A Great Reckoning (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #12)(66)

Etienne Adair. Teddy Adams. Marc Beaulieu.

Ruth’s rickety voice filled the tiny chapel. But when they looked over, they saw the old poet wasn’t reading the names. She was staring straight ahead, toward the altar. Reciting them.

Fred Dagenais. Stuart Davis.

“You memorized them?” asked Myrna.

“I guess so,” said Ruth.

She turned to look at the window, at the writing, at the boys she knew by heart.

“I’d assumed the window was a representation,” said Myrna. “A composite of all those lost in the war, and not specific boys from the village. But now I wonder.”

“Who they are,” said Reine-Marie.

“Who he is,” said Clara, pointing to the young man who was clearly the center of the work.

“He has a revolver, but the other boys only have rifles. Why is that?” asked Reine-Marie.

“I think officers had revolvers,” said Myrna.

“But he can’t be an officer,” said Huifen. “He’s a kid. He’s our age. Maybe even younger. That’s like saying he’s”—she waved at Nathaniel—“a chief inspector. It’s ridiculous.”

“One day, maybe,” said Nathaniel, though no one heard him.

“Not so ridiculous if everyone else is dead,” said Myrna. “A battlefield promotion.”

“But isn’t the real question, why does he have that?” asked Clara, pointing to the map sticking out of his satchel.

They looked down at the map the cadets had brought. Even though theirs was a photocopy, they could still see all the tears and smears. They’d assumed it was dirty from being stuck in the walls for so long.

But maybe it wasn’t just dirt.

*

“But that’s incredible,” said Armand into his cell phone, catching the eyes of the others in the conference room at the academy and making an expression of apology.

They’d had sandwiches and drinks brought in to the conference room. The sandwiches were on POM Bakery white bread and were curling up at the edges.

Only Jean-Guy was eating them. He would eat the utensils, Gamache knew, if no one was watching.

“You’re sure it’s the same map?” He listened for a moment. “The snowman. Yes.”

All Beauvoir, Lacoste, and Gélinas could hear was Gamache’s end of the conversation. His phone had rung as they were interviewing the last of the faculty.

Professor Charpentier sat with his hands in his lap. Completely contained. Except for the sweat pouring out of him. He was drenched. His face was so slick it glistened, and Jean-Guy was worried he’d pass out from dehydration.

“Water?”

He poured a glass from the pitcher and shoved it toward the professor, who shook his head.

Up to and including that moment, the professor had been monosyllabic. Not, it was felt, because he was trying to hide anything. In fact, the few damp syllables they’d squeezed out of him showed his acute willingness to help.

Had he seen anything?

A brisk shake of his head.

Had he heard anything?

Another shake.

Did he know Serge Leduc well?

A shake.

“What does he teach?” Deputy Commissioner Gélinas whispered to Beauvoir while Gamache was on the phone. “His file is empty.”

He motioned toward the dossier, open in front of him.

“He’s a tactician,” said Beauvoir. “Commander Gamache hired him. He has the title of professor, but he only teaches one class. Advanced tactics to the graduating cadets.”

“He could teach water sports.”

Professor Charpentier sat absolutely still, like some wild animal startled. The only thing that moved was a large drip that was making its way to the end of his nose, and then hung there.

Lacoste, Beauvoir, and Gélinas stared at it, transfixed.

“Why’s he here if he doesn’t really teach?” Gélinas asked, once the drip dropped. In the background, they could hear Gamache still on the phone with his wife.

“He designs tactical exercises for the cadets,” whispered Beauvoir. “A series of ‘what ifs.’ For the freshmen, it starts as written examples and tests, but then they progress to the role-playing and mock-ups. We’ve built scale models for the exercises, but it goes beyond that, to questions of how to handle different situations. It’s new.”

“Commander Gamache brought that in?”

“Oui. And the man with it. The idea is to teach the cadets other ways of handling situations besides force. But if they have to use force, they need to know the most effective way to do it.”

Deputy Commissioner Gélinas nodded approval.

“Had the Commander ever met this Charpentier before hiring him?”

“Oh, yes, Hugo Charpentier was one of Monsieur Gamache’s own recruits into the S?reté, years ago.”

“He’s a S?reté officer?” asked Gélinas.

“Was.”

“One of Monsieur Gamache’s protégés?”

“At first, but then someone else took him under his wing,” said Beauvoir. “When Charpentier showed a knack for tactics.”

“Really? Who?”

“Superintendent Brébeuf.”

Gélinas nodded, tucking that information away. He looked at Charpentier’s wheelchair. “Wounded?”