Gamache laughed, the wrinkles round his eyes falling into familiar folds.
‘What would twenty milligrams have done to her?’ he asked.
‘Produced quite a flush. A classic hot flash. Sweating, discoloration of her face.’ Dr Harris thought some more. ‘I’m not all that familiar with it so I looked it up in the pharmacopoeia guide. There’s nothing dangerous about niacin. Uncomfortable, yes, but not dangerous. If the person was hoping to kill her, he got it wrong.’
‘No, I think he got it just right. He did kill her, and niacin was an accomplice. CC de Poitiers was electrocuted, right?’
Dr Harris nodded.
‘And you more than anyone knows how hard that is.’
Again she nodded.
‘Especially in the middle of winter. She had to not just touch a power source, but she had to be standing in a puddle with metal boots and…’
He left it dangling. Dr Harris thought about it for a moment. Tried to see the scene in her mind. The woman standing in a puddle at the chair, reaching out – ‘Bare hands. She had to have bare hands. That’s how he did it. And I thought you’d asked for the extensive blood work in case of poisoning.’
‘The gloves. I kept asking myself, why did she take off her gloves? Why would anyone?’
‘Because she was hot,’ said Dr Harris. She loved her job but she envied Gamache and Beauvoir the ability to put all the pieces together.
‘Someone at the community breakfast slipped her enough niacin to produce a flush. How long would it take?’ Gamache asked.
‘About twenty minutes.’
‘Enough time for her to be at the curling when it came on. At some point she began to get flushed and removed her gloves and probably her hat. We’ll see in the pictures tomorrow.’
‘What pictures?’
‘There was a photographer there. CC hired him to take publicity shots of her mingling with the common folk. His film gets to the lab tomorrow.’
‘Now why would she do that?’
‘She was a designer, a kind of minor Martha Stewart. Just came out with a book and was considering a magazine. The pictures would have been for that.’
‘Never heard of her.’
‘Most people hadn’t. But she seemed to have this image of herself as a successful and dynamic motivator. Like Martha, her business went beyond what colors the walls should be – white, by the way – into a personal philosophy of life.’
‘Sounds odious.’
‘I can’t get a grasp of it,’ admitted Gamache, leaning back comfortably. ‘I don’t know whether she was completely delusional or whether there was something almost noble about her. She had a dream and she pursued it, and damn the doubters.’
‘You agree with her philosophy?’
‘No. I spoke to someone today who described it as a kind of Frankenstein. I think that was quite accurate. Actually, that reference keeps popping up in this case. Someone else talked about the villagers celebrating the death of the monster, like in Frankenstein.’
‘The monster wasn’t Frankenstein,’ Dr Harris reminded him. ‘Dr Frankenstein created the monster.’
Gamache felt his chest tighten as she spoke. There was something there. Something he’d been approaching and missing throughout this case.
‘So what now, patron?’ she asked.
‘You’ve taken us a huge step forward with the niacin. Thank you. Now we just follow the headlights.’
‘Sorry?’
‘I always think a case is like driving from here to the Gaspé. A great long distance and I can’t see the end. But I don’t have to. All I have to do is keep throwing light in front of me, and follow the headlights. Eventually I’ll get there.’
‘Like Diogenes with his lamp?’
‘In reverse. He was looking for one honest man. I’m looking for a murderer.’
‘Be careful. The murderer can see the man with the lamp coming.’
‘One more question, doctor. How would someone give her niacin?’
‘It’s water soluble, but quite bitter. Coffee would probably mask it. Orange juice I guess.’
‘Tea?’
‘Less likely. It’s not strong enough.’
She gathered her things and taking her key from her pocket she pointed it out the window and pressed a small button. Outside a car came to life, headlights on and presumably the heater struggling to warm the inside. Of all the inventions in the last twenty years Gamache knew the two best were car seat warmers and automatic ignition. Too bad for Richard Lyon he’d invented magnetized soldiers instead.
Gamache walked her to the door, but just as she was about to leave something else occurred to him. ‘What do you know about Eleanor de Poitiers?’
Dr Harris paused for a moment.
‘Nothing. Who is she?’
‘How about King Henry the Second?’
‘King Henry the Second? You’re not seriously asking me about some long dead British royal? My favorite was Ethelred the Unready. Will he do?’
‘What a repertoire you have. Ethelred and Captain Crunch.’
‘A catholic education. Sorry I couldn’t help.’
‘Niacin.’ He pointed to the dossier still on their table. ‘You saved the day.’
She felt absurdly pleased.
‘Actually,’ he said as he helped her into her coat, ‘there is one more thing. Eleanor of Aquitaine.’
‘Oh, that’s easy. The Lion in Winter.’