Dead Cold (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache, #2)(49)

‘How could someone have electrocuted CC de Poitiers and no one notice?’ Beauvoir asked as they entered the warm Incident Room, stomping their boots to get the worst of the snow off.

‘I don’t know,’ admitted Gamache, walking right past Agent Nichol, who was trying to catch his eye. She’d been sitting at an empty desk when he’d left and she was still there.

Shaking his coat off Gamache hung it up. Beside him Beauvoir was fastidiously brushing the small drift from the shoulders of his own coat.

‘Glad I don’t have to shovel this.’

‘Let every man shovel out his own snow, and the whole city will be passable,’ said Gamache. Seeing Beauvoir’s puzzled expression he added, ‘Emerson.’

‘Lake and Palmer?’

‘Ralph and Waldo.’

Gamache walked back to his desk, knowing his mind should be on the case, but finding it lingering on Nichol, wondering whether they were both in too deep.

Emerson, Ralph and Waldo? What was that? thought Beauvoir. Some obscure hippy group from the ’60s probably. The lyrics didn’t even make sense.

While Beauvoir hummed ‘Lucky Man,’ Gamache downloaded his messages, read for half an hour, listened to reports, then put his coat, tuque and gloves back on and took himself off.

Round and round the village green he walked, through the falling snow. He passed people on snowshoes and others gliding along on cross-country skis. He waved at villagers shoveling their paths and driveways. Billy Williams came by, driving a snowplow, throwing cascades of snow off the road and onto people’s lawns. No one seemed to mind. What’s another foot?

But mostly Gamache thought.





EIGHTEEN




‘Sir.’

‘Sir.’

‘Sir.’

As Gamache walked back into the Incident Room he was met with a chorus of people wanting to speak to him.

‘Sir, Agent Lemieux’s on the line from Montreal.’

‘Ask him to hold for a moment. I’ll take it in there.’ He nodded to the small office.

‘Sir,’ Agent Isabelle Lacoste called across the room. ‘I’ve got a problem here.’

‘Sir.’ Beauvoir came up beside him. ‘We’ve called the lab about the photos. They don’t have them yet, but will let us know as soon as they arrive.’

‘Good. Go see if you can help Agent Lacoste. I’ll be there shortly. Agent Nichol?’

All activity in the room stopped. It seemed impossible that the cacophony could cease so quickly, but it did. All eyes turned to Nichol, then swung back to Gamache.

‘Come with me.’

All eyes, and Nichol, followed Gamache into the tiny office.

‘Please sit.’ Gamache nodded to the only chair in the room, then picked up the phone. ‘Put Lemieux through, please.’ He waited a moment. ‘Agent? Where are you?’

‘I’m at the Old Brewery Mission. But I just came from headquarters. He’ll do what you asked.’

‘Any idea when?’

‘No sir.’

Gamache smiled. He could imagine Lemieux in that horrible room with that brilliant, gifted, horrible man. Poor Lemieux.

‘Good work.’

‘Thank you. You were right, though. They knew the vagrant here at the Mission.’ He sounded excited, as though he’d just split the atom.

‘As Elle?’

‘Yes sir. They have no other name. But you were right about the other thing. I have the director of the Mission with me. Should I put him on?’

‘What’s his name?’

‘Terry Moscher.’

‘Oui, s’il vous pla?t. Put Mr Moscher on.’

After a pause a deep, authoritative voice came down the line.

‘Bonjour, Chief Inspector.’

‘Monsieur Moscher, I want to make it clear this is not our jurisdiction. This is a murder in Montreal, but we’ve been invited to make certain discreet inquiries.’

‘I understand, Chief Inspector. In answer to your question, Elle stuck to herself a lot. Most do here, so I didn’t know her well; none of the staff did. But I asked around and a few of the kitchen staff remember her having a pendant round her neck, some old silver thing they think.’

Gamache closed his eyes in a small prayer for the answer to the next question.

‘Did anyone remember what it looked like?’

‘No. I asked and one of the cooks said she’d once commented on it to Elle, by way of making conversation, and Elle immediately covered it up. It seemed important to her, but then the strangest things can seem important to street people. They get fixations, obsessions. This seemed to be one of Elle’s.’

‘One? Did she have others?’

‘Probably, but if she did we don’t know about it. We try to respect their privacy.’

‘I’ll let you go, Monsieur Moscher. You must be busy.’

‘Winter’s always busy. I hope you find out who killed her. Normally it’s the weather that gets them. It’ll be a killing cold tonight.’

Both men hung up thinking it would be nice to meet the other.

‘Sir.’ Beauvoir poked his head in the door. ‘Could you come out and see what Agent Lacoste has?’

‘I’ll be there in a minute.’