“Investigations?”
“Yes. Always difficult in a closed community. These people are proud, self-reliant. They didn’t even have running water or electricity until recently. They never asked for help from the government. Not a single person took unemployment, until recently. It would never occur to them to take what they considered a handout. They have their own laws and rules and code of conduct.”
“You make it sound like the Wild West.”
Gamache smiled. “I suppose it is, a bit. But not so wild really. These are fishermen. They’re a different breed. They get enough ‘wild’ from the sea. When they get home they want peace. There’s a deep civility about the people here.”
“And yet they still kill.”
“Sometimes. They’re human.” He looked at Myrna. “Do you know what Jacques Cartier called this stretch of coast?”
“Cartier the explorer?”
“Yes, back in the early fifteen hundreds. When he first saw this place he called it ‘the land God gave to Cain.’”
Myrna took that in as she watched the shoreline, where the odd, malformed trees lived. But nothing else.
“Cain. The first murderer,” said Myrna.
“A coast so forbidding, so hostile it was fit only for the damned,” said Gamache. “And yet…”
“Yes?”
He gave a small lopsided smile and stared at the far shore. “And yet I find it just about the most beautiful place on earth. I wonder what that says about me.”
“Maybe you’re drawn to the damned,” said Myrna.
“Maybe that’s why I’ve spent my life looking for murderers.”
“Have you ever been to Tabaquen?” she asked.
“Once. We arrested an old trapper for murder. He’d never been off the coast before. Never been off his trapline. He died in prison before the trial.”
“Poor man,” said Myrna. And Gamache nodded agreement.
He stared at the almost unnaturally smooth rocks gliding out of the water in great sheets.
“There’re those who seem to turn to the sea, always changing, always adapting. But never settling down. And those who turn to rocks and stones.” He waved toward the shoreline. “Solid but stuck.”
He looked at Myrna and smiled. “Sorry. I suspect that sounds romantic.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
Perhaps, Myrna thought, in Montréal, or Toronto, or New York, or London it would. But hanging over the rail, looking at the cold gray water, the hard gray stones, the thick gray clouds, it sounded about right.
She watched Armand. Was he of the sea or the stone? Was she?
*
Clara walked along the narrow corridor, adjusting her step to the growing and unpredictable swell. She was discovering that she was good on boats. As was Myrna.
Chartrand, on the other hand, was not.
He’d stayed in the Admiral’s Suite all morning. Clara had taken him some dry toast and tea. It was the first time she’d seen their “suite,” and it had shocked her. She’d been a little suspicious of Chartrand’s absence, wondering if he was faking it. But seeing the crummy, smelly, uncomfortable cabin, she knew only a man on his deathbed would choose to spend time there.
Chartrand had roused, seen her, and through bleary eyes had thanked her.
“You should go,” he said, trying to get up on an elbow. “I don’t want you seeing me like this.”
“And if I was sick?” she asked.
“I’d want to look after you,” he said, and his pale green pallor developed an orangish hue. Had Marcel Chartrand’s face been a color wheel, he’d have failed the exam.
They sat on the narrow bed and she’d gotten a cool cloth and a Gravol.
After a few minutes the drug kicked in and Clara could see his eyelids grow heavy, his breathing grow deeper, his skin less waxy.
She let him subside onto the bed and covered him with a blanket.
“Don’t go,” he whispered. Then shut his eyes.
She lingered for a moment at the door, before leaving.
*
The report on the substance in the buried container arrived that afternoon.
Gamache and Beauvoir read it with increasing puzzlement.
It wasn’t heroin after all. It wasn’t cocaine.
“How can this be?” Beauvoir asked, his brows drawn together. “Am I reading it right?”
Gamache had gone over the report two or three times himself. Quickly the first time, scanning the familiar form down to the pertinent line. And there he stopped, as though hitting a wall.
Then he went back and read more carefully. But the conclusion never changed.
The powdery substance in the container wasn’t a pharmaceutical. It was natural. But not the prettiest side of nature.
Asbestos.
The two men lifted their eyes from the screen and stared at each other.
“What does it mean?” asked Jean-Guy.
Gamache got to his feet. “See what you can find out about asbestos.”
“Right.”
The Long Way Home
Louise Penny's books
- The Face of a Stranger
- The Silent Cry
- The Sins of the Wolf
- The Dark Assassin
- The Whitechapel Conspiracy
- The Sheen of the Silk
- The Twisted Root
- The Lost Symbol
- After the Funeral
- The Adventure of the Christmas Pudding
- After the Darkness
- The Best Laid Plans
- The Doomsday Conspiracy
- The Naked Face
- The Other Side of Me
- The Sands of Time
- The Sky Is Falling
- The Stars Shine Down
- The Lying Game #6: Seven Minutes in Heaven
- The First Lie
- All the Things We Didn't Say
- The Good Girls
- The Heiresses
- The Perfectionists
- The Sacred Lies of Minnow Bly
- The Lies That Bind
- Ripped From the Pages
- The Book Stops Here
- The New Neighbor
- A Cry in the Night
- The Phoenix Encounter
- The Dead Will Tell: A Kate Burkholder Novel
- The Perfect Victim
- Fear the Worst: A Thriller
- The Naturals, Book 2: Killer Instinct
- The Fixer
- The Good Girl
- Cut to the Bone: A Body Farm Novel
- The Devil's Bones
- The Bone Thief: A Body Farm Novel-5
- The Bone Yard
- The Breaking Point: A Body Farm Novel
- The Inquisitor's Key
- The Girl in the Woods
- The Dead Room
- The Death Dealer
- The Silenced
- The Hexed (Krewe of Hunters)
- The Night Is Alive
- The Night Is Forever
- The Night Is Watching
- In the Dark
- The Betrayed (Krewe of Hunters)
- The Cursed
- The Dead Play On
- The Forgotten (Krewe of Hunters)
- Under the Gun
- The Paris Architect: A Novel
- The Darling Dahlias and the Silver Dollar Bush
- Always the Vampire
- The Darling Dahlias and the Confederate Rose
- The Darling Dahlias and the Cucumber Tree
- The Darling Dahlias and the Naked Ladies
- The Darling Dahlias and the Texas Star
- The Doll's House
- The Garden of Darkness
- The Creeping
- The Killing Hour
- Long Lost: A Kate Burkholder Short Story