“I had to lean over to hear it,” said Lacoste. “He whispered, ‘Reine-Marie.’ And I knew he wanted me to tell you how much he loves you. Forever. Eternally. I never had to tell you that. Until now. Armand Gamache would never murder anyone, for all sorts of reasons. One of them is that he would never, ever do anything to hurt you, Reine-Marie.”
Reine-Marie brought her hand to her mouth, and screwed her eyes shut. She stood there for a second, a minute. Years.
And then she dropped the hand and reached for the harbor of her husband, even as she noticed the look that passed between Lacoste and Beauvoir.
Armand kissed her, and whispered in her ear. Something that made her smile. Then he motioned to the pew at the front of the chapel, and while the investigators took seats there, Olivier and Reine-Marie sat at the very back.
“Did anything come out of your interviews?” asked Gamache.
“Not much,” said Lacoste. “But Cadet Choquet didn’t seem surprised when I told her her prints were on the murder weapon.”
“It was an extrapolation,” Gamache reminded her.
“I didn’t tell her that.”
“Did she explain it?”
“No. She did say that Leduc threatened to expel her if she didn’t have sex with him.”
“And did she?” asked Gamache.
“She says not, but she’s used to trading sex for what she wants.”
Gamache gave a curt nod.
“I haven’t had a chance to tell you,” said Lacoste, “but I called the UK and spoke to the woman at the gun manufacturer that Jean-Guy interviewed.”
“Madame Coldbrook-Clairton?” asked Gamache.
Lacoste laughed. “I had this conversation with Jean-Guy on the drive down. There’s no Clairton, just Coldbrook.”
“Then why—” Gamache began.
“Did she sign her name with Clairton?” asked Lacoste. “Good question. She says it was a mistake.”
“Odd,” said Gamache, frowning. “But she confirmed the revolver that killed Leduc and the one in the window are both McDermot .45s?”
*
“Did he say Clairton?” asked Olivier, sitting in the back with Reine-Marie. “There’s a town in Pennsylvania called that.”
“Now how would you know that, mon beau?” asked Reine-Marie.
“I don’t know how I know about Clairton,” said Olivier, drawing his brows together in concentration. “I just do.”
“Maybe you were born with the knowledge,” suggested Reine-Marie with a smile.
“That would be a shame. So many more useful things I could innately know. Like how to convert Fahrenheit into Celsius, or the meaning of life, or how much to charge for a croissant.”
“You charge?” asked Reine-Marie with exaggerated surprise. “Ruth says they’re free.”
“Oui. Like the Scotch is free.”
*
“She confirmed the guns are the same,” said Jean-Guy. “But I can’t see how it could matter.”
“Neither can I,” admitted Gamache.
He turned to look at the stained-glass window. He’d seen it so often over the years that he felt he knew each pane. And yet, he always seemed to discover something new. As though the person who made it stole into the chapel at night and added a detail.
He still marveled that over the years he’d never noticed the map poking out from the boy’s rucksack.
Gamache realized he’d spent so much time staring at the one boy, he’d all but ignored the other two.
He looked at them now. Unlike the soldier who was looking straight at the observer, the others were in profile. Moving forward. One boy’s hand was just touching the arm of the soldier in front. Not to pull him back. But for comfort.
Less effort had been put into them. Their faces looked exactly the same, like they were the same boy, with exactly the same expression.
There was no forgiveness there, only fear.
And yet they moved forward.
Gamache’s eyes dropped to the third boy’s hands. One grasped a rifle. But with the other he seemed to be casually pointing. Not ahead, though, but behind.
*
“Do you know something strange?” asked Reine-Marie.
“I know someone strange,” offered Olivier.
“I’ve been sorting through the papers from the archives of the historical society in Saint-Rémy. The letters and documents and photographs go back a few hundred years. Not the pictures, of course. Though some of them are very old. Fascinating.”
“That is strange,” said Olivier.
“No, not that,” she laughed, and gave him a little elbow. “I didn’t realize until this very moment that I haven’t found anything from the First World War. The Second, yes. All sorts of letters home, and pictures. But none from the Great War. If there were, I might be able to find that boy. Find all three of them, in fact, by comparing the faces in the window with photographs in the local archives.”
“How could all the documents be missing?” asked Olivier. “There must’ve been something, wouldn’t you think?”
“There might be some boxes still in the basement of the historical society, but I thought we cleaned it out pretty thoroughly. I’ll take a closer look tomorrow.”
“You could ask Ruth. I’m pretty sure she was a drunk old poet in the Great War.”
“But on whose side?” asked Reine-Marie.
She got up, just as Armand and the others rose.
“I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry,” she said. “You’re welcome to come home. We have plenty of leftovers. Might even throw on a movie. I feel the need for distraction.”
As they left, Armand paused to look back at the stained-glass window and the boy. Pointing. He followed where he was indicating, but there was nothing there. Just a bird in the stained sky.
“Armand?” Reine-Marie called from the porch of the chapel.
“Coming,” he said, and turned off the lights.
CHAPTER 34
There was no denying, it was awkward.
Jean-Guy and Isabelle had headed back to the academy, but Paul Gélinas asked to spend the night with the Gamaches. Reine-Marie was on the verge of telling him where he could go, but Armand jumped in and said they’d be delighted.
“Did you actually say ‘delighted’?” asked Reine-Marie, when they were alone in the kitchen.
“Oui. It’ll be de-wonderful, don’t you think?”
“I think you’re demented.”
He smiled, then bent down and whispered, “He didn’t expect us to agree. Did you notice his discomfort?”
“I was too busy noticing my own,” she whispered back.
In an effort to put if not distance then people between herself and Gélinas, Reine-Marie had gone to the bistro and invited their friends over for dinner.
“What’re we going to feed them?” Armand asked.
Reine-Marie glanced toward the bin of kibble.
“Oh, don’t tell me—” he began.
Reine-Marie laughed. “No. Ruth wouldn’t notice, but the others might.”
“And that’s the only reason you wouldn’t feed our guests dog food?”
“I wouldn’t criticize if I were you, monsieur, given why we have guests in the first place. Delightful.” She shook her head. “But I was actually looking at Gracie and thinking she needs to go out.”
“Let me,” volunteered Armand. At the door, he gave her a stern look of warning.
“I promise, no kibble,” she said, then mumbled, “probably,” loud enough for him to hear.
Smiling, Armand took Gracie out of her crate, put her on a leash, and tried not to step on her as she got underfoot. Henri went with them.
The shepherd and Armand flanked the little creature as they walked around the back garden, Henri digging through the patches of snow to find grass and Gracie copying him.
“I hope you weren’t upset by what I said in the bistro,” came Paul Gélinas’s voice.
Armand looked around and saw the man standing on the back terrace.
“Surprised, definitely.” Armand paused before going on. “Why did you bring up my mother and father?”
It was pitch-dark except for the light from the house. Gélinas was a black cutout against the light from the living room. Through the French doors, Armand could see Clara and Myrna talking, Clara gesturing to make some point. Gabri was listening or, more likely, waiting to talk. Ruth was invisible, having slumped down in the sofa. Rosa and Olivier were staring out the window.
“I think you know why.” Gélinas stepped off the terrace and joined his host.
Gamache’s face was clearly visible in the light from his home. The RCMP officer could see every contour.
There was a small tug on the leash as Gracie strained to join Henri.