Gamache raised his brows and approached Thérèse, who was also watching.
“I’m waiting for the downward dog,” she confided as she put on her coat. “You coming?”
“No. I’d like to read some more.”
Superintendent Brunel followed his gaze to the terminals.
“Be careful, Armand.”
He smiled. “Don’t worry. I’ll try not to spill coffee into it. I just want to go back over some of what Jér?me found.”
She left, taking Henri with her, while Gamache pulled his chair up to the computer and started reading. Ten minutes later Gamache felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Jér?me.
“Can I get in?”
“You’re back.”
“We’ve been back for a few minutes, but didn’t want to disturb you. Find anything?”
“Why did they erase that file, Jér?me? Not Aqueduct, though that’s an interesting question too. But the first one you found. The construction schedule on the highway. It doesn’t make sense.”
“Maybe they’re just erasing everything we looked at,” suggested Nichol.
“Why would they take the time to do that?” asked Thérèse.
Nichol shrugged. “Dunno.”
“You need to go back in,” Jér?me said to Nichol. “How close did they get to you? Did they get your address?”
“The school in Baie-des-Chaleurs?” Nichol asked. “I don’t think so, but I should change it anyway. There’s a zoo in Granby with a big archive. I’ll use that.”
“Bon,” said the Chief Inspector. “Ready?”
“Ready,” said Jér?me.
Nichol turned her attention to her terminal, and Gamache turned to Superintendent Brunel.
“I think that first file was important,” he said. “Maybe even vital, and when Jér?me found it, they panicked.”
“But it doesn’t make sense,” said Superintendent Brunel. “I know the mandate of the S?reté. So do you. We patrol the roads and bridges, even the federal ones. But we don’t repair them. There’s no reason for a repair dossier to be in S?reté files, and certainly not hidden.”
“And that makes it all the more likely the file had nothing to do with official, sanctioned S?reté business.” Gamache had her attention now. “What happens when an autoroute needs to be repaired?”
“It goes to tender, I expect,” said Thérèse.
“And then what?”
“Companies bid,” said Thérèse. “Where’re you going with this, Armand?”
“You’re right,” said Gamache. “The S?reté doesn’t repair roads, but it does do investigations into, among other things, bid rigging.”
The two senior S?reté officers looked at each other.
The S?reté du Québec investigated corruption. And there was no bigger target than the construction industry.
Just about every department of the S?reté had been involved in investigating the Québec construction industry at one time or another. From allegations of kickbacks to bid rigging to organized crime involvement, from intimidation to homicide. Gamache himself had led investigations into the disappearance and presumed murder of a senior union official and a construction executive.
“Is that what this’s about?” Thérèse asked, still holding Gamache’s eyes. “Has Francoeur gotten himself involved with that filth?”
“Not just himself,” said Gamache. “But the S?reté.”
The industry was huge, powerful, corrupt. And now, with the collusion of the S?reté, unpoliced. Unstoppable.
Contracts worth billions were at stake. They stopped at nothing to win the contracts, to hold them, and to intimidate anyone who challenged them.
If there was an old sin and a long, dark shadow in Québec, it was the construction industry.
“Merde,” said Superintendent Brunel under her breath. She knew it wasn’t just a piece of shit they’d stepped on, but an empire of it.
“Go back in, please, Jér?me,” said Gamache, quietly. He sat forward, his elbows on his knees. They finally had an idea what they were looking for.
“Where to?”
“Construction contracts. Big ones, recently awarded.”
“Right.” Dr. Brunel swung around and began typing. Beside him, at the other terminal, Nichol was also typing away.
“No, wait,” said Gamache, putting a hand on Jér?me’s arm. “Not new construction.” He thought for a moment before speaking. “Look for repair contracts.”
“D’accord,” said Jér?me, and began to search.
*
“Hello, I’m sorry to disturb you. Have I woken you up?”
“Who is this?” asked the groggy voice at the other end of the phone.
“My name’s Martin Tessier, I’m with the S?reté du Québec.”
“Is this about my mother?” The woman’s voice was suddenly alert. “It’s five in the morning here. What’s happened?”
“You think this might be about your mother?” Tessier asked, his voice friendly and reasonable.
“Well, she does work for the S?reté,” said the woman, fully awake. “When she arrived she said someone might call.”
“So Superintendent Brunel’s there with you, in Vancouver?” asked Tessier.
“Isn’t that why you’re calling? Do you work with Chief Inspector Gamache?”
Tessier didn’t quite know how to answer that, didn’t know what Superintendent Brunel might have told her daughter.
“Yes. He asked me to call. May I speak with her, please?”
“She said she didn’t want to talk to him. Leave us alone. They were exhausted when they arrived. Tell your boss to stop bothering them.”
Monique Brunel hung up, but continued to clutch the phone.
*
Martin Tessier looked at the receiver in his hand.
What to make of that? He needed to know if the Brunels had in fact traveled to Vancouver. Their cell phones had.
He’d had their phones monitored and traced. They’d flown to Vancouver and gone to their daughter’s home. In the last couple days they’d driven around Vancouver to shops and restaurants. To the symphony.
But was it the people, or just their phones?
Tessier had been convinced they were in Vancouver, but now he wasn’t so sure.
The Brunels had parted ways with their former friend and colleague, calling Gamache delusional. But someone had picked up the cyber search where Jér?me Brunel had left off. Or maybe he hadn’t left off at all.
When the Brunel daughter had first answered the phone, he could hear the concern in her voice.
“Is this about my mother?” she’d asked.
Not “What’s this about?” Not “Do you need to speak to my mother?”
No. They were the words of someone worried that something had happened to her mother. And you don’t ask that when your parents are asleep a few feet away.
Tessier called his counterpart in Vancouver.