The Long Way Home

“Do you know anything about asbestos?” he asked without preamble.

“I hope that’s not a pickup line,” she said, and even Gamache laughed. She might look young, she might even be young, but she knew how to take care of herself.

Even Beauvoir smiled. “No. We’re looking into a few things, and asbestos has come up.”

“As a matter of fact, I do know something about it,” she said. “Not a lot. I’m not a specialist, but it was taught at the university. Used as a cautionary tale of science, industry, and government.”

“We’re not so much interested in the politics of asbestos,” said the Chief, “as the properties of the substance.”

“Then yes, I can definitely tell you about that. Why?”

“Some was found in a box,” said Gamache. “We’re trying to figure out why someone would have it, and how dangerous it might be.”

“Well, that depends on the form it’s in. If it’s a hunk, then not so much. Asbestos only really becomes dangerous when it can float in the air. And be inhaled.”

“This was like a powder,” said Beauvoir.

They all watched the young teacher, waiting for the answer, but they didn’t have to wait long. There was no hesitation, no doubt.

“That would be dangerous.”

“How does asbestos kill?” asked Gamache. “If someone swallowed it, would it be bad?”

“It wouldn’t be good. But with asbestos the real danger is inhaling it. Getting it into the lungs. It works its way into the tissue and causes asbestosis, or mesothelioma. Or lung cancer. Or both. Nasty, nasty stuff. And by the time it’s diagnosed, it’s too late.”

“How long does it take to kill someone?” Clara asked.

“Depends.” Now Julie had to pause to think. “One of the reasons it took so long for alarms to go off, besides the desire of the industry and government not to see it—and that was a travesty—”

“Not the politics,” Gamache reminded her.

“Sorry. The problem was that it does take a while for the effects to be noticed. The connection between asbestos workers and lung deaths took some time. A miner could be retired for years before showing symptoms.”

“And what are the symptoms?” asked Myrna.

“Coughing, of course. Shortness of breath.”

“Sounds like a lot of things,” said Myrna.

“And that was part of the problem too. Misdiagnosis. But finally the link was found. And asbestos was banned. But by then it was everywhere.”

“So,” said Beauvoir, thinking his way through this, “you’d have to get pretty close to it, to inhale it?”

“Right. Or it would have to be floating around in the air. Like in a mine. You say yours was a powder in a container?”

“Right.”

She shook her head. “That would get into the air pretty easily, I think.”

“And would the person necessarily die, if he inhaled it?” Gamache asked, and saw the immediate look of concern on Julie’s face. She looked from Gamache to Beauvoir and back again.

“Did one of you?”

“No,” Gamache smiled reassuringly. “But if we had, then what? Would we die?”

“You might. It’s one of those tricks of fate. Not all asbestos miners developed lung disease. Some people exposed only incidentally did.”

“How much would you have to inhale?” asked Beauvoir.

“Again, it depends. Sorry to be so vague, but my memory is that some miners inhaled it all their lives and were fine, other people inhaled it once and died. It just depended on the person, the fibers.”

“But theoretically it could be very little,” said Beauvoir. “And it could be with only one exposure.”

“Could be,” said Julie, “but really, that would have to be unbelievably unlucky. But it could happen.”

“If asbestos was found in the insulation of an art gallery and was removed, could some of it get onto the canvases?” Gamache asked.

“I’d expect the people removing it would’ve cleared the place. Asbestos could only be removed by people trained to do it. It wasn’t just ripped out.”

“Suppose they hadn’t taken everything down?” asked Gamache.

Julie studied the large man in front of her.

“If you want clear answers, you’ll have to ask clear questions.”

Gamache raised his brows slightly and smiled. “Yes, I can see how that would help. The container the asbestos was found in probably held a rolled-up painting. Or a blank canvas. One or the other. Could the asbestos have been on the canvas and fallen off?”

Julie thought about that for a moment. “A canvas would actually be a pretty good vehicle for asbestos. It has a fine weave. Asbestos fibers could cling to it.”

“And if it was painted? Would the asbestos stick to oil paint?” Clara asked.

“Not as much. But if it was a blank canvas…”

“Yes.”

“Well, I’m not an artist—”

“I am,” said Clara.

Julie turned to her. “If you got a rolled-up blank canvas, what would you do?”

“I’d unroll and stretch it. Tack it to a wooden frame, so I could paint it.”

Julie was nodding. “You’d handle it.”