She slammed down the wrought-iron cover of the woodstove with such force the clank made Yvette Nichol jump and hit her head on the underside of the desk.
A series of filth exploded from under the teacher’s desk, such as the little schoolhouse had probably never heard before.
But Thérèse didn’t hear it. Neither did Gamache. The Superintendent had left the little building, slamming the door in Gamache’s face as he followed her.
“Thérèse,” he called, and caught up halfway down the shoveled path. “Wait.”
She stopped, but her back was to him. Not able to face him.
“So help me, Armand, if I could fire you I would.” She turned then and her face was angrier than he’d ever seen. “You’re arrogant, egotistical. You think you have special insight into the human condition, but you’re as flawed as the rest of us. And now look what you’ve done.”
“I’m sorry, Thérèse, I should have consulted you and Jér?me.”
“And why didn’t you?”
He thought about that for a moment. “Because I was afraid you’d overrule me.”
She stared at him, still angry, but caught off guard by his candor.
“I know Agent Nichol’s unstable,” he continued. “I know she might be working with Francoeur and that she might have leaked the video.”
“Christ, Armand, do you ever listen to yourself?” she demanded. “I know, I know, I know.”
“What I’m trying to say is that there was no choice. She might be working for him, but if she isn’t, she’s our only hope. No one will miss her. No one ever goes into that basement. Yes, she’s emotionally stunted, she’s rude and insubordinate, but she’s also exceptional at what she does. Finding information. She and Jér?me will make a formidable team.”
“If she doesn’t kill us.”
“Oui.”
“And you thought, if you explained it, Jér?me and I would be too stupid to come to the same conclusion?”
He stared at her. “I’m sorry. I should have told you.”
His sharp eyes looked around him, then up the road out of the village. Thérèse followed his gaze.
“If she’s working with Francoeur,” she said, “he’s on his way. She’ll have told him we’re together, and she’ll have told him what we’re doing. And she’ll have told him where to find us. If she hasn’t yet, she soon will.”
Gamache nodded, and continued to stare at the top of the hill, half expecting a bank of black vehicles to roll to a stop up there, like dung on the white snow.
But nothing happened. Not yet anyway.
“We have to assume the worst. That he now knows that Jér?me and I are not in Vancouver,” said Thérèse. “That we didn’t turn our backs on you.” She looked like she now wished she had. “That we’re all here in Three Pines, and still trying to gather information on him.”
She turned back to Gamache and considered him.
“How can we trust you, Armand? How do we know you won’t do something else without consulting us?”
“And I’m the only one holding back information?” he demanded, more angrily than even he expected. “Pierre Arnot.”
He spat the name at her.
“Which is the more damning? The more dangerous?” he asked. “An agent who may or may not be working with Francoeur, or a mass murderer? A psychopathic killer who knows the workings of the S?reté better than anyone else? Is Arnot involved in all of this somehow?”
He glared at her and her cheeks colored. She gave one curt nod.
“Jér?me thinks so. He doesn’t know how yet, but if they can get that thing to work, he’ll find out.”
“And how long has he kept that name from you? From me? Do you not think it would have been helpful to know?”
His voice was rising, and he struggled to lower it, to bring himself under control.
“Oui,” said Thérèse. “It would have been helpful.”
Gamache gave a curt nod. “It’s done now. His mistake doesn’t excuse my own. I was wrong. I promise to consult you and Jér?me in the future.” He held out a gloved hand to her. “We can’t turn on each other.”
She stared at it. Then took it. But she didn’t return his thin smile.
“Why didn’t you arrest Francoeur at the same time as Arnot and the others?” she asked, dropping his hand.
“I hadn’t enough proof. I tried, but it was all insinuation. He was Arnot’s second in command. It was inconceivable that Francoeur wouldn’t have been involved in the Cree killings, or at the very least known about them. But I couldn’t find a direct link.”
“But you found a link to Chief Superintendent Arnot?” asked Thérèse.
She’d touched on something that had long troubled the Chief Inspector. How he could have found damning and direct evidence against the Chief Superintendent but not against his second in command.
It had worried him then. It worried him now. Even more.
It suggested that he’d not only missed all the rot, but he’d missed the source of it.
It suggested someone had protected Sylvain Francoeur. Covered for him. And hadn’t covered for Arnot. Someone had thrown Arnot to the wolves.
Was that possible?