The Nature of the Beast: A Chief Inspector Gamache Novel

“But didn’t,” said Gamache. “Why not?”


“Maybe she meant to, but got into the wine right away,” said Beauvoir. “And got so shit-faced she no longer noticed or cared what she was wearing. I think the wine was to numb herself. She was obviously afraid. Why else take those things to the theater?”

“But if she was so afraid, why did she let Brian go to Montréal?” asked Lacoste. “If I was afraid, I think I’d want company.”

“Brian?” asked Beauvoir.

“Okay, he’s no Rottweiler, but it’s better than being alone if you’re that afraid.”

“Why was the door unlocked?” asked Gamache. “She was afraid enough to get her uncle’s things out of the house, but then she gets home and leaves the door unlocked?”

“Habit?” asked Lacoste. But she was unsatisfied with that answer.

“Maybe we have it all wrong,” said Beauvoir, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms in annoyance. “Maybe she wasn’t really afraid. Maybe she wanted Brian out of the way so she could meet someone.”

“A lover?” asked Lacoste, but shook her head and looked at Beauvoir, her eyes gleaming. “No. A buyer. That’s what you’re thinking.”

“I’m wondering,” said Jean-Guy. “It fits too, I think. Guillaume Couture tells his niece about Project Babylon and his role in creating it, to warn her. Tells her about the firing mechanism and the plans that he’s hidden. But she’s not really interested, it’s an old gun her elderly uncle is babbling on about. But then, when it’s found, she realizes what she has, and she knows it must be worth something to someone.”

“When she’s approached,” said Lacoste, working her way through this scenario, “she invites him—”

“Or her,” said Beauvoir.

“Or them,” said Gamache.

“Over. And makes it the one night she knows Brian won’t be around.”

“Yes,” said Gamache. “I think that’s important. It’s the one night he was away.”

“Then why did she take the things to the theater?” asked Beauvoir, then held up his hand. “Wait. Don’t tell me. It’s to get them out of the house, so that the buyer can’t find them without her. And she won’t tell, without the money.”

He slammed his hand down on the conference table.

“Solved.”

“Aren’t you leaving out one detail?” asked Armand.

“The name of the killer?” asked Jean-Guy. “I got us this far, I think the Chief Inspector can do the rest, don’t you?”

Isabelle Lacoste was leaning back in her chair, tapping a pen against her lips. No longer listening, which was wise, but thinking.

“The wine,” she said. “Why would Antoinette drink a whole bottle before an important meeting? Wouldn’t she want a clear head?”

“Maybe she needed courage more,” said Beauvoir. “Besides, we don’t know that she drank it all herself. The killer might’ve had a couple of glasses then washed up. Or Antoinette might’ve been nervous and drank more than she meant to. After all, she knew she was meeting someone who’d already killed at least one person.”

Lacoste was nodding. “That could also explain her injury. It doesn’t look deliberate. If she was drunk and got into an argument, a shoving match, let’s say, with the buyer, she might’ve lost her balance.”

“And once she was out of the way, the buyer was free to search the house,” said Gamache. “Not realizing Antoinette had taken everything away.”

“Well, now, there’s another problem,” said Lacoste. “The search of the theater turned up nothing. No firing mechanism, no plans. So where did she put them?”

They stared at each other.

“We seem to have hit a dead end,” said Lacoste. “We obviously need more information.”

She looked over to Adam Cohen, who was sitting at a desk staring at his computer screen. If he’s playing games, she thought, and getting up, she crossed the room.

“We’re ready for your report.”

His hands rested on the keyboard but didn’t move as he stared at what Lacoste was relieved to see was text. Documents, it seemed.

“Almost ready,” he said, distracted. Then he looked up. “Sorry, sir. Ma’am. Chief Inspector.”

He bobbed slightly in what might have been a curtsy had he been standing.

“Come over when you’re finished.”

She’d given him the thankless task of tracking down documents, materials to support their investigation. Dr. Couture’s will. Antoinette’s tax returns.

“He’ll be another few minutes,” she said, returning to the conference table. “Did you ever hear back from your friend at CSIS?”