew he shouldn’t let this man get up his nose, but Tracey was firmly lodged there. That smug, weaselly look. From a man who’d just killed his wife and unborn child.
“You know nothing—” Beauvoir began.
“Chief Inspector,” said Gamache, a warning in his voice.
Carl Tracey turned to Gamache. “I wouldn’t kill my own wife. Too obvious. But someone else’s … That was your wife in that village, right? Looks like you and I have something in common. That bruise on her face?”
Gamache grew very still, very quiet. Then he turned back to Beauvoir, who was staring, dumbfounded by what Tracey just said.
The lawyer ended the session there.
Beauvoir and Gamache walked down the hallway. Finally Gamache spoke.
“He’ll confess.”
“You think?”
“Oui. He’s a foolish, weak man. If he doesn’t actually mean to confess, he’ll incriminate himself with his bravado. He’ll hang himself.”