“Armand,” said Thérèse. “How did you find this place?”
“Henri found it,” said Gamache.
“The dog?” Jér?me asked.
Henri raised his head upon hearing his name, then lowered it again.
The Brunels exchanged glances. Henri, while a handsome dog, would never get into Harvard.
“It was his home, you see,” said Gamache. “He’d been adopted from a shelter by Madame Longpré, when he was a puppy. So he knew the house. Madame Longpré died shortly after I met her. That’s how Reine-Marie and I came to have Henri.”
“Who owns the house now?” asked Thérèse.
Gamache explained about Olivier and the sequence of events that morning.
“You’re a sneak, Armand.” She leaned back in her seat.
“No more sneaky than that little charade in your office.”
“Oui,” she admitted. “Sorry about that.”
“What did you do?” Jér?me asked his wife.
“She called me into her office and gave me a dressing-down,” said Gamache. “Told me I was delusional and she wasn’t going to be sucked in anymore. She even threatened to go to Francoeur and tell him everything.”
“Thérèse,” said Jér?me, impressed. “You tormented and tricked this poor feeble man?”
“Had to, in case anyone was listening.”
“Well, you had me convinced,” said Gamache.
“Did I really?” She seemed pleased. “Good.”
“He is easily fooled, I hear,” said Jér?me. “Famous for his credulity.”
“Most homicide detectives are,” agreed Gamache.
“How’d you finally catch on?” Jér?me asked.
“Years of training. A keen knowledge of human nature,” said Gamache. “And she gave me this.”
From his pocket he took a piece of paper, neatly folded, and handed it over.
If Jér?me really has found something, I have to presume our home and my office are bugged. Have told Jér?me to pack for Vancouver, but don’t want to involve our daughter. Suggestions?
“After Olivier called and said we could use this home, I wrote a note on the one Thérèse gave me,” said Gamache, “and asked Inspector Lacoste to show it to her.”
Jér?me turned the note on its side. Scribbled there, in Gamache’s hand, was Go to the airport for your flight, but don’t board. Take a taxi to the Dix-Trente mall in Brossard. I’ll meet you there. I know a safe place.
Dr. Brunel handed the note back to Gamache. He’d noticed the first line of his wife’s message. If Jér?me really has found something …
As the other two talked, he sipped his wine and looked into the fireplace. It was no longer a matter of if.
He hadn’t told Thérèse, but after she’d finally fallen back to sleep, he’d done something foolish. He’d gone to his computer and tried again. He’d dug deeper and deeper into the system. Partly to see what he could find, but also to see if he could attract the watcher. If there was one. He wanted to tempt him out into the open.
And he had. The watcher appeared, but not where Jér?me Brunel expected. Not behind him, following, but in front of him. Luring Jér?me on, and in.
Trapping him.
Jér?me Brunel had fled, erasing, erasing, erasing his electronic footprints. But still the watcher followed. With sure, swift, relentless steps. He’d followed Jér?me Brunel right to their home.
There was no if about it. He’d found something. And he’d been found.
“A safe place,” said Thérèse. “I didn’t think one existed.”
“And now?” Armand asked.
She looked around and smiled.
Jér?me Brunel, though, did not smile.
*
The debriefing was over and the S?reté teams were heading home.
Beauvoir sat at his desk, his head lolling. His mouth open, each shallow breath unnaturally loud. His eyes were partly open and he felt himself sliding forward.
The raid was over. There were no bikers. He’d almost wept with relief, and would have, right there in that shithole of a bunker, had no one been watching.
It was over. And now he was back, safe in his office.
Tessier walked by, then backed up and looked in.
“I was hoping to catch you, Beauvoir. The informant fucked up, but what can we do? The boss feels badly about that, so he’s put you on the next raid.”
Beauvoir stared at him, barely focusing. “What?”
“A drug shipment heading for the border. We could let Canada Customs or the RCMP intercept it, but Francoeur wants to make up for today. Rest up. It looks big.”
Beauvoir waited until he no longer heard footsteps down the corridor. And when there was only silence he put his head in his hands.
And cried.