*
An electronic bleep sounded and Lambert checked her text message.
Charpentier lost her.
Lambert expected the Chief Superintendent to explode and was surprised when he just nodded.
“It doesn’t matter.”
Francoeur walked quickly back down the corridor toward the elevator.
Where’s Gamache? he texted Tessier.
Jacques Cartier Bridge. Keep monitoring him?
No. That’s what he wants. He wants to draw us away. He’s a decoy.
He gave Tessier instructions, then returned, briefly, to his office. If Gamache was heading to S?reté headquarters, he wouldn’t find them waiting for him. It was almost certainly what Gamache wanted. He knew he was being followed, and he wanted their eyes on him. And not turning south. To that little village, so well hidden.
And now found.
*
“I think you’d better not, Jér?me,” said Thérèse, when her husband went to lay a fire in the hearth.
He stopped and nodded, then joined her on the sofa and together they watched the door. The front curtains were drawn and the lamps were turned on. Nichol sat in an armchair, also watching the door.
“What were you doing at the end there?” Thérèse asked Nichol.
“Huh?”
“On your computer, when I was trying to get you to leave. What were you doing?”
“Oh, nothing.”
Now Jér?me focused on the young woman. “You were doing something on the computer?”
“I was setting a bomb,” she said defiantly.
“A bomb?” Thérèse demanded, and turned to see Jér?me smiling and studying Agent Nichol.
“She means a logic bomb, don’t you?”
Nichol nodded.
“It’s a sort of cross between a super virus and a time bomb,” he explained to his wife. “Programmed to do what?” he asked Nichol.
“Nothing good,” she said, and challenged him to chastise her. But Jér?me Brunel only smiled and shook his head.
“Wish I’d thought of that.”
Silence descended again as the three of them returned to staring at the closed curtains and the closed door.
Only Gilles had his back to the door. He gazed out the rear windows. Those curtains were open and Gilles could see the snow-covered garden and the woods. And the tall trees that whispered to him. Comforted him. Forgave him.
He continued to look into the forest even as the first footsteps sounded on the front verandah. The squeal of boots on hard snow.
They saw a shadow pass the curtains.
Then the footsteps stopped at the door.
And there was a knock.
THIRTY-SEVEN
Armand Gamache pulled into the driveway of the little home. Christmas lights hung off the eaves, a wreath was on the front door. All the seasonal decorations were in place. Except comfort and joy. Gamache wondered if the pall was obvious even to someone who didn’t know what grief this home held.
He rang the doorbell.
And waited.
*
Superintendent Thérèse Brunel walked to the door. Her back was straight and her eyes determined. She held her gun behind her back and opened the door.
Myrna Landers stood on the verandah.
“You have to come to my place,” she said quickly, looking from Thérèse to the people grouped behind her. “Hurry. We don’t know when they’ll arrive.”
“Who?” asked Jér?me. He was stooped over, holding on to Henri’s collar.
“Whoever you’re hiding from. They’ll find you here, but they might not look in my place.”
“What makes you think we’re hiding?” Nichol asked.
“Why else would you have come here?” asked Myrna, getting more and more antsy. “You didn’t seem on vacation, and it wasn’t for the outlet stores. When we saw you working all last night in the schoolhouse, then bringing document boxes back here, we guessed that something had gone wrong.”
She studied the faces in front of her. “We’re right, aren’t we? They’ve found out where you are.”
“Do you know what you’re offering?” Thérèse asked.
“A safe place,” said Myrna. “Who doesn’t need that at least once in their lives?”
“The people who’re looking for us don’t want a simple chat,” said Thérèse, holding Myrna’s eyes. “They don’t want to negotiate, they don’t even want to threaten us. They want to kill us. And they’ll kill you too, if we’re found in your home. There is no safe place, I’m afraid.”
She needed Myrna to understand. Myrna stood before her, clearly frightened, but determined. Like one of the Burghers of Calais, thought Thérèse, or those boys in the stained-glass window.
Myrna gave one decisive nod. “Armand wouldn’t have brought you here if he didn’t think we’d protect you. Where is he?” She peered into the room.
“He’s leading them away,” said Nichol, finally understanding why the Chief had chosen to take a car and a cell phone that would obviously be followed.
“Will it work?” Myrna asked.
“For a while, perhaps,” said Thérèse. “But they’ll still come looking for us.”
“We thought so.”
“We?”
Myrna turned to look at the road and Thérèse followed her glance. Standing on the snow-covered path were Clara, Gabri, Olivier, and Ruth and Rosa.
The end of the road.
“Come,” said Myrna.
And they did.