Dead Cold (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache, #2)(75)

‘Describe your movements on the day she died,’ said Beauvoir.

‘I got up about seven and lit the fire, then put on coffee and waited. I knew she’d come and sure enough around eight she arrived. We didn’t talk much. I asked how her Christmas was and she shrugged. I feel badly for her daughter. Can’t imagine having a mother like that. Anyway, she left about an hour later. We made arrangements to meet at the community breakfast.’

‘When did she decide to go?’

‘Sorry?’

‘Well, did she decide to go to the breakfast and curling at the last minute, or was it something she’d planned to do for a while?’

‘Oh, it was planned. I told her about it, but she already knew. They’d gone the year before, just after she bought the house here. She told me to get shots of her surrounded by common folk, her words not mine. So I went off to the breakfast and shot a couple of rolls, then we went to the curling. Cold as hell. My camera eventually froze up. Had to put it under my coat, under my armpit, to thaw it out. I was moving around, trying to get different angles. CC wasn’t very photogenic, so it was important to get the right lighting and angles and preferably some other point of interest in the shot. That old lady sitting beside her was great. Face full of character and the way she looked at CC, fantastic.’ Petrov threw himself back in the chair and laughed at the memory of Kaye glaring as though CC was something her dog had thrown up. ‘And she kept at CC to sit still, sit still. CC didn’t listen to many people. Anyone, actually, in my experience, but this old lady she listened to. I would too. Scary as hell. And sure enough CC sat still. Kinda. Made my job easier, anyway.’

‘Why was Kaye Thompson telling CC to sit still?’ Chief Inspector Gamache asked.

‘CC was a nervous sort. Always jumping up to straighten an ashtray or picture or a lamp. Nothing was ever right. I guess it finally got on the old girl’s nerves. She looked as though she was about to kill her.’

Gamache knew it was just a figure of speech, and Petrov clearly didn’t even realize what he’d said.

‘We got your developed film from the lab this morning,’ said Beauvoir, walking to the table and setting them out. Petrov followed as did the others. There on the table was a series of stills. CC’s final moments, and beyond.

‘Notice anything curious?’ Beauvoir asked.

After a minute or so Petrov straightened up and shook his head. ‘It looks like what I remember.’

‘Nothing missing? Like, oh, the entire series of pictures from here to here? From CC alive to CC dead. The entire murder is missing.’ Beauvoir’s voice rose. Unlike Gamache, who could sit and chat with suspects all day hoping they’d eventually open up, Beauvoir knew the only way to handle a suspect was to show them who was boss.

‘That’s where the camera froze, I guess,’ said Petrov, scanning the images, trying not to let the fear out, trying not to sink into the petulance and self-pity so much a part of his life with CC.

‘That’s convenient,’ said Beauvoir, taking a deep breath. ‘Or maybe I just inhaled the frame that shows the murder? What do you think? Did you burn the film that shows CC being murdered?’

‘Why would I? I mean, if I have film of CC being murdered, wouldn’t that prove I didn’t do it?’

That stopped Beauvoir cold.

‘I gave you all the rolls I shot that day. I promise.’

Beauvoir’s eyes were narrow as he watched this little man cower. He’s done something wrong, I know it, thought Beauvoir. But he couldn’t figure out how to nail him.

The officers left, Beauvoir stomping to the car and Lemieux trailing behind, not wanting to become the target for Beauvoir’s unexercised frustration. Gamache stood on the stoop squinting into the sun, feeling his nostrils contract in the bitter cold.

‘It’s lovely here. You’re a lucky man,’ and Gamache pulled off a glove and offered his hand. Saul Petrov took it, feeling the warmth of human contact. He’d been with CC so long he’d almost forgotten that most humans generate heat. ‘Don’t be a foolish man, Mr Petrov.’

‘I’ve told you the truth, Chief Inspector.’

‘I hope so, sir.’ Gamache smiled and walked quickly to the car, his face already beginning to freeze. Petrov went into the warm living room and watched the car disappear round a bend, then he looked again on the bright new world, and wondered just how foolish he’d been. He rummaged through some drawers and found a pen and an unused Christmas card. He wrote a short message then headed into St-Rémy to find the mailbox.





‘Stop the car,’ said Gamache. Beauvoir applied the brakes then looked at the chief. Gamache sat in the passenger’s seat staring out the window, his lips moving slightly and his eyes narrow. After a minute he closed his eyes and smiled, shaking his head.

‘I need to speak to Kaye Thompson. Drop me off in Williamsburg, then get back to Three Pines and take The Lion in Winter over to Clara Morrow. Ask her to show you what she meant. She’ll understand.’

Beauvoir turned the car toward Williamsburg.

Gamache had just figured out what Clara was saying in their garbled conversation, and if she was right, it could explain a great deal.





‘Fuck the Pope?’

Gamache never thought he’d hear himself say that, even as a question. Especially as a question.