TWELVE
Lemieux had decided to jog ahead to their car, parked outside the Morrow home, and turn it on. They weren’t heading back yet, but night had fallen and the car would take a few minutes to warm up. If he started it now, by the time they got back in it would be toasty warm and the frosted windows would be clear, both advantages on a chilling December night.
‘I don’t get it, sir,’ he said as he returned to Gamache.
‘There’s a lot not to get,’ said Gamache with a smile. ‘What in particular is troubling you?’
‘This is my first murder case, as you know.’
‘I do.’
‘But it seems to me if you wanted to kill someone there are a whole lot of better ways.’
‘Like?’
‘Well, franchement, just about anything other than electrocuting a woman in the middle of a crowd on a frozen lake. It’s nuts.’
And that’s what worried Gamache. It was nuts.
‘I mean, why not shoot her, or strangle her? It’s Quebec in the middle of winter, why not take her for a drive and shove her out the car? We’d be using her as an ice sculpture in the Cowansville Fête des Neiges. It makes no sense.’
‘And that’s lesson number one.’ They were walking toward Olivier’s Bistro. Lemieux struggled to stay beside the large man as he strode with measured but long strides toward the brightly lit restaurant. ‘It makes sense.’
Gamache suddenly stopped and Lemieux had to twist out of the way to avoid ramming into him. The chief looked at the young agent seriously.
‘You need to know this. Everything makes sense. Everything. We just don’t know how yet. You have to see through the murderer’s eyes. That’s the trick, Agent Lemieux, and that’s why not everyone’s cut out for homicide. You need to know that it seemed like a good idea, a reasonable action, to the person who did it. Believe me, not a single murderer ever thought, “Wow, this is stupid, but I’m going to do it anyway.” No, Agent Lemieux, our job is to find the sense.’
‘How?’
‘We collect evidence, of course. That’s a big part of it.’
‘But there’s more, isn’t there?’ Lemieux knew that Gamache had a near perfect record. Somehow, while others were left baffled, he managed to figure out who would kill. Now Lemieux stood very still himself. The big man was about to tell him how he did it.
‘We listen.’
‘That’s it?’
‘We listen really hard. Does that help?’ Gamache grinned. ‘We listen ’til it hurts. No, agent, the truth is, we just listen.’
Gamache opened the door to the bistro and stepped in.
‘Patron.’ Olivier came over and gave Gamache a kiss on both cheeks. ‘Snow’s coming, I hear.’
‘Couple inches tomorrow.’ Gamache nodded sagely. ‘Maybe more.’
‘That Météo Média or the Burlington forecast?’
‘Radio Canada.’
‘Oh, patron, they thought the Separatists would win the last referendum. You can’t trust a Radio Canada prediction.’
‘You might have a point, Olivier.’ Gamache laughed, and introduced Lemieux. The bistro was packed, full of people enjoying a drink before dinner. He nodded to a few. ‘Good crowd.’
‘Always is over Christmas. Lots of families visiting, and what with the events of the day, well, everyone comes to Rick’s.’
Rick’s? Rick’s what? Lemieux was already lost. This might be a record. So far in this case it had taken him a few minutes in each interview to become disoriented, and generally with the English. Now the chief was speaking French to another Québecois and Lemieux was already lost. This didn’t bode well.
‘People don’t seem too upset,’ said Gamache.
‘C’est vrai,’ Olivier agreed.
‘The monster’s dead and the villagers are celebrating,’ said Gabri, appearing at Gamache’s elbow.
‘Gabri,’ Olivier admonished. ‘That’s terrible. Haven’t you heard you must only say good things of the dead?’
‘Sorry, you’re right. CC’s dead.’ Gabri turned to Gamache. ‘Good.’
‘Oh, dear Lord,’ said Olivier. ‘Stand back. He’s channeling Bette Davis.’
‘It’s going to be a bumpy night,’ Gabri agreed. ‘Salut, mon amour.’ Gabri and Gamache exchanged a hug. ‘Have you left your wife yet?’ Gabri asked.
‘Have you?’