‘Oh, God,’ whispered Gamache.
Then she lowered the case and stood still. This seemed to stun the reporters who preferred their prey on the run. She smiled at them.
‘No, don’t,’ whispered Beauvoir.
Annie raised her arm and gave them the finger.
‘Annie,’ Gamache mouthed, but no sound came out. ‘I need to go.’
He rushed upstairs and grabbed his cell phone. He was surprised to see his finger shaking, barely able to connect with the speed dial. It was answered on the first ring.
‘Oh, Armand, have you seen?’
‘Just now.’
‘I just got off the phone with Roslyn. They’ve taken Daniel into custody in Paris. He’s suspected of drug-dealing.’
‘All right,’ said Gamache, some calm returning. ‘All right. Let me think.’
‘They won’t find anything,’ said Reine-Marie.
‘They might.’
‘But that was years ago, Armand. He was a kid, experimenting.’
‘It’s possible someone’s planted something on him,’ said Gamache. ‘How was Roslyn?’
‘Stressed.’
Reine-Marie didn’t say it, would never want to add to his burden, but Gamache knew she was worried for the unborn baby. Women can miscarry after a blow like this.
There was silence.
This was so much more than Gamache had dreamed would happen. What was Brébeuf doing? Was this his idea of trying to stop it? With an effort he stopped raging against Brébeuf. He knew that was just a convenient target. He knew his friend was doing his best but that their adversaries were far more vicious than Gamache had expected and than Brébeuf could hope to control.
Someone had done their homework. Knew his family, knew Daniel’s conviction years ago on drug possession. Knew Daniel was in Paris and perhaps even knew of the pregnancy.
‘This has gone too far,’ said Gamache, finally.
‘What’re you going to do?’
‘I’m going to stop it.’
After a moment Reine-Marie asked, ‘How?’
‘I’ll resign if necessary. They win. I can’t endanger the family.’
‘I’m afraid they’ll no longer be satisfied with your resignation, Armand.’
He’d thought of that too.
Gamache called Michel Brébeuf and asked him to call a meeting of the senior S?reté council for that afternoon.
‘Don’t be a fool, Armand,’ Brébeuf had said. ‘It’s what they want.’
‘I’m not a fool, Michel. I know what I’m doing.’
Both men hung up, Gamache grateful his friend would help, and Brébeuf knowing Gamache was indeed a fool.
The morning meeting was brief and tense.
Agent Lacoste reported on her conversation with Madeleine’s doctor. She’d had an appointment two weeks before she was killed. The doctor confirmed that Madeleine’s cancer had returned and spread to her liver. She’d told Madame Favreau. She’d arranged for palliative treatments, but those hadn’t started by the time she was killed.
She’d come to the appointment alone. And yes, the doctor had the impression that while the diagnosis was devastating it wasn’t a complete surprise.
Agent Nichol hadn’t returned from Kingston yet and there wasn’t a report from the lab on the contents of the ephedra bottle, though there was one on fingerprints. Sophie’s and only Sophie’s.
‘Well, that seems to cinch it,’ said Lemieux. ‘She killed Madeleine Favreau out of jealousy. Came home, saw the opportunity with the séance, slipped her a few pills over dinner, and waited for the Hadley house to do the rest.’
Everyone was nodding. Through the window of the old railway station Gamache could see Ruth and Gabri walking slowly across the Commons and onto the village green. It was early, with the first freshness of day still holding the village. Behind Ruth came a bouncy little ball, spreading its wings. Alone.
‘Sir?’
‘I’m sorry, I beg your pardon.’
Everyone stared at Gamache. This was the most unsettling thing to happen yet. In all the years Beauvoir had known him Gamache had never, ever looked away from a conversation or meeting. He held their eyes and made them feel they were the only people on earth. He made his team feel precious and protected.
But today his attention wandered.
‘What were you saying?’ Gamache asked, turning back to the group.
‘It seems clear Sophie Smyth is the murderer. Should we bring her in?’
‘You can’t.’
The voice came from behind them. There, next to the immense red fire engine, stood a very small woman. Hazel. Though barely recognizable. Grief had finally caught her. Now she looked shrunken, her eyes large and desperate.
‘Please. Please don’t.’
Gamache went to her, nodding to Beauvoir, and together they led Hazel into the tiny back room used for storage by the Three Pines volunteer fire department.
‘Do you know something, Hazel, that would help us?’ asked Gamache. ‘Something that would convince us your daughter didn’t kill Madeleine, because it certainly looks like it.’
‘She didn’t do it. I know that. She couldn’t have.’