A Great Reckoning (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #12)(67)

“No. He’s got a condition like Parkinson’s, I believe,” said Beauvoir. “Some days he can walk with canes, but most of the time he gets around in the chair. Easier and faster.”

“Did you work with him at the S?reté?”

“Non, he didn’t stay long. He left and set up his own company. Works as a consultant. He must be very good,” said Beauvoir, “or Monsieur Gamache wouldn’t have brought him here.”

“He looks terrified.”

“Yes, he always does.”

“But how can a man who is permanently afraid teach attack techniques and strategies?”

“Who knows airplanes better than someone afraid to fly?” asked Beauvoir, and had the pleasure of seeing the Deputy Commissioner’s brow rise.

“I’d like to see it for myself,” said Gamache. “I’ll be home later tonight and will bring the original map.”

Gamache hung up and returned to the table.

“My apologies.”

“Everything all right at home?” Lacoste asked.

“Oh, yes.”

“They found a map?”

All eyes turned to Professor Charpentier. Sweat was now pooling at his collar, and as he spoke it overflowed down the sodden shirt.

The words seemed wrung out of him.

At that moment, Gélinas sat forward as though someone had punched the back of his chair.

“Wait a minute. You’re H. E. Charpentier?”

Professor Charpentier ignored him and continued to look at Gamache, who nodded.

“Actually, the map was found a few months ago in the wall of an old building in a little village in the Eastern Townships,” said Gamache. “My village, as it turns out. But now they’ve also found an image of it in a stained-glass window in the local chapel.”

“Really?” said Lacoste, who was familiar with the church and the memorial window. “That’s strange. The same map we found—”

“In the wall, yes,” said Gamache, cutting her off.

Another plump drip was making its way down Charpentier’s cheek. And into the crevice of his smile.

“That Charpentier?” Gélinas whispered to Beauvoir, who nodded. “But he’s a recluse. Good God, I’ve hired him as a consultant in tactics, but he won’t even talk on the phone. Only by email. I thought he was older. And bigger.”

Charpentier rolled his chair a millimeter closer to the conference table. Either not hearing what Gélinas said, or not caring.

“That’s interesting. Important maps are sometimes found in attics or the back of an old desk, but you say this one was in a wall?”

“I don’t think it has any historic value, or even monetary,” said Gamache. “It’s just a curiosity.”

“It is that,” agreed Charpentier, glancing from Gamache to Lacoste.

“Oui. Now,” Gamache turned to the others, “can we get back to the matter at hand?”

“Where is it now?” asked Charpentier.

“What?”

“The map.”

“I have the original,” said Gamache, clearly trying to be patient while redirecting the conversation. “I can show it to you later, if you like.”

“You say ‘original.’ That means there’re copies?”

“I’m sorry, professor,” said Gamache, “but how can any of this possibly matter?”

“That’s what I’m wondering.” He was studying Gamache in a disconcerting manner. Talk of maps had opened the verbal floodgates. “You seem to think it is, or you wouldn’t have spent such a long time on the phone discussing it.”

“Perhaps we can talk about this later,” said Gamache.

“I’d like that.”

Charpentier pushed away from the table.

“But we’re not finished,” said Gélinas. “We have more questions.”

“No you don’t,” said the young man. “All the pertinent ones have been asked. And I have nothing to add to this investigation. If I did, I’d tell you. Anything beyond this is a waste of time.”

Beauvoir, who’d had respect for this strange man, now found himself developing a slight affection for him.

Charpentier sat there, drenched in his own fluids. Skinny. Sallow. Out of his depth among these highly functioning officers. And completely unaware of it.

As far as Charpentier was concerned, he was the normal one.

Beauvoir admired that, though he did not agree with it.

“There is one last question,” said Gamache. “And then I’ll show you the original map.”

There was now a very slight smile on the tactician’s face, as though he approved of Gamache’s use of the age-old quid pro quo.

“What did you think of Serge Leduc?”

“I thought he was a stupid man. I thought he was better suited to be a shoe salesman.”

Deputy Commissioner Gélinas laughed and then stopped when Charpentier looked at him.

“You don’t agree?”

“Non, non, it’s not that. What you said was funny.”

“Really? Professor Leduc would have been good at selling footwear. High end. Convincing people to buy something that would eventually hurt them. And to pay good money to do it. He was a sadist.”