Beauvoir held his breath. It was what he’d seen that day. The Chief lying, unmoving, on the floor.
“Officer down,” Beauvoir heard himself rasp. “The Chief’s down.”
It seemed forever. Beauvoir tried to move, to drag himself forward, but he couldn’t. Around him he heard gunfire. In his headphones officers were calling to each other, shouting instructions, locations, warnings.
But all he saw was the still form in front.
Then there were hands on him and Agent Lacoste kneeling, bending over him. Her face worried and determined.
He saw her eyes move down his body, to his bloody hand clutching his abdomen. “Here, over here,” she shouted and was joined by a medic.
“The Chief,” Beauvoir whispered and motioned. Lacoste’s face fell as she looked.
As medics leaned over Beauvoir, putting pressure bandages on his wound, sticking needles into him, calling for a stretcher, Beauvoir watched Lacoste and a medic run to the Chief. They moved toward him but shooting erupted and they had to take cover.
Gamache lay motionless on the concrete floor just beyond their reach.
Finally Lacoste raced up the stairs and from her camera they saw her trace the shots to a gunman in a doorway above. She engaged him, eventually hitting him. Grabbing his gun she shouted, “Clear!”
The medic ran to Gamache. Across the floor Beauvoir strained to see.
émile watched as the medic leaned over Gamache.
“Merde,” the medic whispered. Blood covered the side of the Chief Inspector’s head and ran into his ear and down his neck.
The medic looked up as Lacoste joined him. The Chief was coughing slightly, still alive. His eyes were half closed, glazed, and he gasped for breath.
“Chief, can you hear me?” She put her hands on either side of his head and lifted it, looking into his eyes. He focused and struggled to keep his eyes open.
“Hold this.” The medic grabbed a bandage and put it over the wound by Gamache’s left temple. Lacoste pressed down, holding it there, trying to stop the bleeding.
The Chief stirred, tried to focus, fighting for breath. The medic saw this, his brow furrowed, perplexed. Then he ripped open the Chief’s tactical vest and exhaled.
“Christ.”
Lacoste looked down. “Oh, no,” she whispered.
The Chief’s chest was covered in blood. The medic tore Gamache’s shirt, exposing his chest. And there, on the side, was a wound.
From across the room Beauvoir watched, but all he could see were the Chief’s legs, his polished black leather shoes on the floor moving slightly. But it was his hand Beauvoir stared at. The Chief’s right hand, bloody, tight, taut, straining. And in the headset he heard gasping. Struggling for breath. Gamache’s right arm outstretched, fingers reaching. His hand grabbing, trembling, as though the breath was just out of reach.
As medics lifted Beauvoir onto a stretcher he whispered over and over again, pleading, “No, no. Please.”
He heard Lacoste shout, “Chief!”
There was more coughing, weaker. Then silence.
And he saw Gamache’s right hand spasm, shudder. Then softly, like a snowflake, it fell.
And Jean-Guy Beauvoir knew Armand Gamache was dying.
On the uncomfortable plastic chairs, Beauvoir let out a small moan. The video had moved on. Shots of the squad engaging the remaining gunmen.
Ruth stared at the screen, her Scotch untouched.
“Chief!” Lacoste called again.
Gamache’s eyes were open slightly, staring. His lips moved. They could barely hear what he was saying. Trying to say.
“Reine . . . Marie. Reine . . . Marie.”
“I’ll tell her,” Lacoste whispered into his ear and he closed his eyes.
“His heart’s stopped,” the medic called and leaned over Gamache, preparing for CPR. “He’s in cardiac arrest.”
Another medic arrived and kneeling down he grabbed the other’s arm.
“No wait. Get me a syringe.”
“No fucking way. His heart’s stopped, we need to start it.”
“For God’s sake do something,” Lacoste shouted.
The second medic rifled through the medical kit. Finding a syringe he plunged it into the Chief’s side and broke the plunger off.
There was no reaction. Gamache lay still, blood on his face and chest. Eyes closed.
The three stared down. He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.
Then, then. There was a slight sound. A small rasp.
They looked at each other.