“What’s going through your mind, Madame Coldbrook?”
“I was thinking about the specific design of the gun and its uses. And why someone would want one. Especially someone who didn’t collect guns. Why a revolver?”
She seemed to be telling, rather than asking.
“Why do you think?” he asked. In the background, he heard a knock and a voice.
“How should I know?” she demanded. “We simply make them. As your National Rifle Association is fond of saying, guns don’t kill people. People kill people.”
“I’m Québécois, madame. Canadian. The NRA has nothing to do with me.”
“And McDermot and Ryan had nothing to do with this death. I’m sorry it has happened. Very sorry. A single shot to the temple using a revolver. Poor man. But I’m sure you’ll figure it out. I’ll send you the email with all the information I have, and attach the sales slip.”
He was about to thank her, but the line was already dead.
Elizabeth Coldbrook’s email arrived a few minutes later with a brief boilerplate description of the .45 McDermot MR VI, and then specifics about Leduc’s order.
At the bottom of her covering letter was her name. Elizabeth Coldbrook-Clairton. Something seemed slightly off, and when he studied it more closely he noticed that “Clairton” was typed in a different font. Not far off—she might not have noticed. But he did.
Then there was a ding. The forensics report had just arrived in his inbox.
*
“You’re welcome to stay in the village, if you’d like,” said Gamache as he put his winter coat on. “You don’t have to come back to the academy with me.”
“You’d like me to stay?” asked Charpentier, as he pulled on his boots. “Or you want me to stay? You’re not trying to get rid of me, are you?”
It was said with a smile, but there was an edge to the question.
“Moi?” asked Gamache, also with a smile. But then his voice changed and grew serious. “It’s your choice, Hugo. And if I want something, you’ll know it.”
“Who else knows they’re here, patron?”
“The cadets? Now that’s a difficult question.”
The two men said good-bye to Madame Gamache and walked slowly through the snow and mud over to the bed and breakfast, where the Commander had told the cadets to meet them.
Charpentier was swinging his canes ahead of him and hauling his weak legs after them in a kind of lurch he’d perfected.
“Their classmates needed to know they were gone, as did their professors,” said Gamache. “I told them they’d gone home.”
“Without specifying whose home.”
Gamache stopped at the steps up to the B and B and turned. “No one must know those cadets are here, do you understand?”
Charpentier nodded. But Gamache could see he considered this a game. For the tactician, it was a puzzle in which the cadets were pieces, not people.
“But you let me come down,” said Charpentier, his nose turning red in the brisk March air. “You let me know they’re here. Why?”
If he starts perspiring, thought Gamache, he’ll turn into an ice sculpture.
“Because I think you can help.”
Charpentier nodded. “I can. I already have.”
The men climbed the stairs, Gamache behind Charpentier in case he should slip and lose his balance. Charpentier stopped at the top. Walking was exhausting for him, and climbing stairs was even worse.
“Are you playing me, Commander?” His words puffed into the late winter air.
“How?”
“Is it that you want me here? Or you don’t want me at the academy?”
“You know maps. The one we found could prove important.”
“True. But last night at the academy, you didn’t think I could be a big help. You didn’t even know I collected maps. But you let me come down here. You let me see the cadets you have hidden away.”
Gamache smiled broadly. His face breaking into deep lines. He leaned so close to Charpentier that the younger man could smell the mint toothpaste and the cologne of sandalwood. With a slight hint of rosewater.
“Do you think, when I was speaking to Madame Gamache on the phone during our meeting at the academy, that I had to mention the map out loud?”
Charpentier’s eyes widened.
“You did it to lure me?”
“I know more about you than you realize.”
The comforting scents of the man were tugged away by the cold breeze that now blew between them.
And Hugo Charpentier started to perspire.
“I think we should get inside,” said Gamache. “Don’t you? They’ll be waiting for us.”
CHAPTER 25
The cadets were indeed waiting in the dining room of the B and B for Commander Gamache and Professor Charpentier.
Clara and Myrna had decided to join their houseguests, though not at the same table. They sat by the fireplace, and were finishing their French toast with bacon and maple syrup when Gamache paused to say hello. And to ask, “How did it go?”
“Last night?” asked Myrna. “Fine. I got under the sheets as soon as we got home. I think he got into his. I’m going to check for eyeholes. And a pointy hat.”
Armand grinned and grimaced at the same time. “I’m sorry about that.”
“Amelia’s a sweet girl,” said Clara. “Up at the crack of dawn this morning. Made her bed and even did some light housework before I got up. When I came down, she had the coffee already on.”
“Really?” both Armand and Myrna asked.
“No, of course not,” snapped Clara. “She told me to fuck off when I knocked on the door to wake her up, half an hour ago. Then she demanded coffee. It’s like living with a wolverine. Which reminds me, how’s Gracie?”
Armand gave her a thin smile.
“She’s fine.”
He left to join the cadets and Charpentier. The students were just finishing off their breakfasts and Gabri brought each of the men a café au lait.
“Do you want breakfast? I have blueberry crêpes, French toast, and Eggs Gabri.”
“Eggs Gabri?” asked Gamache. “That’s new.”
“I add a bit of lemon zest to the hollandaise.”
Armand thought about that, then smiled. “A little tart.”
“A little tart.” Gabri bowed with great dignity.
“I’ll have an Eggs Gabri, s’il vous pla?t,” said Armand.
“And you, monsieur?” Gabri asked Charpentier, who ordered blueberry crêpes with sausages and syrup.
“Professor Charpentier and I are returning to the academy,” Gamache said to the cadets. Across from him, Charpentier’s brows rose very slightly. “But when I come back tonight, I’d like a report on what you find out about the map.”
“Come on,” said Jacques. “It doesn’t matter, and you know it. I want to return to the academy. You can’t keep us here.”
He was glaring at the Commander, and the other three cadets turned to look, first at Jacques, then over to Gamache. Jacques had clearly never been a fan of the new commander, but now his scorn seemed to have reached new heights. Or depths.
Even Gabri, bringing Myrna and Clara a small cheese plate, paused and looked over, as did the women.
Myrna cocked her head slightly, puzzled.
“You could be right,” said Gamache as he put down his large mug. “The map might mean nothing. But then again, you could be wrong.”
“Don’t believe everything you think,” said Amelia.
“So now you’re on his side?” asked Jacques.
“Side?” said Amelia. “There aren’t sides.”
“Oh, don’t kid yourself,” said Jacques. “There’re always sides.”
“Enough,” said Gamache. It was the first time he’d raised his voice at them, and they immediately turned to look at him. “I’m tired of this childish behavior. You need to stop this sniping. You’re not in a schoolyard. You’re cadets in the S?reté Academy. You’ve been conscripted to help in a homicide investigation. Do you know how many cadets would love to be included? And you sneer at it? And want to leave? To pick up your marbles and go home? Because you haven’t been handed a piece of evidence dripping in blood? How do you know what’s important and what isn’t? If I don’t know, you certainly don’t.”
He stared at them, and one by one they lowered their eyes.
Even Jacques.