“But you were afraid that’s what he’d announce. In the Chapter House. That there’d be no second recording. And once the abbot pronounced, it was game over.”
“I’m not his confidant,” said Raymond. “I didn’t know what the abbot was going to do.”
“But you couldn’t risk it,” Beauvoir pushed. “You’d promised the abbot not to tell anyone else about the foundations, but you decided to break that promise. To defy the abbot.”
“I didn’t.”
“Of course you did. You hated the abbot. And you love the abbey. You know it better than anyone, don’t you? You know every stone, every inch, every chip. And every crack. You could save Saint-Gilbert. But you needed help. The abbot was a fool. Praying for a miracle that had already happened. You’d been given the means to repair the foundation. Your voices. The recordings. But the abbot wasn’t listening. So you switched your loyalty to the prior. To the one man who might save Saint-Gilbert.”
“No,” Frère Raymond insisted.
“You told the prior.”
“No.”
“How many times are you going to deny it, mon frère?” Beauvoir growled.
“I never told the prior.”
The monk was almost weeping now, and finally Beauvoir stepped back. He glanced at Superintendent Francoeur, who was looking grave. Then he looked back at Frère Raymond.
“You told the prior, hoping to save Saint-Gilbert, but instead you sent him to his death.” Beauvoir’s voice was matter-of-fact. “And now you hide down here and pretend that isn’t true.”
Beauvoir turned and picked up the old plans.
“Tell me what you believe happened in that garden, Frère Raymond.”
The monk’s lips were moving but no sound came out.
“Tell me.”
He stared at the monk, whose eyes were now closed.
“Speak,” demanded Beauvoir. Then he heard a soft murmur.
“Hail Mary, full of grace…”
Frère Raymond was praying. But for what? Beauvoir wondered. For the prior to rise up? For the cracks to close?
The monk’s eyes opened and he looked at the Inspector with such gentleness, Beauvoir almost had to steady himself against the wall. They were his grandmother’s eyes. Patient and kindly. And forgiving.
Beauvoir saw then that Frère Raymond was praying for him.
*
Armand Gamache slowly closed the last dossier. He’d read it twice, pausing each time over one phrase in the coroner’s report.
The victim, Frère Mathieu, had not died immediately.
Of course, they already knew that. They could see that he’d crawled away, until there was no more “away” left. And there the dying man had curled into a ball. The very shape his mother had carried. Had comforted, when he’d entered this world, naked and crying.
And yesterday, Mathieu had curled up again, to leave this world.
Yes, it had been clear to Gamache and all the other investigators, and probably the abbot and the monks who’d prayed over the body, that Frère Mathieu had taken some time to die.
But they didn’t know how long.
Until now.
Chief Inspector Gamache got up and, taking the dossier with him, he left the prior’s office.
*
“Inspector Beauvoir,” Superintendent Francoeur’s voice was raised, “I need to speak with you.”
Beauvoir took another few steps along the basement corridor, then turned around.
“What the fuck did you expect me to do?” he demanded. “Just let him lie? This is a murder investigation. If you don’t like how messy it gets, then get out of the way.”
“Oh, I can cope with the mess,” said Francoeur, his voice hard but steady. “I just didn’t expect you to handle it in quite that way.”
“Is that right?” said Beauvoir, his voice filled with contempt. No need to hide it now. “And how’d you expect me to handle it?”
“Like a man without balls.”
This so surprised Beauvoir he didn’t know what to say. Instead he stared as Francoeur walked past him and up the stairs.
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
Francoeur stopped, his back to Beauvoir. Then he turned. His face was serious as he examined the man in front of him.
“You don’t want to know.”
“Tell me.”
Francoeur smiled, shook his head, and continued up the stairs. After a moment Beauvoir ran after him, taking the worn stone steps two at a time until he’d caught up.
Francoeur opened the door just as Beauvoir arrived. They heard the sound of hard shoes on the stone floor of the Blessed Chapel, and saw Chief Inspector Gamache walking with purpose toward the corridor leading to the abbot’s office and garden.
Both men, as though by mutual consent, stayed quiet until the door into the hallway had closed and the sound of steps vanished.
“Tell me,” Beauvoir demanded.
“You’re supposed to be a trained investigator with the S?reté du Québec. You figure it out.”
“Supposed to be?” Beauvoir called to the retreating back. “Supposed to be?”
The words echoed and grew and bounced back to Beauvoir without apparently ever reaching Francoeur.