Dead Cold (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache, #2)(72)

TWENTY-FIVE




‘I’m sorry, Chief Inspector Gamache isn’t in, Mrs Morrow,’ said Agent Lacoste, dragging her eyes from her screen to look at the woman in front of her.

‘When do you expect him?’

‘I’m not sure.’ She looked at the clock. Almost noon. ‘I would imagine he’ll be back soon. Is it important?’

Clara hesitated. She didn’t really know, but something told her it was.

‘No. It’ll wait.’ She turned to go and caught sight of Yvette Nichol working on another computer. There was no love lost between the two women, though Clara was still baffled by the hostility this young agent had shown when they’d first met a year ago. Now Agent Nichol looked up from her desk, caught Clara’s eye, and immediately looked back down.

Well, it’s better than the evil eye I used to get, thought Clara.





The S?reté officers were alone on the ice now. émilie Longpré had gone to have lunch with Kaye in Williamsburg and Billy Williams had mumbled something about either going to practice for the World Cup of skiing or cutting wood for blast-off. It seemed to Gamache that Billy made perfect sense to everyone but him. Gamache couldn’t understand a word the man said.

Gamache walked to the stands, sitting there for a long, cold moment staring at the ice, then at the spot where CC had sat, and died. Then he walked round the stands and over to where Billy Williams had parked his truck.

‘The murderer stood here,’ said Gamache firmly, planting himself on the snow. ‘He watched the curling, and waited. Just as CC got up to grab the chair in front, he attached the booster cables.’

‘The lab’s confirmed what we already knew,’ said Lemieux. ‘Mr Williams’s cables were the ones used. They were found in his truck all blackened. But he says he attached them from his generator to the heating lamp, so how did someone take them from the lamp to the chair in the middle of the curling without being seen?’

‘They didn’t have to,’ said Gamache. ‘The murderer must have detached the heating lamp before anyone showed up, and clipped the cables onto the chair.’ He strode from the phantom truck to the phantom lamp and further onto the ice, to the imaginary chairs. ‘While everyone was at the community breakfast he took the cables from the lamp and clamped them onto the leg of the lawn chair, then took the other end off the generator.’

‘But wouldn’t people have noticed that the lamp wasn’t working?’ Lemieux asked.

‘They did. At least two people talked about how cold it was, including Kaye Thompson. That was what made me believe that lamp was never on.’

‘I still don’t understand why no one saw anything,’ said Beauvoir.

‘Well, for one thing, any sound he made, his boots on the snow for instance, would be masked by the generator. And Mr Williams’s truck was behind the stands. Not exactly hidden by them, but anyone in the stands would have to work to see it. The only people who could have seen anything were Kaye and CC. But there’s more. At first I thought we were dealing with a very lucky person but now I think it wasn’t luck but careful planning. The murderer chose his moment precisely. He waited until all eyes were guaranteed to be on the curling.’

Agent Lemieux tried to see it all. The curlers, the spectators, the two women in their lawn chairs. The electrified chair sitting just ahead of them.

‘Something special happened in the match,’ said Gamache, walking now toward the ice, then turning round to look at the two perplexed officers. ‘Mother Bea cleared the house. It was a tradition. How many times have we heard that in the last two days? Some people come just to see that. And why? We found out today. In a sport that thrives on subtlety and finesse, that’s the most passionate of plays. Almost violent. Imagine the sound of Mother’s stone as she hurtles it down the ice with all the force she can muster. Imagine that stone hitting another stone at the far end, then that stone hitting another and another. An entire chain reaction. Within moments curling stones would be smashing off each other, going in all directions and causing a monstrous noise. Very exciting.’

‘Riveting,’ said Beauvoir.

‘And noisy,’ said Lemieux, and he had the satisfaction of seeing Chief Inspector Armand Gamache turn to him, a huge triumphant smile on his face, his eyes lively with delight.

‘Got it. That’s it. What a perfect moment for murder. Who was going to tear their eyes from the spectacle? And who would hear the screams of a woman being electrocuted? It was perfectly timed.’

‘But how did he know CC would even grab the chair, never mind at that very moment?’ Beauvoir asked.

‘Good question,’ admitted Gamache, walking briskly toward the relative warmth of their car. The day was growing dangerously cold and it was getting hard to talk. ‘And why didn’t Kaye Thompson see anything? And how did the murderer unhook the cable and toss it back into Billy’s truck again without being seen?’

The men got into the car and sat while it warmed up. Agent Lemieux’s toes were numb and he scrunched them up and down in his boots trying to get the blood going. Beauvoir looked out the frosted window.

‘Well, the curlers are off the list. They couldn’t have done it. And if Myrna Landers sticks to her story and says Richard Lyon was beside her the whole time that lets him out, though I still think he did it.’