But Amelia and Jacques did not. And Gamache wondered if they knew. They were suspected. Of being the killer. Or being the next victim.
As he looked at their young, troubled faces, he saw the village beyond and the hill they’d driven down. And he remembered the headlights up there, that first night the cadets had visited.
The lights, like eyes, had stared down at them, then had slowly, slowly withdrawn.
Gamache had no idea who was in the car, and he’d assumed whoever it was had been following him. But now he wondered. And now his worry increased.
Suppose he wasn’t the target? Suppose whoever was in the car had been following the cadets?
All of them.
Or just one of them.
“Why are we here?” Huifen asked, almost demanded.
“I brought you here because I have a job for you.”
“Let me guess,” said Jacques. “You want us to shovel your walk and cook your meals.”
He’d spoken loudly, and the tables immediately around them shot glances their way before returning to their own business.
“I think you’re mistaking me for someone else,” said Gamache, his voice reasonable. Not taking offense. A bird of prey unbothered by a moth. “No. In fact what I’m going to ask you to do is quite difficult and very important. And needs to be kept quiet. I hope it will help in the investigation of Professor Leduc’s murder.”
He could not have put together a string of words more potent for the young men and women. Even Jacques grew quiet and attentive, and Amelia sat forward.
So very young, he thought. So young they don’t know it.
“A copy of this map was found in Professor Leduc’s night table,” said Gamache as he placed the map on the table.
Only Nathaniel noticed the blood seep from Amelia’s face. Already pale to begin with, she now looked translucent.
“No one outside of the homicide investigators knows that,” the Commander was saying. “We don’t yet know how he got it, or why he had it.”
“Whose is it?” asked Huifen.
“Others are looking into that question,” said Gamache.
Amelia was staring at him, though she said nothing.
“Is that why they told us to find our copies?” asked Jacques.
“It is. I hope you brought them, because I need you to find some things out.”
His eyes, as always, came to rest on Amelia.
He’d been watching her progress since the first day.
She was top of her class. Top of the entire freshman intake, in fact. By a long shot. But she hadn’t chosen a volunteer assignment, belonged to no clubs or sports teams, and sat alone at meals.
This afternoon, just before leaving to come down here, he’d looked at the report on the contents of her dorm space. No drugs. No alcohol. Some chocolate chip cookies, hoarded from the kitchens.
There were no photos. No letters or cards. Nothing from her father. Or her mother.
It was as though she’d been birthed in the academy. A twenty-year-old newborn. Though Armand Gamache knew different. He knew exactly where she’d sprung from. He knew her bloodline.
In his peripheral vision, he could see the duffle bag beside Amelia’s chair. It was bulging, the canvas sticking out at awkward angles.
He could guess what was in it. Some clothing and toiletries. But mostly it was crammed full of the only things Amelia Choquet valued.
Books.
He wondered if the small volume of poetry by Ruth Zardo was in there. The one she’d taken from his home. He hesitated to call it “stolen,” still hoping she’d return it one day.
The cadets had lifted their eyes from the map and were looking at him.
Out the window Gamache could see a car arriving, one he recognized.
Lowering his voice, he spoke quickly, urgently.
“I need you to continue what you started,” he said. “To find out everything you can about this map. Who drew it. Why. Was there a purpose? Is there some message in it that made it valuable to Professor Leduc?”
Gamache saw the car draw up to his home.
He rose to his feet, but continued to talk. They also got up.
“Why, after someone put such time and effort into drawing it, was it then walled up?” he asked. “I have to leave, but I’ll be back in a few minutes. Stay here.”
He got up, put his copy of the map in his pocket, and left.
Amelia watched him go, walking just a little more quickly than a relaxed man might. Once outside, he took long strides around the village green to his home, where a man and a woman had stopped partway up the path to his front door and were waiting for him.
Amelia didn’t recognize the man. Middle-aged, he had graying hair and slightly soft features. But the most striking thing about him was that he was in uniform. Not a S?reté uniform. This one was a deep blue with gold buttons and insignia. He wore a cap with a broad gold ribbon and he stood straight, almost at attention, as Gamache approached. He didn’t quite salute, but close.
And once again, Amelia wondered about the Commander. He must have been someone, once. To command such respect from such a senior officer. And she wondered what terrible thing Gamache had done to have been shuffled off, away from active duty. To the flat plains of Saint-Alphonse and the S?reté Academy.
As the two men shook hands, Amelia looked more closely at the woman. She was in plain clothes. Blond. Petite without giving the impression of being small. Just the opposite. There was something formidable about her, even at a distance.
And then Amelia’s eyes opened wide.
“Holy shit.”
“What?” asked Huifen, following her glance out the window. “Who’re they?”
“How should I know?” said Amelia.
It was the homicide chief. The one she’d seen interviewed on the news, while the drunken slop of a landlady spread her legs on the La-Z-Boy in front of the TV.
Amelia got up and headed for the door.
“Stop.”
Everyone in the bistro stopped. Including Amelia.
“Come here.”
Amelia turned around. When they realized the target was the young woman, everyone else averted their eyes from the inevitable carnage.
Ruth was pointing a crooked finger at the empty armchair at her table. After a moment’s hesitation, Amelia went over and sat.
“Didn’t he tell you to stay put?” Ruth demanded.
“You’re Ruth Zardo, the poet,” she said.
“I hear there was a murder at the academy. Did you do it?”
The demented old poet glared at her with eyes so sharp Amelia felt she must be bleeding.
Beside Ruth, the demon duck was nodding and muttering, “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
Amelia’s mind went blank. Except for one line from that book the Commander had offered her. She’d refused his gift, but had subsequently found a copy in the used bookstore next door and bought it. Marcus Aurelius.
The object of life is not to be on the side of the majority, but to escape finding oneself in the ranks of the insane.
Amelia knew she was deep in the ranks of the insane.
CHAPTER 16
As he walked across the village green, Gamache could see the insignia on the visitor’s uniform. The crown above three Bath Stars, from the ancient order of chivalry.
This man was a high-ranking Mountie. An assistant commissioner in the RCMP.
Isabelle Lacoste opened her mouth to introduce them, but the man was already stepping forward to meet Gamache, his hand out, a smile on his face.
It was a restrained smile, one of greeting rather than happiness. It was, after all, a tragedy that had brought them together.
“Commander Gamache,” he said. “I’m sorry for the circumstances, but can’t say I’m sorry to finally be meeting you.”
“This is Deputy Commissioner Gélinas,” said Isabelle Lacoste. “He’s here to help with the investigation.”
“Help” was, of course, a euphemism. For all his courtesy, Deputy Commissioner Gélinas was there as a watchdog. Watching them. Dogging them.
“Paul Gélinas,” said the Deputy Commissioner.
“Armand Gamache,” said Gamache. “A pleasure.”
The RCMP officer’s handshake was firm, but not crushing. There was no attempt, or need, to show force. It was assumed.
“The Deputy Commissioner was visiting the RCMP headquarters in Montréal from Ottawa when Chief Superintendent Brunel called with a request for oversight,” said Lacoste.