“Was the owner of the bistro lying?” Francoeur asked.
The direct question roused Beauvoir. “He might’ve been. He lies about a lot of things.”
They heard swearing and turned to see Tessier punching his finger at his device.
“It’s a fucking dead zone,” he said, grabbing for the landline.
While Tessier called S?reté headquarters, Francoeur turned to Beauvoir.
“Gamache was here, but where’re the others?”
Beauvoir looked blank. “What others?”
“We’re also looking for Superintendent Brunel and her husband. I think that man in the bistro was lying.” Francoeur’s voice was pleasant, reasonable. “Gamache might have left, but I think they’re still here. We need to convince him to tell us the truth.”
“The squads are closing in,” Tessier whispered to Francoeur as they walked down the stairs toward the front door. “They have Gamache’s signal. They’ll get him in the next few minutes.”
“They know what to do?”
Tessier nodded.
“That last message Gamache sent, in reply to the Granby Zoo,” Francoeur asked, once they were on the porch. “What was it again?”
“See Emilie.”
“Right.” Francoeur looked at Beauvoir and demanded, “Who’s Emilie?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then what did Gamache mean when he told the Brunels to see Emilie?” snapped Francoeur. “Is there an Emilie in this village?”
Beauvoir’s brows drew together. “There was one, but she’s been dead for a few years.”
“Where did she live?”
Beauvoir pointed to the right. There, just across the Old Stage Road, was Emilie Longpré’s home, with its wide front verandah, wood cladding, mullioned windows, and brick chimney.
And the shoveled front path.
Last time Beauvoir had been in Three Pines, Emilie Longpré’s home had been empty. Now it was not.
*
“Christ,” said Jér?me, standing to the side of Myrna’s upstairs window and peering out. “He’s leading them right to Emilie’s place.”
“Who is?” Gabri asked. He was seated by the woodstove with Agent Nichol, while the Brunels looked out the window and reported back.
“Inspector Beauvoir,” said Thérèse. “He’s with Francoeur.”
“Impossible.” Gabri got to his feet and went over to see for himself.
Glancing quickly out the frosted window, Gabri saw large men entering Emilie’s home. Jean-Guy Beauvoir did not. Instead he stood on the snowy steps and looked around the village. Gabri swung away from the window a moment before Beauvoir’s eyes reached him.
“I don’t believe it,” he whispered.
“Inspector Beauvoir’s an addict,” said Thérèse from the other side of the window. “Has been for a while.”
“Since the factory,” said Gabri quietly. “I know. But I’d thought…”
“Yes, we all thought,” said Thérèse. “Hoped. Addiction’s a terrible thing. It’ll steal your health, your friends, family, careers. Judgment. It’ll steal your soul. And when there’s nothing left, it takes your life.”
Gabri dared a quick glance out the window. Beauvoir was still on the porch, staring straight ahead. He looked like he had nothing left to steal.
“He’d never turn on Gamache.”
“Jean-Guy Beauvoir wouldn’t, you’re right,” said Jér?me. “But drugs have no friends, no loyalty. They’ll do anything.”
“Inspector Beauvoir may very well be the most dangerous person out there,” said Superintendent Brunel.
*
“They were here,” said Francoeur, coming out of Emilie’s home. “But they’ve gone. We need to get the truth out of the owner of the bistro.”
“I know where they are.”
Beauvoir stepped off Emilie Longpré’s porch and pointed.
FORTY
It took a split second to break through the Yale lock, then they were in the schoolhouse.
Tessier stepped through first, followed by the two large agents. Sylvain Francoeur strolled in last and looked around. Monitors, cables, wires, and boxes were against one wall. Five empty chairs circled the still warm woodstove.
Francoeur took off his gloves and let his hand hover over the cast-iron woodstove.
Yes. They’d been here, and not long ago. They’d gotten out in a hurry, leaving behind all that incriminating equipment. Gamache, the Brunels, and Agent Nichol were shut down and on the run. Incapable of more damage. It was just a matter of time before they were found.
“How’d you know?” Francoeur asked Beauvoir.
“The schoolhouse was closed,” Beauvoir explained. “But the path to it’s been cleared. Like the Longpré place.”
“Gamache makes a habit of abandoning places,” the Chief Superintendent said. “And people.”
He turned his back on Beauvoir and joined the others at the computers.
Jean-Guy watched for a moment, then left.