A Great Reckoning (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #12)(126)

“As long as they’re allowed to mend,” said Gamache. “Yes.”

“Three years.”

They looked at Huifen. She spoke matter-of-factly. Just giving a report to the commanding officer.

“It began the first month we arrived. We’d never know when the call would come, and we’d have to go to his rooms. Sometimes it would be on our own, but mostly it was with others.”

“What would happen?” asked Gamache. So clearly not wanting to hear, but needing to know.

“He’d bring out his revolver,” she said. “He made a whole ritual of it, putting it on a tray engraved with the S?reté motto. He’d choose one of us to carry it into the living room.”

“It was an honor,” muttered Nathaniel.

“But the biggest honor was reserved for the cadet chosen to carry the next tray,” said Huifen. “The one with the bullet.”

“We’d draw lots,” said Nathaniel. “The long straw won.”

He started to giggle, and when he couldn’t stop and was on the verge of hysteria, Amelia touched his arm. And steadied him.

“I won,” Nathaniel said, his voice barely audible now. “Three times.”

He sat up straight then and looked right at Gamache. His eyes defiant.

“Three times I had to put that single bullet in the chamber. And spin the barrel…”

When Nathaniel couldn’t go on, Huifen stepped in.

“And bring the gun up.” She placed her finger to her temple, mimicking a handgun.

When she couldn’t go on, Amelia stepped in.

“And pull the trigger,” she said softly.

“Three times,” whispered Nathaniel.

“Twice,” said Amelia. She raised her chin and compressed her lips.

Neither Huifen nor Jacques said anything, and with horror Gamache realized they’d lost count.

“You are very brave,” said Gamache, holding their eyes that held a touch of madness.

“If I was brave,” said Nathaniel, “I’d have refused to do it.”

Gamache shook his head vehemently. “Non. You had no choice. Sitting here now, safe in this chapel, it seems you did. But you didn’t. It was Serge Leduc who was the coward.”

“That last time,” whispered Nathaniel, staring at Gamache, his eyes wide and tears rolling slowly down his face, “I prayed it would go off. I wet myself.”

His voice was barely audible.

Armand Gamache stood up and drew the young man to him, and held him tight as he sobbed.

Broken. But now, perhaps, healing.

There was a slight sound behind Beauvoir and he turned to see Paul Gélinas closing the chapel door.

And then the RCMP officer joined Beauvoir.

“He made them play Russian roulette?” said Gélinas.

“The man was a monster,” said Beauvoir.

Gélinas nodded. “Yes. But someone finally stopped him. And now we know why. We have the missing piece. Motive. Serge Leduc was killed with a single bullet to his brain. And we know the killer is in this room. No matter how well deserved, it’s still murder.”

Paul Gélinas at least had the decency to look saddened by the fact that they’d have to arrest a person who had dispatched a monster.

“It could have been self-defense,” said Jean-Guy. “Or even an accident. Maybe Leduc did it to himself.”

“Did he seem the sort to take that chance? To put the revolver to his own temple and pull the trigger, the way he made the cadets do? To play Russian roulette?”

“No,” Beauvoir admitted.

“No. And there was no residue on his hands. Someone did that to him. Someone who knew about the revolver and the game. Someone who wanted to end it.”

“Commander Gamache didn’t know.”

“Maybe he found out just that night,” said Gélinas. “And went there to confront Leduc. And killed him.”

Gélinas got up, crossed himself, then bent down to whisper in Beauvoir’s ear.

“Out of respect for Monsieur Gamache, I won’t arrest him here, now. We can consider this sanctuary. But we’re going back to the academy this morning. You need to be prepared. I’ll get a warrant first. Then I’ll be coming for him.”

“You’re making a mistake,” said Beauvoir. “He didn’t kill Leduc.”

“Does that look like a man who doesn’t have murder on his mind?”

Gélinas gestured toward Commander Gamache, at the front of the chapel, surrounded by the cadets.

The RCMP officer straightened up.

“Your father-in-law likes poetry. The death of the Duke was almost poetic, don’t you think? Knowing what we now know. A bullet through his brain. Come hither, and behold your fate.”

Jean-Guy heard the door click shut as he watched the cadets and Armand at the front of the chapel.

There was nothing at all poetic about what had happened. Or what was about to happen.





CHAPTER 40

Commander Gamache stood at the back of the classroom, listening as Professor Charpentier finished his lecture.

His students were third-year cadets, those who already had the basics and were into the next, critical level.

Advanced tactics.

Gamache watched as Hugo Charpentier, perspiring freely, explained that tactics wasn’t about the best position to get in to shoot someone.