Agent Yvette Nichol edged up to the car in front of her in the fast lane of the autoroute, heading from Montreal back to the Townships. Her bumper was just inches from the car in front. Any minute now the driver would notice.
That was the moment. That exquisite moment. Would he hit the brake? Even a slight tap would send their cars careering together at 140 kilometers an hour and they would be a fireball within seconds. Nichol gripped her steering wheel tighter, her eyes keen with concentration and rage. How dare he slow her up? How dare he use her lane? How dare he not pull over? Slow, stupid man. She’d show him, as she showed anyone who stood in her way. Rage made her invincible. But there was something else too.
Glee.
She was going to scare the shit out of the driver.
‘I read your book,’ said Gamache to Ruth as the two of them sat in front of the cheery fire while Peter puttered in the kitchen and Clara browsed her bookshelves for something to read.
Ruth looked as though she’d rather be sitting in scalding oil than next to a compliment. She decided to ignore him and took a long gulp of her Scotch.
‘But my wife has a question.’
‘You have a wife? Someone agreed to marry you?’
‘She did and she was only a little drunk. She wants to know what FINE means in your title.’
‘I’m not surprised your wife has no idea what fine means. Probably doesn’t know what happy or sane means either.’
‘She’s a librarian and she was saying in her experience when people use capital letters it’s because the letters stand for something. Your title is I’m FINE with the FINE in capitals.’
‘She has brains, your wife. She’s the first to notice that, or at least to ask. FINE stands for Fucked up, Insecure, Neurotic and Egotistical. I’m FINE.’
‘You certainly are,’ agreed Gamache.
Agent Robert Lemieux eased over into the slow lane, allowing the maniac tailgating him on the autoroute at 140 kilometers an hour to pass. If he’d been in the mood he’d have put his flasher on the roof and chased the psycho, but he had other things on his mind.
He was sure he’d done well in Montreal. He’d convinced the police artist to do the drawing. He’d visited the bus station and the Old Brewery Mission. He’d advanced the Elle case, which Gamache seemed to want to keep private.
He’d made a note of that in his book.
Agent Lemieux had achieved what he wanted and needed. He was pretty sure Chief Inspector Gamache trusted him. And that was the key. A lot was riding on gaining Gamache’s trust.