The Nature of the Beast: A Chief Inspector Gamache Novel

“That was wise, Monsieur Gamache.”


Beauvoir was staring at Gamache, unclear why he’d stopped him.

“We’re here on official business, Monsieur Gamache. For CSIS. But there is someone you should be asking yourselves about. Michael Rosenblatt. Why is he still here?”

It was, Gamache thought, an evasion on her part. An attempt to redirect his attention. But it was also, he had to admit, a question that was making its way to the top of his list.

“Why do you think Professor Rosenblatt’s still here?” Beauvoir asked.

“I have no idea,” she said. “That’s your concern, not mine. I have one brief, and that’s to make sure no one else ever builds a weapon like the one we found in the woods. That’s all I care about.”

“That’s all?” asked Beauvoir. “And the human cost?”

She looked at the younger man as though he’d said something adorable. A child learning to pronounce words he couldn’t possibly understand.

“Do you know what I see when I look at you?” Gamache asked her.

“I honestly don’t care,” Mary Fraser said.

“I see someone who’s been tunneling in the dark for so long you’ve gone blind.”

“I thought it would be something like that,” she said, smiling. “But you’re wrong. I’m not blind. My eyes have simply adjusted to the darkness. I see more clearly than most.”

“And yet you can’t see the damage you’re doing,” he said.

“You have no idea the things I see,” she said, her voice hard and clipped. “And have seen. You have no idea what I’m trying to prevent.”

“Tell me,” Gamache said.

And for the briefest instant, Jean-Guy Beauvoir thought she might. But then it was gone.

“You accused me of not understanding your world,” Gamache said. “And you might be right. But you no longer understand mine. A world where it’s possible to care about the life of a nine-year-old boy, and to be enraged by his death. A world where Antoinette Lemaitre’s life and death matter.”

“You’re a coward, monsieur,” she said. “Not willing to accept a few deaths to save millions. You think that’s easy? Well, it’s easy when you run away, as you’ve done. But I stay. I fight on.”

“For the greater good?” asked Gamache.

“Yes.”

He got up, suddenly repulsed, and stood in the middle of the charming room.

“I don’t think what you do is easy,” he said. “At least, not at first. I think it’s soul-destroying. But once that happens, it gets easier. Doesn’t it?”

Mary Fraser stood up then and faced him.

“Go to hell,” she said quietly.

“I will. If necessary. I expect I’ll see you there.”

“Just know this, monsieur,” she said to his back. “A coward not only dies a thousand deaths, he can cause them too.”

As they left, they noticed movement on the B and B stairs, and saw Brian standing there. Halfway up and halfway down. Frozen.

How much did he hear? Beauvoir wondered.

He heard it all, Gamache knew, judging by the look on Brian’s face.

Wordlessly, Brian retreated upstairs. All sorts of funny thoughts running through his head, thought Gamache as he and Beauvoir left the B and B.

“Why did you stop me when we were talking with Mary Fraser?” Jean-Guy asked as they walked back home.

“I was afraid you were about to say something that should not be said. At least, not in that company.”

“That they knew about Couture and the plans and wanted to find them not for CSIS but for themselves,” said Beauvoir.

Gamache nodded.

“Do you think that’s who Antoinette was expecting last night? Mary Fraser and Sean Delorme?”

“It’s possible,” conceded Gamache.

“Who are these people, patron?”

“That, mon vieux, is a very good question.”





CHAPTER 28

Clara poured a coffee from the percolator in Myrna’s New and Used Bookstore and brought it over to her seat in the bay window. Morning was struggling through the cracks in the heavy clouds, shooting columns of light onto the forest.

“I’m hearing rumors that Antoinette’s death and Laurent’s might be connected,” she said, and watched Myrna lower the newspaper just enough to stare at her. “And might have something to do with that gun in the woods.”

Myrna crumpled the paper onto her lap.

“Really?” She took off her glasses. “But how could that be? Antoinette’s death was during a robbery probably, or maybe something to do with the play—”

Clara shook her head. “The police don’t think so anymore.”

“Who’d you hear this from?”

“Gabri. He was talking to Brian, who overheard Armand and Jean-Guy talking to that CSIS woman last night. Fighting with her, apparently.”

“Fighting?”

“Well, arguing. Gabri told me this in confidence. Shhhh.”