A Great Reckoning (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #12)(103)

“Ignore him,” said Olivier. “He just likes saying asphalt.”

“I’ve never heard of it.” Clara turned to Myrna and Reine-Marie, both of whom shook their heads.

“That’s because only old Anglos still call it Roof Trusses,” said Ruth. “The Commission de toponymie changed its name a long time ago to Notre-Dame-de-Doleur.”

“Our Lady of Pain?” asked Myrna. “Are you kidding? Who calls a village that?”

“Pain,” said Reine-Marie. “Or maybe grief.”

Our Lady of Grief.

It was not much better.

“Jesus,” said Gabri. “Can you imagine the tourist posters?”

*

“Roof Trusses?” asked Beauvoir. “Who calls a village that?”

“Apparently Antony Turcotte,” said Huifen. “His one big mistake when mapping and naming the area.”

She explained.

“Have you been there?” Gamache asked.

There was silence, none of the cadets wanting to be the one to speak.

“The toponymie man said the village died out,” said Huifen.

“Might still be worth a visit,” said Lacoste. “Just to see.”

“See what?” asked Jacques, and was treated to one of her withering looks.

“We don’t know, do we? Isn’t that the point of an investigation? To investigate.”

Amelia was nodding as though hearing the wisdom of ages.

“If Turcotte made this for his son”—Gamache touched the edges of the map—“that would mean the soldier’s name was also Turcotte.”

“That’s another problem,” admitted Huifen. “None of the names on the memorial list is Turcotte.”

“Maybe he survived,” said Nathaniel. After all this time staring at the young soldier, Nathaniel had grown to care. The boy would be dead now, of course. But maybe of old age, and in his bed.

“Do you think so?” asked Amelia, speaking to Chief Inspector Lacoste.

“Do you?” Lacoste asked her.

Amelia shook her head, slowly. “Whoever he was, he didn’t come home.”

“What makes you say that?”

“His face,” said Amelia. “No one with that expression would have survived.”

“Maybe he never existed. He might be a composite of all the young men who were killed,” said Beauvoir.

“The stained-glass version of the Unknown Soldier,” said Gamache, and considered. “Made to represent all the suffering. Perhaps. But he seems so real. So alive. I think he did exist. Briefly.”

*

“What’re they saying now?” demanded Ruth.

“The stained-glass soldier,” said Reine-Maire. “They think his name might’ve been Turcotte.”

Ruth shook her head. “Saint-Cyr, Soucy, Turner. No Turcotte on the wall.”

*

“He’s there somewhere,” said Gamache. “One of the names matches that boy.”

Once again, Huifen pulled out her phone and displayed the photograph they’d taken of the list of names.

They all leaned forward, reading. As though the lost boy might make himself known.

*

“He’s there somewhere,” said Ruth. “Maybe not Turcotte, but one of them. Etienne Adair, Teddy Adams, Marc Beaulieu…”

*

They Were Our Children, Jean-Guy thought.

*

“Bert Marshall, Denis Perron, Giddy Poirier…”

*

“We’re going to need to speak with each of you,” said Gélinas. “Alone. Beginning, I think, with you.”

He turned to Amelia.

*

“Joe Valois, Norm Valois, Pierre Valois.”

They listened to Ruth. It was one thing to read the names etched into the wood, and another to hear them out loud. The old poet’s voice like the tolling of a bell. As they searched for the one boy, among the dead.

*

“There’s a private room just through there,” said Gamache, getting to his feet with the others.

“Merci,” said Gélinas. “But I don’t think we need you, Commander.”

“I’m sorry?” said Gamache.

“We can take it from here.”

“I’m sure you can, but I’d like to be present when you interview the cadets.”

The students, as well as Lacoste and Beauvoir, looked from Gamache to Gélinas as the two men faced each other. Each with a pleasant look hardening to his face.

“I insist,” said Gamache.

“On what grounds?”

“In loco parentis,” said Gamache.

*

“What did he say?” asked Ruth.

Around them the murmur of conversation continued, interrupted by the occasional burst of laughter.

“I think he said he was crazy,” said Clara. “Loco.”

“In parentheses,” said Gabri.

“Why parentheses?” asked Ruth.

“In loco parentis,” said Reine-Marie. “Standing in place of the parent.”

*

“You’re standing in for her parents?” asked Gélinas, half amused, half disbelieving. “Standing in for her father?”