Tessier looked up and met, again, those arctic eyes. Nothing had changed. Those words, if they penetrated, had only found more ice. Colder. Older. Endless.
“He’s isolated,” said Tessier. “Inspector Lacoste is the only one left of his original investigators. The rest have either transferred out on their own or been moved by you. His last senior ally, Superintendent Brunel, has even abandoned him. She also thinks he’s delusional. We have the recordings from her office. And Gamache refers to it here.”
Once again Tessier rifled through the therapist’s report. “See? He admits they’ve left for Vancouver.”
“They may have gone, but they got too close.” Francoeur spoke at last. “Thérèse Brunel’s husband turned out to be more than a weekend hacker. He almost figured it out.”
The voice was conversational, at odds with the glacial look.
“But he didn’t,” said Tessier, eager to reassure his boss. “And it scared him shitless. Brunel shut down his computer. Hasn’t turned it on since.”
“He saw too much.”
“He has no idea what he saw, sir. He won’t be able to put it together.”
“But Gamache will.”
It was Tessier’s turn to smile. “But Dr. Brunel didn’t tell him. And now he and the Superintendent are in Vancouver, as far from Gamache as they could get. They’ve abandoned him. He’s on his own. He admitted as much to his therapist.”
“Where is he?”
“Investigating the murder of the Quint. He’s spending most of his time in some small village in the Townships, and when he’s not there he’s distracted by Beauvoir. It’s too late. He can’t stop it now. Besides, he doesn’t even know what’s happening.”
Chief Superintendent Francoeur got up. Slowly. Deliberately. And walked around his desk. Tessier twisted out of his chair and stood, then stepped back, back, until he felt his body against the bookcase.
Francoeur stopped within inches of his second in command, his eyes never leaving Tessier.
“You know what’s at stake?”
The younger man nodded.
“You know what happens if we succeed?”
Again Tessier nodded.
“And you know what happens if we don’t?”
It had never occurred to Tessier that they could possibly fail, but now he thought about it, and understood what that would mean.
“Do you want me to take care of Gamache, sir?”
“Not yet. It would raise too many questions. You need to make sure Dr. Brunel and Gamache don’t come within a thousand kilometers of each other. Understood?”
“Yessir.”
“If it looks like Gamache is coming close, you need to distract him. That shouldn’t be difficult.”
As Tessier walked to his car he knew Francoeur was right. It wouldn’t be difficult. Just a tiny little shove and Jean-Guy Beauvoir would fall. And land on Chief Inspector Gamache.
TWENTY-THREE
Jér?me and Thérèse walked Henri around the village green. Their second circuit. Deep in conversation. It was biting cold, but they needed the fresh air.
“So Armand investigated what the Cree elder told him,” said Jér?me. “And he found she was telling the truth. What did he do?”
“He made absolutely certain his case was seamless, then he took the proof to the council.”
This was the council of superintendents, Jér?me knew. The leadership of the S?reté. Thérèse sat on it now, but at the time she was a lowly agent, a new recruit. Oblivious to the earthquake that was about to shake everything the S?reté felt was stable.
Service, Integrity, Justice. The S?reté motto.
“He knew it would be almost impossible to convince the superintendents, and even if convinced, they’d want to protect Arnot and the reputation of the force. Armand approached a couple of members of the council he thought would be sympathetic. One was, one wasn’t. And his hand was forced. He asked for a meeting with the council. By now Arnot and a few others suspected what it was about. They refused, at first.”
“What changed their minds?” asked Jér?me.
“Armand threatened to go public.”
“You’re kidding.”
But even as he said that, Jér?me knew it made sense. Of course Gamache would. He’d discovered something so horrific, so damning, he felt he no longer owed loyalty to the S?reté leadership. His loyalty was to Québec, not a bunch of old men around a polished table looking at their own reflections as they made decisions.
“What happened at the meeting?” Jér?me asked.
“Arnot and his immediate deputies, the ones Armand had the most proof against, agreed to resign. They’d retire, the S?reté would leave the Cree territory, and everyone would get on with their lives.”
“Armand won,” said Jér?me.
“No. He demanded more.”
Their feet crunched over the snow as they made their slow circuit in the light of the three great trees.