THIRTY-FIVE
‘Love what you’ve done with the place,’ said Olivier as he set out the napkins and bowls at the old railway station. Putting the soup tureen on the filing cabinet under the list of murder suspects he was happy to see his name wasn’t there, and happier still to see Gabri’s was. Wait until he told him. Freak him out completely.
A steaming chicken stew with dumplings was placed in the middle of the conference table.
The Chief Inspector had stopped by the bistro to ask Olivier to bring them lunch.
‘How’s Monsieur Béliveau?’ Olivier had asked. He’d seen Gamache walk along the Common from his home.
‘He’s been better, I imagine,’ Gamache had said.
‘And worse. I remember how sad he was after Ginette died. Thank God for Hazel and Madeleine. Brought him out of himself. Invited him to everything, especially important days like Christmas. Saved his life.’
As he’d walked back to the Incident Room Gamache wondered whether Béliveau would thank them for that. He also thought of Hazel, alone now herself, and wondered whether eventually the two would gravitate together.
Once back at the old railway station Gamache was met by Beauvoir, just back from searching Hazel’s home. Within minutes Agent Lacoste arrived from Montreal and they gathered around the conference table. The meeting was in full swing when Olivier came with lunch.
He took his time, but still they didn’t say a word. Inspector Beauvoir ushered him to the door and closed it firmly behind him. Olivier leaned in to the cold metal for a moment but heard nothing.
There was, in fact, nothing to be heard, except serving spoons on porcelain as red lentil and curried apple soup and rich, chunky stew were served up. Soft drinks were popped open and Beauvoir had a beer.
‘Reports,’ said Gamache.
‘We found the ephedra,’ said Beauvoir, putting the medicine bottle on the table. ‘We took fingerprints and transmitted them to Montreal.’ He’d already reported to Gamache, but now the rest of the team heard about the search and the discovery.
‘Sophie Smyth denies the stuff’s hers,’ said Beauvoir, ‘but she would. She’s admitted strong, maybe obsessive feelings for Madeleine. And she’s a liar. I wasn’t sure about her injured leg, but when she had to she sure ran on that ankle fast enough. You should have seen her mother’s face.’
‘Angry about the faked ankle?’ asked Lemieux.
‘You can’t really be that stupid,’ said Nichol and Lemieux shot her a look of unmistakable loathing.
‘Agent Nichol, I’m warning you,’ said Gamache.
‘No really,’ said Nichol. ‘How are you possible?’ she asked Lemieux, who was gripping the table. ‘Hazel Smyth was stunned to see the ephedra bottle in her daughter’s possession,’ Nichol said very slowly into Lemieux’s face. ‘This is a murder investigation. Not a doctor’s office. Who the fuck cares about her ankle, except a moron.’
‘That’s it. Come with me.’ Gamache walked across the room to the door, taking the medicine bottle with him. Nichol caught Lemieux’s eyes and jerked her head in Gamache’s direction.
‘He means you, asshole.’
Lemieux made to get up.
‘Agent Nichol,’ Gamache called, his voice cold and carrying.
Nichol smirked at Lemieux and shook her head as she got up, mumbling ‘Fucking loser’ as she walked by.
‘What’s wrong, sir?’ she asked at the door. Her cockiness had vanished with her audience. It was just the two of them now.
‘You’re going too far. You have to leave.’
‘You’re firing me?’
‘Not yet. I’m sending you to Kingston, to ask questions about Sophie Smyth at Queens University.’
‘Kingston? But that’s half a day away. I won’t get there ’til dark.’
‘Later than that. You need to drop this at the lab on your way through Montreal. I want the results tomorrow morning.’
Nichol stared at him then finally spoke, her voice low. ‘I think you’re making a mistake, sir.’
Gamache met her eyes. His voice when he spoke was calm, steady, but still Nichol stepped back a half-pace from his intensity. ‘I know what I’m doing. You need to leave. Now.’
From the door he watched her go. Never full of grace, Agent Nichol slouched across the bridge, kicking a stone as she went.
Gamache returned to the meeting. The place seemed lighter without Agent Nichol. Gamache was happy to see Lemieux looking more relaxed.
Olivier had also brought a platter of brownies and date squares for dessert. Over coffee and dessert they heard about Monsieur Béliveau.
‘He went there to die?’ said Agent Lacoste, putting her brownie down. ‘That’s so sad.’
Sad. There was that word again, thought Gamache. Poor, sad Monsieur Béliveau. But unexpectedly what came to mind wasn’t the tired old grocer but the baby bird. Its shriek magnified by fear. Killed because it wanted company.
Then it was Lacoste’s turn to report on her trip to Montreal.
‘The school secretary gave me these.’ She put two dossiers on the conference table. ‘Madeleine and Hazel’s school records. I haven’t gone through them yet. Madeleine seems to have been a bit of a legend in that school.’
Beauvoir reached for the dossiers while Lacoste ducked under the table again and came up holding a stack of yearbooks.
‘I tried to get out of it, but she also gave me these.’ She put the yearbooks on the table and reached for her brownie again. It was rich and homemade and instead of icing on the top it had a thick layer of fluffy marshmallow, grilled under the broiler.
‘You spoke to Madeleine’s former husband?’ Gamache asked.
‘Fran?ois Favreau wasn’t much help. Madeleine was the one who asked for the divorce but he admits he forced her into it by behaving badly. He also admits he still loves her, but he said living with her was like living too close to the sun. It was glorious, but painful.’
They sat in silence, eating and thinking. Lacoste thought about a woman killed for being brilliant, Lemieux about murdering Nichol, Beauvoir about Sophie who probably killed the woman she loved; and Armand Gamache thought about Icarus.