“Pardon?”
“How do we know the others are dead? Maybe one isn’t. Who else could get into the house? Who else even knew where they lived? Who else might take family photographs?”
“We don’t know if the killer even realized she was a Quint,” the Chief Inspector pointed out. “And we don’t know that family photos were stolen.”
But as he drove away, Lacoste’s statement grew in his mind.
Maybe Constance wasn’t the last.
TWELVE
Pay attention, Jean-Guy Beauvoir begged himself. For chrissake, hold it together.
His knee jittered up and down and he placed his hand on it. Pressing down.
At the front of the room, Martin Tessier was instructing the S?reté agents who’d soon be raiding the biker gang stronghold.
“These aren’t tattooed thugs,” said Francoeur’s second in command, turning away from the graphics on his tablet to face them. “Too many dead cops and mob bosses have underestimated the bikers. These’re soldiers. They might look like yahoos, but make no mistake, they’re disciplined and committed and highly motivated to protect their territory.”
Tessier went on, flashing images, schematics, plans.
But all Beauvoir heard was his own voice, pleading.
Dear God, don’t let me die.
*
Chief Inspector Gamache knocked on the door, then stepped into Thérèse Brunel’s office. She looked up from her desk as he entered.
“Close the door, please,” she said, removing her glasses. Her voice and manner were uncharacteristically brusque.
“I got your message but was out of town.” He glanced at the clock on her desk. Just past noon.
She indicated a seat. He hesitated a moment, then sat. She took the chair beside him. She looked tired, but was still perfectly turned out, and perfectly in command of herself and him.
“We’ve come to the end, Armand. I’m sorry.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean. I’ve been thinking about it, and speaking with Jér?me, and we think there’s nothing there. We’ve been chasing our own tails.”
“But—”
“Don’t interrupt me, Chief Inspector. This whole video thing has gotten out of control and out of proportion. It’s done. The video’s out there, nothing we can do will get it back. You need to let it go.”
“I don’t understand…” He searched her face.
“It’s quite simple. You were hurt and angry and wanted revenge. Perfectly natural. And then you became convinced there was more there than just the video. You got yourself rattled and managed to rattle everyone around you. Including me. That’s my fault, not yours. I allowed myself to believe you.”
“What’s happened, Thérèse?”
“Superintendent,” she said.
“Désolé. Superintendent.” He lowered his voice. “Has something happened?”
“It certainly has. I’ve come to my senses and I advise you to do the same. I hardly slept last night, then I finally got up and made notes. Would you like to see them?”
Gamache nodded, watching her closely. She handed him a handwritten note. He put his reading glasses on and studied it. Then he carefully folded it in half.
“As you see, I listed all the evidence in favor of your contention that Chief Superintendent Francoeur leaked the video of the raid and has a larger, more malevolent purpose—”
“Thérèse!” Gamache exclaimed, leaning forward suddenly as though to physically stop her from saying more.
“Oh, for God’s sake, Chief Inspector, give it up. The office isn’t bugged. No one’s listening to us. No one cares. It’s all in your head. Look at my notes. There’s no evidence. The weight of our friendship and my respect for you clouded my judgment. You’ve connected dots that you yourself created.” She leaned toward him in a manner almost threatening. “Driven almost certainly by your own personal loathing for Francoeur. If you keep this up, Armand, I’ll go to him myself with evidence of your actions.”
“You wouldn’t,” said Gamache, barely finding his voice.
“I’m tired, Armand,” she said, getting up and taking her seat behind her desk. “Jér?me is exhausted. You’ve dragged us both into this fantasy of yours. Give it up. Better still, retire. Go to Paris for Christmas, think about it, and when you come back…”
She let the sentence hang in the air between them.
He stood up. “You’re making a mistake, Superintendent.”
“If I am, I’ll be making it in Vancouver with our daughter. And while there, Jér?me and I will also discuss my future. It’s time to step aside, Armand. The S?reté isn’t falling apart, you are. We’re dinosaurs and the meteor has struck.”
*
“Ready?” Tessier clapped Beauvoir on the back.
No.
“Ready,” said Beauvoir.
“Good. I want you to lead the team into the second level of the bunker.”
Tessier was smiling as though he’d just given the Inspector a ticket to the Bahamas.